Apologies for the delay. I had a busy week. I hope it's worth the wait. The next chapter is already at leasthalfway done (it practically wrote itself), so it should be on time.

Chapter Eight
October 2, 1934

Ashfield reclined on a crate on the bow, his back supported by a box he'd brought with him for just that purpose. With his feet propped up on the railing and his cap pulled low over his eyes, he looked like he was drowsing in the warm late morning air.

What he was actually doing was keeping an eye on Henry Beaufort and Horace Kendrie as they stood talking on the deck not far from the entrance to the hold.

He could just see them out of the corner of his eye, but because of the noise of the wind and the water, he couldn't hear them. Moving closer to them was an action he didn't want to risk taking, though by now, everyone on board knew of his frequent on-deck naps. Thus far, the two men had done nothing more interesting than smoke cigarettes, but this only made Ashfield more suspicious of the topic of their conversation.

A shadow fell over him, and a man cleared his throat to announce his presence. Ashfield recognized Robert by the smell of his cologne, something musky and woody and likely more expensive than Robert could realistically afford. He always had been a man who excelled at spending other people's money.

"Bobby," he said without looking up, "is there something I can do for you?"

"I thought it might be nice if we had a little chat."

Ashfield pushed up the edge of his cap with one finger, casting a doubtful look at the younger man. "A little what?"

"A talk," Robert said, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking sheepish. "Man to man, brother to brother. When was the last time we ever sat down and talked?"

"May 2nd, 1912," Ashfield answered promptly. "You were three, and it was the night before Laura and I left for England. You made me read 'Rikki-Tikki-Tavi' to you one last time. It was your favorite."

"Oh," said Robert, looking off at the horizon. "I don't remember."

No surprise there, Ashfield thought, glancing past Robert to check on Kendrie and Beaufort, who hadn't moved from the rail.

He remembered that day well – the last day of his childhood. The following afternoon, he and Laura had boarded the Mary Agnes, their transport to England and adulthood. Of the three children – Alice not arriving until two years later – John had been the only one with dry eyes. Robert had cried the tears of a toddler unable to understand why his playmates were leaving him; Laura had cried the tears of an angry child unwilling to accept her fate. She'd fallen asleep in their cabin with her eyes gummy and wet, and she'd awakened without a sound. For the entire twenty-four days of their journey, she'd maintained her silence, breaking it only when they saw the cliffs of Dover.

She'd said, "I hate them."

At the time, he'd thought she meant the cliffs.

"How was Berlin?" he asked suddenly, catching Robert off guard.

"What?"

"Berlin. Isn't that where Laura said you were when Denham contacted you?"

"Oh," Robert said, and he turned an uncomfortable shade of red. He glanced over his shoulder at Beaufort and Kendrie, and Ashfield saw at once his purpose. They had sent him up as a distraction; it was the only explanation for his sudden and awkward interest in a conversation with a brother he hadn't seen in fifteen years.

No sense in ruining the game too quickly. He could play along until he figured out exactly what they had planned.

"From what I hear, it's become a rather dangerous place," he said to Robert, "depending on who or what you are."

"What are you implying?" Robert asked, sounding more worried than angry. He kept fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. At any other time, the effect might have been comical.

Ashfield shrugged. "You wanted to talk; I thought we were talking. I just wondered why you'd be in Berlin, given what all the newspapers have been saying about it."

Sweat broke out along Robert's forehead and while the air was warm and humid, Ashfield doubted it was the cause. "You know how newspapers can be," Robert said with less conviction than he had intended. "It's just sensational clap-trap meant to sell the rags. Things will change with the next election."

If Hitler allows another election, Ashfield thought.

Over Robert's shoulder, he saw a sailor come up out of the hold and say something to the two men on deck. Kendrie brushed past him and went down into the hold, followed quickly by Beaufort.

"What's he got planned, Bobby?" Ashfield asked, jerking his chin at the place where Kendrie and Beaufort had been standing.

Robert turned his head to look behind him and said, "Huh?"

"Can't stay out of trouble, can you?" Ashfield said, going around Robert to the steps. The other man reached out and grabbed his shirtsleeve to stop him.

"It'd be better if you stayed here with me," he said.

Ashfield jerked out of his grasp and curled up his fist, holding back only when he realized he was about to hit his baby brother. Maybe Robert could lower himself to backstab his siblings, but Ashfield had no desire to stoop to that level.

He jogged down the steps, and the sailor on the other side of the deck looked up at him before lowering his head and going down into the hold. Ashfield considered going after him before deciding that wasn't a good idea. He cursed himself for waiting to do anything; he should have gone straight to Englehorn.

No matter. Once he alerted the captain, Beaufort and Kendrie would be put back in their places.

At the stairs to the wheelhouse, he passed a tow-headed American sailor and Danny, the cabin boy. They stopped their conversation to glance at him curiously as he looked up at the helm. Leonard stood alone at the wheel.

"Something wrong, Mr. Ashfield?" Danny asked.

"Where's the Captain?"

Danny blinked, as though taking the question with great seriousness. "Down in the galley, I think."

Ashfield muttered his thanks before continuing along the deck. He made it four steps before something hard smashed into the back of his head. Reeling forward, he dropped to his knees and reached out to grip the rail for support. His vision blurred, and a strong, hairy arm circled his neck, tightening until he gasped for breath. He tried to lift his arms to fight back, but his head felt so foggy that he couldn't tell if they moved or not.

His last thought before he blacked out was of Saroja and the way she'd held him in the dark the night before he left.

In the galley, Laura and Bridget played cribbage with a board and cards borrowed from Vijay, the Indian cook. They were in a tiebreaker, and Laura could see that she had little hope of winning. Bridget already had ten points over her, and at present, she was counting out a twelve-point crib. The girl continually had good hands; it was a lucky streak Laura couldn't rival.

"And that makes twelve," Bridget said as she moved her peg. Grinning, she gathered up the cards and handed them to Laura.

"I don't know why I'm bothering," Laura said as she shuffled the deck. "Not much I can do against a lead like that."

"Oh, don't say that, Miss Ashfield," said Bridget, but she continued to grin. "Maybe your luck will change."

With an affected sigh, Laura dealt out the cards. In the storeroom off the kitchen, Englehorn and Vijay went over the inventory to determine what provisions to take on when the Venture docked in Hong Kong in two days. This included meat for the three tigers; only two goats remained in the hold, and that would last the carnivores another week at best.

"Those two barrels will have to be replaced," Englehorn said as the two men came back into the galley. "Why didn't you see that when they were brought on?"

"They wasn't like that on the dock," Vijay replied. He was a short, thin man, and his baggy shirt and dungarees hung on him like empty sacks. He wore no shoes, his feet tough as leather, and he made no sounds when he moved about on the wooden floor. "I even checked them twice."

Englehorn made a notation on his clipboard. "I believe you, Vijay. But next time, have someone else check them too. Last thing we need is to run out of water in the middle of the Pacific."

Vijay mulled this over before deciding it wasn't a personal attack on him or his work performance. He said, "Aye, skipper."

"As for the rest of it, we'll follow standard procedure and replace the stores we've used up. With luck, we'll be able to get all we need without spending too much money."

"You send me to do the haggling," Vijay said. "Kendrie don't know how to deal with them Chinamen. They cheat him, and then they giggle when his back's turned."

Bridget, who had just picked up three more points from the play, turned around in her chair and asked, "Will we passengers be able to disembark in Hong Kong, Captain? I've always wanted to see the Orient."

Englehorn looked at the women like he was noticing them for the first time. "We won't be in port long enough for you to do any sight-seeing," he said. "You won't be missing much."

"I've always heard that Hong Kong is a lovely city," replied Bridget, and she looked to Laura for conformation.

"Having never been there myself," said Laura, "I'm afraid I can't comment. Considering the nature of the dock a ship like the Venture is likely to draw, it would probably be best if we stayed onboard."

"That is no doubt true in Miss Elmund's case," Englehorn said.

Laura chose to ignore him; unsure as she was about his implication, she doubted he meant it in a complimentary way. She felt his eyes on her and Bridget as they counted out their hands, Bridget gaining further advantage with six points to Laura's four.

"It seems to me, Miss Ashfield," said Englehorn as he made another mark on the clipboard, "that card games aren't a suitable pastime for well-bred ladies such as yourself and Miss Elmund."

"And it seems to me, Captain Englehorn," replied Laura, "that there are relatively few activities aboard this ship that are suitable for well-bred ladies such as ourselves."

He lowered the clipboard, and Laura thought he actually looked amused. The tension had left his face, and his mouth pulled up a bit at the edges. He said, "I thought you weren't expecting a cruise."

"I wasn't. I merely suggest that we must adapt as best we can."

"Does that include teaching your young companion questionable card games?"

Laura wrinkled her brow and reached for her crib. "It's only cribbage, Captain; hardly a game of ill repute. Considering how well she's winning, she needs no instruction from me."

Bridget actually blushed.

"Besides," Laura continued, "I can't offer her any guidance in the more lady-like activities, considering how poorly I took to them myself. Perhaps the only thing I can truly teach her is how to start thinking for herself."

"A dangerous skill for any woman to have," he replied.

Laura glanced up at him, but the expression on his face had become unreadable. She couldn't tell if he was patronizing her or not.

"It is an essential skill for a woman without a husband," she said. "She must learn to think if she's to survive."

"But you had a husband, Laura," said Bridget gently.

"I did, indeed, for nine years. And what did I ever get from him? Headaches, mostly. Flowers and jewelry, neither of which I've ever had much use." She shrugged and rubbed her temple, as though just thinking of Will made her head hurt. "I married a man who believes in love, which is always a mistake for a woman who doesn't."

"How can you not believe in love?" asked Bridget, sure that Laura was teasing her.

"Love is something you read about in books or see on a movie screen," replied Laura, and her tone suggested she had considered this a fundamental truth for quite some time. "It's something people use to get what they want out of other people."

Bridget shook her head. "I don't believe that. Love is real; it's special. It brings us together, and that's the way it's supposed to be. A man needs a woman, and a woman needs a man."

Laura smiled indulgently. "Bridget, a woman needs a man for only one thing, and fortunately, that need not be an extended experience."

Englehorn let out a harsh laugh that had no humor in it at all, and Vijay turned and giggled his way back into the kitchen. With a blank expression, Laura began gathering the cards, taking Bridget's from her loose fingers. The girl looked from Laura to the men and back, confusion apparent on her face.

"I don't understand," she said.

"Forget I said anything," replied Laura. "I shouldn't have said anything." She stacked the cards and shuffled them, ramming them together with ferocity. "I'm a silly, stupid woman who doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut."

A thoughtful expression crossed Englehorn's face, and he began to respond when Danny stumbled into the room, bumping against the table. Bridget shrieked in surprise.

"Captain," the cabin boy said, pulling in breath with great gasps, "it's Mr. Ashfield. He's passed out up on the deck." His eyes were wide and white, and he licked his cracked lips. "I think he was attacked."

Englehorn growled angry German curses under his breath and dropped the clipboard on the table. Grabbing Danny by the shoulder, he shoved him through the doorway and up the steps to the deck.

Laura stood, placing a hand on Bridget's shoulder. "Stay here," she said and moved toward the door. "Vijay?"

"I'll look after her, ma'am," Vijay replied.

Bridget grabbed Laura's hand, holding her back, and she spoke in a plaintive voice. "Don't go. It's a trap."

Pulling her hand out of the girl's grasp, Laura stared at her. "A trap? Why? For whom?"

"Uncle Henry told me so I wouldn't be scared when it started. He made me promise not to say anything about it. He and Mr. Denham and Mr. Kendrie are taking over the ship."

"A mutiny!" Vijay cried, and he dropped the pan he'd been holding.

"Son of a bitch," Laura said. She ran up the steps, her boots thunderous on the wood. Bridget called after her, but she didn't understand a word.

On deck, she heard the sounds of the fight before she saw it. Men shouted at each other, too many voices converging for her to distinguish the individual words. Several men stood at the rail, staring at the bow of the ship and talking in low voices. Laura pushed past them, making her way along the deck.

Ten men stood near the entrance to the hold, all of them shouting, some of them holding up their fists. Englehorn stood in the middle of the group, and nobody seemed to be listening to him. Kendrie came up out of the hold, and the sun glinted off something metal in his hand. Englehorn faced away from him, and as the First Mate raised his arm, Laura realized he was going to backstab the German.

One of the other men – she recognized him as Starke – saw it too, and he must have warned Englehorn, because the captain turned abruptly and took a slicing strike to the shoulder rather than a straight blow to the back.

With first blood drawn, the crowd frenzied, and the men stopped yelling and started fighting. Behind them, Laura saw John leaning against the railing, one hand inspecting the back of his head. Then he seemed to notice what was happening in front of him, and he pulled himself to his feet and staggered into the fray.

Laura didn't think about what she was doing: one moment, she stood by the wheelhouse and the next, she ran down to the lower deck, her breath caught in her throat. It was stupid and rash, but she found that she didn't care. Her only thought was of John and getting to him before he was seriously injured, before Kendrie turned that knife on him.

She was less than four meters from the men when an arm seized her from behind, wrapping around her waist. She fought it, trying to push her attacker away, but the arm tightened around her, pulling her close against a muscled chest and stomach. Her captor grabbed her left arm and jerked it behind her back with such force that bolts of pain shot through her shoulder and chest. Whiskey and smoke filled her nostrils, and a rag closed over her nose and mouth, and the heavy smell of chloroform overpowered everything else.

Someone far away called her name, and then she knew nothing but darkness.