Chapter 6: Ligeia at the Fish Stalls

I took the pearl out of Zoe's hair before she woke.

It came free with a soft tug, and a thread of her curl came with it.

I wrapped it in a cloth, put it in my pocket, and went down to the quay.

Ligeia was easy to find.

She stood at the herring stall in her white dress, buying a paper cone of fried sprats.

She was chatting with the seller as warmly as an old friend.

Everyone near her was smiling.

She had been up since dawn, and in one morning she had made half the market forget what she did.

"Ligeia."

She turned.

"Melina! Is Zoe well? I've thought of nothing else."

"Show me your necklace."

The smile stayed in place.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The pearls at your throat. Show everyone."

The herring seller stopped wrapping.

Three women at the next stall turned around.

"It's an odd request," said Ligeia gently.

"I'll make it simpler."

I unwrapped the cloth on my palm.

The pearl lay in the sun, small and round and milk white.

"This was braided into my daughter's hair while she slept last night, above her ear."

"How strange," said Ligeia.

"I did not put it there. Stavros did not put it there. The loft door was locked."

"It matches yours."

"Many pearls look alike."

"Then count yours."

She did not move.

A fishwife near the front, the one who had given me the warm bread, stepped forward with her arms folded.

"I saw them myself yesterday when she bowed to the girl," she said. "There were eight on that string."

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