The Snake Stone

11

Holding the lamp in one hand, Goulandris surveyed the shelves that lined his little cubbyhole in the Grand Bazaar. Now and then he reached out to knock the books into line and close the gaps. Satisfied, he returned to his stool, set the lamp on the desk, and blew out the flame.

A shadow fell across the desk. Goulandris glanced up, without enthusiasm.

“The shop is closed,” he said. He moved his head to see better, but the figure in the doorway stood against the light. “Come back tomorrow.”

He turned his head again, hoping to identify the man at the door. If he came tomorrow, it would show that he was eager: Goulandris wanted to be able to recognize him again.

“There was a book,” the man said slowly.

The bookseller sighed. He opened the drawer and dropped the little account book into it. He closed the drawer with both hands.

“There are many books,” he said querulously. “Tomorrow.”

The shadows deepened: it was Goulandris’s impression that the man had taken a step closer, into the room. For him, with one eye, it was always hard to tell.

But yes, the voice seemed closer now.

“Not many books. Just one. A Latin book, no? I am sure you can remember.”

Goulandris swallowed. He leaned away from the desk, allowing his hand to move toward a little bell that stood on a low shelf behind his stool.

“Not now,” he said. “I am going home.”

The man was near the desk. “Please, Monsieur Goulandris, don’t touch that bell.”

Goulandris checked himself. He began to rise from his stool, leaning both hands on the desk.

But the stranger, it seemed, didn’t want Goulandris to stand up ever again.