"Rare indeed," the merchant agrees, reaching for a case near her feet. "My own hands are not steady enough for the work anymore, but I passed the knowing on to my children before it left me." Her tone is ever so slightly wistful.

The beads she brings out are glass in a rainbow of shades with geometric patterns, patterns of lotuses, animals, patterns that echo the knot tatttoo on his arm. Some of the glass even has fine threads of silver running through it.