Another chapter with which I am not entirely pleased, but if I keep tinkering with it, I'll never post it. After this will be an interlude, but it will be followed by two very important chapters, because really, I have to get this plot into gear at some point in time.

Beginning with the second half of this chapter, you can expect to start seeing points of view other than Laura's. As other characters get involved in the plot, they're starting to butt into the narrative. I'm also finding that they've all got their own stories to tell, even if I'm not sure I'll get the chance to tell them. Englehorn, in particular, is starting to develop a nice backstory, and his is one of the voices that just keeps getting stronger. We'll definitely be hearing more from him in the future.

As always, much love to my reviewers and readers!

AN: Revisions applied to latter half of the chapter, regarding Englehorn and the First Mates he had employed since Hayes's death.

Chapter Seven
September 29, 1934

Laura waited until evening to seek out Englehorn, and John told her she could probably find him in his cabin. He didn't ask her why she wanted to speak to the Captain; she assumed he already knew.

Englehorn's cabin door stood open when she came to it, and she hesitated when she realized he and Kendrie were in the middle of a discussion about Denham. Their voices carried into the hall.

"You don't really want to set him down on one of these islands, do you?" Kendrie asked. "He'll never survive."

"Denham's survival is not my problem. Some people might even think he deserves it."

"Maybe you should consider the consequences."

"I'm more concerned with what he can do while on my ship. You put a guard on him, yes?"

"Yes. And I've set up a detail. He won't have a minute alone to himself."

"Good. Make it clear that no one speaks to him. That goes for you too."

"Yes, sir."

Laura stepped into the doorway and rapped on the jamb. Both men looked up at her; they stood at a table on the opposite wall, and a map was laid out before them. Englehorn, now hatless, had a mug of steaming liquid in one hand.

"Are you lost?" Kendrie asked, and his voice had a dangerous quality to it. He intended her to be aware of his lack of respect for her.

"I came to see the Captain," she replied, and she looked at Englehorn as she spoke. If Kendrie would not show her respect, she would offer none in return.

Englehorn said, "How can I help you, gnädiges Fräulein?"

Laura frowned. Was he mocking her by using such formal speech, or was he making a point to Kendrie? She decided to get straight to the point and said, "May I have a word with you in private?" Again, she avoided looking at Kendrie.

"You can speak freely in front of my man," he replied.

Gazing at Englehorn, she said nothing.

The German set his mug on the table and said, "You're dismissed, Mr. Kendrie. See that Denham gets his dinner."

Kendrie hesitated a moment before saying, "Aye, skipper."

Laura stepped into the cabin to get out of Kendrie's way, but his shoulder bumped hers as he passed her. She didn't flinch at the contact, nor did she object when he closed the door as he left. He'd talk, of that she was sure, but it made no difference to her. Many years had passed since she last let gossip have an affect on her.

As captain, it was fitting that Englehorn should have a spacious cabin. They stood in what was clearly an anteroom, with a door leading to a smaller chamber, probably where he actually slept. A row of guns ran along one wall, and as a whole, the room was decorated sparsely but comfortably. In addition to the table, he had a desk in one corner and a smaller table with a gramophone in another.

Englehorn leaned against the larger table, his arms crossed over his chest. Despite the availability of two chairs, he did not invite Laura to sit. He did this, Laura knew, not out of bad form but to prove a point – this was his territory, and she was not meant to be comfortable here.

"You have my full attention, Miss Ashfield," he said.

"Are you not at all concerned about Carl Denham's presence on this ship?" she asked.

"Not while he's in the hold. He can't get into any trouble down there."

"Don't you want to know how he even got on board?"

Englehorn shrugged. "Denham's a crafty man, and he can be as slippery as a weasel when it pleases him. He had help, more than likely. Nothing I can do about it now."

"Have you forgotten what I told you about Beaufort?"

"No. His deviance would be obvious to anyone, what with shooting on the deck and reading philosophy at the galley table. Just yesterday, he engaged me in a particularly shocking discussion about steamer maintenance."

"Don't talk to me like that," she snapped. "I'm not a child. I've know Beaufort long enough to know he can't be trusted."

"He's made no mention of the Island. Instead, he asked my opinion on the hunting in Honduras. I suspect –"

"Can't you see what he's doing? If you had any sense at all, you'd lock him up with Denham."

His voice suddenly fell low and dangerous. "Are you telling me how to run my ship?"

"Someone should," she retorted. "At the rate you're going, it won't be your ship anymore. You'll wake up one day, and Beaufort will be at the helm; if he does things right, you won't even mind."

Englehorn pushed away from the table, closing the distance between them. She backed into the door, pressing against it, and then he was so close to her that she could smell the salt and sweat clinging to him. On his breath lingered the heavy scent of the coffee he'd been drinking. He stood over her, his gaze steady, but he did not touch her. She maintained eye contact with him; if he wanted to intimidate her, she'd give him no such satisfaction.

"Step away from me, Englehorn," she said calmly.

"No," he said, and his voice had dropped to a husky whisper. "You've had your say; now I'll have mine. This is my ship, Miss Ashfield, and I'll run it as I see fit. I won't have you or anyone else telling me what to do."

"Then how did you end up on that Island in the first place?" she challenged.

Putting one hand on the doorframe over her head, he leaned down over her. "That's a mistake I won't make again, I assure you."

"I hope that's true," she replied, holding her ground, "for all our sakes."

He said nothing more, but he made no move to step away from her. She was suddenly aware of the intensity of his gaze, and just as suddenly, she was struck by the desire to get away from him. Reaching behind her, she found the doorknob and turned it so quickly that the door jerked open. She stumbled back into the hallway and glanced up to see that Kendrie had returned, and Beaufort stood behind him. Neither of them looked surprised.

"Are you alright, Miss Ashfield?" Beaufort asked, and he moved past Kendrie to offer her a steadying hand.

"I'm fine," she said, jerking away from him.

Englehorn moved into the doorway and said, "What now, Kendrie?"

"I came to offer my apologies, Captain," Beaufort said. "I had no idea Denham was on board. I want to assure you that I had nothing to do with that." He paused before adding, "There are other items I wished to discuss with you, but if you and Miss Ashfield are –"

"She was just leaving," Englehorn interrupted. "She had some concerns about Denham's treatment."

Beaufort nodded, and to Laura, he looked like a snake about to strike. "How thoughtful of her. I have always found her to be considerate of others."

"Really?" Kendrie remarked with a smirk. "Because she seems like a stuck-up bitch to me."

Laura had endured far worse insults, but she felt the color draining from her face just the same. It was one thing for Kendrie to imply he had no respect for her, but to come out and put it into words like that was entirely different. What made it worse was that he'd said it in front of two men who were supposed to be his moral and social superiors, and they did nothing.

So she slapped him.

Then she turned on her heel, her skirt swinging about her legs, and marched down the hall and up the stairs leading to the deck. She held her stinging hand by the wrist, and she had to admit that it was one of the most satisfying blows she had ever dealt to a man.

The men watched her go, and Englehorn disliked the smug look on his first mate's face. He neither expected nor required his men to go out of their ways to play nice with the passengers – he rather preferred that everyone kept to their own business – but he didn't appreciate Kendrie pushing his bounds like that. The man made a bad habit of it.

"Where I'm from," said Beaufort, turning a steely gaze to Kendrie, "when a man uses language like that about a lady, another man takes him outside and knocks him down."

"Is that so?" replied Kendrie, looking unconcerned.

"That's enough," Englehorn said, and Beaufort took the gentleman's role, backing up a step. "Miss Ashfield's honor isn't any of our concern, and I won't have fights over it."

"As her employer, I feel that –"

"It's a matter best left to her brothers," Englehorn snapped, pinning Beaufort with a look that suggested he drop the subject.

"Understood, Captain," the American said, and he smiled to show that there were no hard feelings. There was something of the fox in that smile, and Englehorn could understand Miss Ashfield's concerns; if Denham was a grandstanding grifter, then Beaufort was a self-assured confidence man. "I hoped we might continue our conversation about hunting in South America."

Englehorn forced himself to give the man a polite smile. "Some other time, hmm?"

"Whatever you say, Captain. At your convenience, then."

As Beaufort strolled down the hall, Kendrie made as though to follow him, but Englehorn held out an arm to stop him. "A moment, if you please, Mr. Kendrie."

"Of course, sir," said Kendrie, but he sounded less than pleased. His cheek had turned a bright red; it had been a well-placed slap, thrown from the shoulder to maximize the force of the impact. Most women didn't know how to properly hit a person, a deficiency that Laura Ashfield had somehow overcome.

"I've said all I care to say about this attitude of yours."

Kendrie lowered his head and stared at the floor, looking as pathetic as a schoolboy caught skipping class. It disgusted Englehorn more than it angered him. He expected something more from the man who was supposed to be the second most powerful person onboard.

"You've been on this ship four months now; I'm not giving you another chance. You pick any more fights – with the crew or with the passengers – and I'll put you off in California. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Kendrie through gritted teeth.

Englehorn took a step back into his cabin and said, "I won't have this conversation with you again. Have Mr. Leonard take the helm for a while."

"Yes. Sir."

The man started to move away, and Englehorn called after him, "Is Ashfield off duty?"

"As far as I know, sir," Kendrie said without turning around.

"Send him down then."

He closed the door on Kendrie's answer and went to the table to pick up his now lukewarm coffee. Grimacing as he sipped it, he walked over to his desk, where the ledger sat open and covered by an old Bombay newspaper. He'd been going over it again when Kendrie had come down the first time with the map.

Nothing seemed to have gone right since the Island. The damages to the Venture had taken weeks to repair, and he'd had to borrow more money than he'd liked in order to pay for it all. He'd be working that off for the next four or five years, and that was if he pushed hard and took any job he could get. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be in debt, and now here he was back in the red. He thanked whatever gods existed that he'd gotten out of New York before Kong's debut; at least he could pretend he had nothing to do with that.

Then there was the loss of manpower: almost half his crew on the Island itself, and the majority of the rest of them as soon as they landed in New York. Seven had remained on board, and of those, only three still sailed with him. Sailors were plenty in any port, and most of them hired on for a single run, moving on to another boat when they had earned their pay. But most of Englehorn's men had been trained for animal capture, and the sailors he picked up as port-hires didn't have that experience.

The death of Ben Hayes was the worst of it. Though he and Englehorn hadn't always seen eye to eye, the German knew he'd never get a first mate like him again. And thus far, he hadn't.

First, there had been the New Yorker, who had failed to mention a certain drinking problem he had. Englehorn thought nothing of taking a nip himself once in a while, and he allowed the crew to partake so long as they kept themselves under control. He'd found the man sprawled out at the foot of the stairs leading down to the cabins, half-drowned in gin and suffering from a concussion.

After a detour to Miami, where he dumped off the lush, Englehorn picked up a Cuban who had experience with freight and a willingness to learn the finer points of animal capture. He had a way with the other sailors, being a charismatic sort, and Englehorn had trusted him to keep the men in check. One thing the Cuban had never quite understood was how to take a dangerous animal seriously; he lasted seven months on the Venture, his life coming to a painful end after an encounter with a black mamba during a hunt in Africa.

And now, there was Kendrie, who had come recommended from Donald Locke, the man who had sold Englehorn the Venture back in 1929. Kendrie came from a sailing family, but he was looking for something more fulfilling than running trawlers out of Gloucester. He took easily to the hunting and capturing part of the job, but he didn't have the reckless nature of the Cuban, which boded well for him as far as dealing with dangerous animals went.

The downside was that Kendrie had a tendency to be a bully, and he could sniff out weakness in a man like a terrier hunting a rat. Worse than that, a lot of the port-hires respected that kind of disposition, having less than exemplary attitudes towards authority figures and anyone generally better off than themselves. Ultimately, it was trouble waiting to happen, and Englehorn had the feeling it wasn't going to hold off much longer. Maybe he'd forgo waiting to get to California and send Kendrie off with Denham at the first sight of land.

And once again, he'd be without a First Mate.

It was like starting anew, and he was beginning to believe he was getting too old for that kind of thing. Maybe, after this run, he'd put in at Surabaya and take a few weeks off. Or, hell, maybe he'd go up to Rotterdam and talk to Alfus – God knew the old man loved to give advice.

He locked the ledger in one of the desk drawers and returned to the table, lifting the map from it. The table had been set up for a game of Stern-Halma, which Ashfield always called Chinese checkers, a rather ridiculous name in Englehorn's opinion, considering it had nothing at all to do with the Orient. It had become a ritual for them to play the game when they were both off duty.

Such hobbies were typical on ships like the Venture. Englehorn knew about the card games that took place in the galley and the forecastle, and he allowed the gambling to go on so long as it didn't disrupt the men's work. In the days before the Island, Hayes had played chess often with the men, but Englehorn and Ashfield never considered playing it, even outside the Captain's cabin. They viewed it as war game, and so they had not even a passing interest in it. Sometimes, they played draughts instead, but Ashfield preferred to play it with the crew because it actually gave him a chance at winning.

He folded up the map and set it aside, and he was considering starting up the gramophone when there was a knock on the door.

"Enter," he called, and the door opened, revealing Ashfield on the other side. "Ah," he said as the Brit sauntered in and closed the door. "So here you are. I was about to begin without you."

"I think that'd put me at a disadvantage."

"Not with the way you normally play. Maybe you'd actually win a match if you never showed up."

They pulled the two chairs up to the table and started the game without further conversation. Most of the time, they played only two games unless they needed a tiebreaker, and they rarely spoke for the duration. It wasn't so much a chance for socialization as it was a chance to just sit and exercise the mind a little.

Ashfield had his chatty moods though, and sometimes he'd ramble on and on about his family in Bombay. During such times, Englehorn said little, but he would admit, if only to himself, that he did like Ashfield's children. They reminded him of Liesl's girls, not so much in looks – where the Ashfields were dark and exotic, his nieces were fair and radiant – but in the level of their endless and invariable joyful energy. Even in the midst of war and inflation, he mused, a child could find something to brighten her day. It was that unfailing idealism that had always drawn him to children. If not for the War –

If, if, if, he thought. None of it does a damn bit of good.

He'd set aside his books and his dreams to do his duty. At the time, he hadn't realized how much of himself he was sacrificing.

The first game passed in silence, and Englehorn won it. Ashfield fared better in card games, but he carried on with the Stern-Halma games with a determination that Englehorn admired. Sometimes, though, he wondered if Ashfield lost on purpose, but he couldn't figure out why.

As the second game began, Ashfield said, "I understand Laura came to visit you."

"She did. Do you object?"

Ashfield looked up from the board, surprised. "To what?"

"To the fact that your sister visited a strange man, alone in his quarters."

"With respect, skipper," Ashfield said, returning his attention to the board, "Laura doesn't need me to defend her honor. She's a grown woman and a divorced one, at that."

The game continued for a few moments before Englehorn said, "What do the Americans say? She's a pistol?"

Ashfield chuckled and made a move that Englehorn had anticipated for the past two turns. "She had her own way of doing things sometimes. I heard she and you got into a bit of a row."

"It wasn't so bad as that. Merely a meeting of two minds that have two different ways of approaching a problem. Where'd you hear about it?"

"Kendrie was in the galley telling it to anyone who would listen."

Englehorn made a noncommittal noise and jumped two of Ashfield's marbles.

Ashfield made his next move like he hadn't even noticed the captain's action. "There's something off about that man."

"Just between you and me, I don't trust Kendrie any more than I'd trust a fox in a hen house."

"If you don't mind me asking, why did you hire him?"

"Because he was the best I could get at the time. He may be the sorriest sack of flesh I've ever met, but he's a hell of a sailor."

It took only a few more moves before Englehorn saw that he would win this match too. He said, "How's your sister's judgment, Ashfield?"

"You mean, in general?"

"I mean, about Beaufort."

Ashfield shrugged. "She's never been fond of the man. I didn't know him personally until now, but he's never really been on good terms with the family."

"She neglected to mention that."

"It's not something she likes to talk about. I'm not sure of the details myself, but I don't think it has anything specific to do with her. It was between Beaufort and my father."

Given what Miss Ashfield had said about Beaufort, Englehorn guessed she knew more about Beaufort than she let on – that or she at least suspected more. It seemed odd that, as the oldest son, Ashfield didn't show much interest in his family's affairs.

But Englehorn could hardly criticize him for a fault they shared.

With three more moves, the game went to Englehorn, and Ashfield pushed away from the table, accepting his loss with his typical lop-sided grin and a shrug of his shoulders. As the Englishman stood, Englehorn said, "Do me a favor, John; keep your eye on Kendrie."

"Spying on your own first mate?" Ashfield replied, raising an eyebrow.

"When he was in the galley, did he happen to mention that he insulted your sister?"

"No, he left that part out. What'd she do?"

"She slapped him."

Ashfield gave a curt nod. "That's my sister. I told you she doesn't need me. Frankly, I think he intended it to be a challenge to me, rather than a slander on Laura or yourself."

"Nothing untoward happened in this cabin, John."

"I know. But some of the men might believe him. And that's more your problem than mine or Laura's."

Englehorn leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. "They like him, don't they? They respect him."

"You said yourself: he's a fine sailor. They can appreciate that. And when it comes down to it, he takes their side over yours."

"I should have thrown him off when he started in on Starke, back in August. I mishandled that." He glanced at Ashfield, but the Brit stared back at him without expression. "If I get rid of him, do you think you can handle the job?"

Ashfield inhaled slowly, making no hasty decisions. That encouraged Englehorn; he didn't trust a man who jumped too quickly at such an opportunity. Ashfield knew the responsibilities that came with such a promotion.

"Don't answer me now," the captain said. "Give it consideration. But I'm serious about it, you understand."

"Yes, sir." He hesitated, and then he said, "What about Beaufort?"

"I'll handle him. If your sister is right and Beaufort is planning on going to that verdammt Island, he can do it on some other ship."

As he watched the man leave, Englehorn found it odd that Miss Ashfield had not gone to him and told him what had happened in the cabin. But, then, Ashfield had made his point: she had made the decision on her own, and she could deal with the consequences on her own too.

Englehorn meant what he said about nothing untoward happening – he felt he was completely within his rights with what he said to her. He hadn't intended to frighten her or hurt her, and he'd done neither, as far as he could tell. All he wanted from her was a little credit in the running of his own ship, and perhaps a little respect as well. Because she would have to give him some if she expected any from him.

Just to note on the word "bitch" in this context: although contemporary uses suggest a spiteful, intrusive, or domineering woman, Kendrie uses the older implication of a "loose woman," which Laura would consider a far greater insult, even if it's not the worst one she's ever heard applied to her.