TANGLED, genya safin

chapter three.

Ivan dropped his hands. The giant sucked in air. The girl rose to her feet, still clutching her chest. They were both breathing hard, and their eyes burned with hate.

"That's a good fellow," Sturmhond said to Ivan. "Now, I'll take the prisoner back to her quarters, and you can run off and do.... whatever it is you do when everyone else is working." Ivan scowled, "I don't think—"

"Clearly. Why start now?" Ivan's face flushed in anger. "You don't—" Sturmhond leaned in close, the laughter gone from his voice, his easy demeanor replaced by something with a sword's edge. "I don't care who you are on land. On this ship, you're nothing but ballast. Unless I put you over the side, in which case you're shark bait. I like shark. Cooks up tough, but it makes for a little variety. Remember that the next time you have a mind to threaten anyone aboard this vessel." He stepped back, his jolly manner restored.

"Go on now, shark bait. Scurry back to your master." Sturmhond said, "I won't forget this, Sturmhond." Ivan spat. The captain rolled his eyes, "That's the idea." Ivan turned on his heels and stomped off.

Sturmhond holstered his weapon and smiled pleasantly. "Amazing how quickly a ship feels crowded, no?" He reached out and gave the giant and the girl each a pat on the shoulder. "You did well," he said quietly.

Their attention was still on Ivan. The girls fists were clenched. "I don't want trouble," the captain warned. "Understood?" They exchanged a glance, then nodded grudgingly.

"Good," said Sturmhond. "Get back to work. I'll take her belowdecks." They nodded again. Then, to my surprise, they each sketched a quick bow to me before they departed.

"Are they related?" I asked, watching them go. "Twins," he said. "Tolya and Tamar."

"And you're Sturmhond," I said. He laughed and replied, "On my good days," he wore leather breeches, a brace of pistols at his hips, and a bright teal frock coat with gaudy gold buttons and enormous cuffs. It belonged in a ballroom or on an opera stage, not on the deck of a ship.

"What's a pirate doing on a whaler?" I asked. "Privateer," he corrected. "I have several ships. The Darkling wanted a whaler, so I got him one."

"You mean you stole it," I said. "Acquired it." He corrected, "You were in my cabin." I said, "Many women dream of me," he said lightly as he steered me down the deck.

"I saw you when I woke up," I insisted. "I need—" he held up a hand. "Don't waste your breath, lovely."

"You don't even know what I was going to say." I said in exasperation, "You were about to plead your case, tell me you need my help, you can't pay me but your heart is true, the usual thing." I blinked. That was exactly what I'd been about to do.

"But—" I was cut off, "Waste of breath, waste of time, waste of a fine afternoon," he said. "I don't like to see my prisoners mistreated, but that's as far as my interest goes."

"You—" he shook his head, "And I'm notoriously immune to tales of woe. So unless your story involves a talking dog, I don't want to hear it. Does it?" He asked. "Does it what?"

"Involve a talking dog." I felt my patience slipping, "No," I snapped. "It involves the future of a kingdom and everyone in it."

"A pity," he said, and took me by the arm, leading me to the aft hatch. "I thought you worked for Ravka," I said angrily. "I work for the fattest purse."