Trade
is swift, white envelopes pile up. Some customers can be served,
others get turned away or directed by the sandman them to another
seller.
“Are
you not afraid of losing customers?” Fiona asks him.
“Nah,”
he replies, “We'll have sold out before demand runs dry.”
By
the time they've sold half their stock, trade has slowed to a steady
trickle. Fiona has a little bit of time to take in her surroundings.
All along the harbour are stalls and barrows selling dreamers to an
eager crowd. More dreamers are being landed all the time, a crowd
forming around each new catch. Beyond the harbour a rainbow sea ebbs
and flows, tiny ships bobbing on the horizon.
“Excuse
me,” an undertaker interrupts her reverie, “I'll take anything so
long as its not too costly.”
