Natasha glowered. "Really. Did you think I'd let you steal my ship? Again? And just get away scot-free?" She smiled and folded her arms. "I swore to make you pay for that little jape. And now I have. The Dawnhawk is mine again."
Dismay echoed around the cage. Fengel turned to face her, to demand answers. But the smugness on her lips was too much. He shut his mouth, teeth clicking audibly.
"You bitch," grunted Sarah Lome. She frowned. "Wait. But if that's so, why'd you get captured by yourself? Where's your lackey? That snake, Mordecai."
Natasha frowned. She looked away from the big gunnery mistress. "He's...occupied. Busy. We got separated." She set her shoulders and met their gazes. "My crew will come for me."
Footsteps and hissing growls interrupted them. Draykin were approaching the cage, a group of twelve. Half were guards, the others wore ornaments like the chieftain, his acolytes or under-priests. One carried cloth bundles in hand, and another a bowl filled with something that stank. Fengel caught his crew glancing at him, wondering if this was the time. He shook his head in negation. Their captors were watching carefully, and still had spears.
The Draykin opened the cage and fanned out, herding the group into one corner with short jabs from their weapons. The one with the cloth bundles threw it down at their feet. "Raktass," it said with a gesture. "Raktass." It pointed at them, and then at the bundle.
Fengel frowned and picked up the bundle. It fell apart, a stack of folded loincloths, similar to what the Draykin themselves wore. He snorted. "I think not."
Their captors didn't speak Perinese, but it seemed his message was clear enough. Two guards jabbed him with their spears. Fengel cursed and jumped back. They pointed at the loincloths again.
"Sir," said Henry. "I think they want—"
"I know what they want," growled Fengel. "I'm still not going to do it. A gentleman should dress like—" One of the Draykin poked him with a spear again. "Ouch! Damnation! Fine!" He tore off his jacket and shirt, waving them back at the guard with the spear to ward him off.
Face burning, he removed his clothing until he was stark naked. After a bit of trouble, and some humiliating suggestions from the crew, he managed to put on the loincloth. However, in defiance of his captors, he replaced his hat, and wedged his monocle firmly over his eye.
Natasha snickered. "You look like an utter fool." One of the guards jabbed her with a spear. "Stop that!" she ordered. They jabbed her again and pointed at the pile of loincloths. "Not a chance in the Realms Below," she told them.
One guard looked at another. It shrugged. It whistled, and four of them moved together, herding Natasha into a corner. They restrained her and began tearing off her blouse. She yelped, snarled, and swung at them. Fengel glanced at his crew. Now might be a good time to move...but, no. They were all watching Natasha's treatment with savage glee, not looking remotely concerned. Ah well. He went back to enjoying the show himself.
In moments Natasha was released, now clad in only a thin loincloth. She glared daggers at the Draykin, who moved back to threaten the other pirates. She snagged another loincloth from the pile and used it to bind her breasts. "Go on," she snarled at Fengel. "Enjoy the show. It's all you're going to get outside of some Haventown doxy." She smiled. "Actually, you probably don't even need it; I bet that stick up yer arse gives you all the pleasure you want."
Fengel fought to keep his mouth flat. He turned away to face the Draykin with the bowl, who now approached him warily. There was some red ichor in it, and a brush.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha turn her head slightly at him, as if seeing something for the first time. She stared. "Oh my Goddess," she snarled at him. "You're trying to ignore me. You have been since these stupid reptiles brought me here. You are such a childish idiot!"
Fengel ignored her. The Draykin with the bowl pulled out a brush and hissed something at him. It was clear he was supposed to stand still. Fengel took a step back.
"You never got over your little impressment adventure," continued Natasha. "You spend so much time trying to be something you're not. That hat. The monocle. You're no different from a kid playing dress-up with his father's clothes."
Fengel had had enough. He whirled, the Draykin acolytes falling back with a cry of alarm. "Well, at least I'm not so afraid of being my father that I turned myself into a brazen hussy and raging alcoholic!"
Natasha stared at him, mouth agape. "How dare you!" she hissed. "I am my own—"
"Oh, save it," said Fengel. "You've been running out from Euron's shadow ever since you could put one foot in front of the other. Everything you've ever done has been an attempt to be someone different." He took a step toward her. "But you know what? With every step you take, you turn out to be a little more like him." Fengel grinned nastily.