Our street urchin is actually of good family. Her father was an unlucky speculator and lost his last crown when two of the three cargo ships he financed foundered, with all souls lost.

Destitute and despondent, he took his life when Salome was eleven, leaving her and her mother steeped in debt. For a while things weren't too bad. Relatives and friends were only too happy to help the young girl and her widowed mother.

But, all charity eventually comes to an end, and it didn't help that the Widow Atrahasis seemed to feel that it was only proper for others to take over her husband's role of support. Soon the Widow and Salome were reduced to living in the poorest part of town, near the wharf, their ramshackle room barely habitable and the rent coming up.

It was the young Salome who had devised their way of life. She had kept a close eye on the activities of the wharf, and knew all the youngsters who made their living off what they could steal.

If nothing else, Mam, as Salome called her mother, could charm the fleas off a dog. She was a canny shopper, and with coin in her purse, could always be counted on to get best value for her money. That particular talent served them well when Salome coaxed her into selling the odd assortment of belongings she came home with every night. It provided a meager living for them, and the urchins on the wharf saw their incomes rise as well.

Salome remembers having a good home, she can read and write, even cypher well. She is petite, finely boned, with rich dark hair and eyes of deepest blue. Now past seventeen and nearly an old maid, she dreams of having a home again. One where she and Mam always have enough coal for the grate, water to wash with, and food on the table.