Mistress of the Storm by M. L. Welsh Page A

to wonder how much she ate in order to maintain that kind of weight; so large all you could do was stare in amazement. Not for too long though. Because a walking stick in the face is likely to hurt.
    Extending a pudgy hand, she grabbed one of Abednego’s immense arms, her pale, doughy fingers gripping the carved ebony of his muscle in a surprisingly vice-like hold. The noise level dimmed noticeably as, all around Mother Usage and Abednego, the crowd fell silent.
    Abednego’s reputation had preceded him for so long that there were few places in the world it hadn’t reached, and Wellow certainly wasn’t one of them. There were those who said that his air of serenity was the jaded response to a lifetime’s violence. There were those who said he had seen things that would leave lesser men witless. There were those who said that he and his crew were the very devil and his demons. But there were none who said that he should be treated lightly.
    Abednego stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to look down at whatever was impeding his progress.
    ‘Excuse me, sir,’ Mother Usage simpered in what she believed was a winning way.
    Abednego continued to stare, his handsome face impassive and still.
    ‘I did but notice you across the way,’ she continued, ‘and I said to my son, “Why, we must introduce ourselves” – didn’t I, Villainous?’
    Villainous nodded mutely, his face uplifted towards the legendary smuggler.
    ‘I am the widow Mother Usage of the Usage family,’ she continued, undaunted. ‘The Usages – of the Gentry, sir,’ she prompted in response to Abednego’s silence.
    As he stood there on the quay – like Gulliver being held by one very overweight Lilliputian – the solidity of Abednego’s presence was at odds with his inability to drag his mind back to the here and now.
    Finally he spoke – he must continue as usual, he reminded himself. ‘I am not here on business.’
    For many it would have been enough that Abednego could see her true purpose as if it were written on her face, but Mother was not to be put off that easily. Continuing in her best voice, she playfully pushed her other hand against Abednego’s chest. He looked down at the place she had touched.
    ‘Come now,’ she persisted, determined to keep the conversation going at least. ‘I was just saying hello.’
    A hush of breaths being held. Abednego’s expression still didn’t change. ‘There is nothing to be gained from a conversation with me.’
    Mother’s temper started to fray. ‘I can always try other options,’ she said, with an edge.
    ‘You will find that unfruitful,’ Abednego replied. The conversation was at an end. Loosening Mother’s grip on his arm, he continued on his way, and this time there was no stopping him.
    Around them rose up a hubbub of the ‘did-you-see?’ variety. Staring angrily after the disappearing Abednego, Mother Usage cursed and spat while Villainous moved anxiously from one foot to the other. ‘He’ll be sorry for that,’ she said venomously.
    Boarding the ferry after Poppy, Verity gazed with interest at the crowd gathered around the captain of the
Storm
and a woman so large she must have weighed even more than him.
    ‘Come on, come on.’ Verity steadied herself as she was nudged to one side by a portly man in very unflattering yellow trousers. ‘We’ll have just as good a view from here. Far cheaper, and you get a wonderful flavour of the local experience,’ he said importantly, ushering others onto the boat. Brandishing a pamphlet, he loudly instructed his party on where to sit. ‘Not there, Torquil. I find there’s a better view from the starboard side.’
    Shuffling politely around the central locker, the passengers arranged themselves on the benches in two tightly packed rows.
    The ferryman stood on the gunwale with careless ease ashe cast off. It was a beautiful autumn morning. Verity took a deep breath and turned her face into the wind as the boat gathered speed. She gazed