He reached into his pocket, and brought out a rag of green flannel, which he unwrapped now in his hand.
They had been polished to a milky hue, some streaked with gold and red, others run through with warm browns and yellows. Two had been rubbed down to pure mother-of-pearl, rubbed until their muted silver surfaces were clouded with pastel lusters. There in the nest of green, they swirled around themselves, shimmering.
"They're nothing but sea shells," Rara said.
Alter reached her forefinger out and touched a white periwinkle. "They're lovely," she told him. "Where did you get them?" They ranged in size from the first joint of her thumb to the width of her pinky nail.
"By your departed mother, my own sister, we can't afford to give him a centiunit, Alter. I hardly sold a thing before that brute officer forced me away."
"I found them on the beach," the boy explained. "I was hiding on the boat and I didn't have nothing to do. So I polished them."
"What were you hiding for?" asked Rara, her voice suddenly sharp. "You don't mean you stowed away?"
"Un-huh," the boy nodded.
"How much do you want for them?" Alter asked.
"How much? How much would it cost to get a meal and a place to stay?"