This "Thumnia Silver Barracuda," which the man had described as incomparably rare, did at least look expensive at first glance.
It was two feet long, its slender body like a forged silver awl. Even at its widest point, it was no more than three fingers across, its smooth lines tapering from the head to the sharp caudal peduncle.
From afar, its scales looked like a dazzling layer of silver-white. Up close, if one examined them carefully, one could see iridescent phantom light flickering across their surface as the viewing angle changed. A slightly raised pale golden ridge line extended from the rear edge of the gill cover all the way to the end of the tail, like a strand of metal wire.
The most distinctive thing about the Silver Barracuda was its eyes.
Their large, round shape occupied nearly a third of the side of its head. The transparent cornea was like a crystal ball, setting off the dark, fissure-like vertical pupil behind it.
Those fish eyes should have helped it identify prey and distinguish direction in the seawater, but now they could only reflect two blurred figures as they gradually dried out.
The Thumnia Silver Barracuda lay quietly on the chopping board. With nothing more than a light tap behind the head with a finger knuckle, it lost all ability to resist.
The man held a sharp short blade that flashed with cold light and gently stabbed it into the spot directly above the fish's head, between its eyes. The Silver Barracuda lost its life in one final tremor.
His movements were even more practiced than the vendors at a Fish Stall. His left hand pressed down on the fish's head while his right held the knife flat against its body, pushing lightly against the scales from the tail