Excerpt from Monsoon by Wilbur Smith, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

She lifted one hand and fiddled with the ribbon that held her bodice closed. Obediently both pairs of eyes followed her hands and she pushed out her breasts so that they strained at the retaining ribbon. 'You said I would ha' sixpence for it,' she reminded Tom, who roused himself.

'That I did, Mary.' He nodded. 'Sixpence for both of us, Guy and me.'

She tossed her head and stuck out her pink tongue at him. 'You're a sly one, Master Tom. 'Twas sixpence each, a shilling for the two, 'twas.'

'Don't be daft, Mary.' He reached into the purse on his belt and brought out a silver coin. He flipped it in the air. It glinted in the soft light as it spun and he caught it on his palm, then held it out for her to inspect. 'A whole silver sixpence, all for yourself.'

Again she shook her head, and pulled loose the bow in the ribbon. 'Shilling,' she repeated, and the front of her bodice opened an inch. Both the boys stared at the sliver of white skin that was revealed: it contrasted startlingly with the sun-browned, freckled shoulders above.

'Shilling, or naught!' She shrugged with feigned indifference. At the movement, the swell of one fat round breast popped half out, leaving just the pointed tip still hidden but with the border of the ruby aureole that encircled her nipple peeping shyly from under the frayed edge of her blouse. Both boys were speechless.

'Mice got your tongue?' she asked saucily. 'Methinks there's naught for me here.' She turned back to the staircase, flouncing her round bottom beneath the skirts.

'Wait!' Tom called, in a strangled voice. 'Shilling it is, then, Mary, my pretty.'

'Show me first, Master Tom!' She looked back over her freckled shoulder as he scratched frantically in his purse.

'Here you are, Mary.' He held out the coin and she came to him slowly, swaying her hips in the way of the girls at the Plymouth docks. She took the coin from his fingers. 'Do you think I'm pretty, Master Torn?'

'You're the prettiest girl in all England,' Tom told her fervently, and meant every word. He reached out for the big round breast, which had now come clear of the bodice. She giggled and struck away his hand.

'What about Master Guy? I'nt he first?' She looked past Tom. 'You never done it afore, have you, Master Guy?'

Guy swallowed hard, but could not find his voice. He dropped his eyes and flushed darkly.

'It's his first time,' Tom affirmed. 'Take him first. I'll go after.'

Mary went to Guy and took his hand. 'Don't be afraid.' She smiled at him with those slanted eyes. 'I'll not hurt you, Master Guy,' she promised, and began to lead him to the far end of the crypt. Guy smelt her as she pressed against him. She had probably not bathed in a month and exuded a powerful odour of the kitchens where she worked, of bacon grease and woodsmoke, the horsy tang of her sweat, the odour of lobster boiling in the pot.

He felt his gorge rise. 'No!' he blurted out, and pulled away from her. 'I won't--I can't-' He was close to tears. 'You go first, Tom.'

'I got her for you,' Tom told him harshly. 'When you feel it, you'll go daft for it. See if you don't.'

'Please, Tom, don't make me.' Guy's voice shook, and he looked back desperately to the staircase. 'I just want to go home. Father will find out.'

'I've already given her our shilling.' Tom attempted to reason with him. 'You'll just waste it.'

Marv seized his hand again. 'Come along, now!' She tugged at his hand.

'There's a good lad. I've had you in my eye, honest I have. You're a fine pretty boykin, that you are!'

'Let Tom go first!' Guy repeated, frantic now.

'Very well, then!' She flounced towards Tom. 'Let Master Tom show you the way. By now he should be able to find it blindfolded-he's been there often enough.' She grabbed Tom's arm, and dragged him to the nearest coffin, which happened to be that of Sir Charles, the hero of Calais, and leaned back against it.

Reprinted from Monsoon by Wilbur Smith, a St Martin's Press publication, by permission of St Martin's Press. © 1999 by Wilbur Smith