Penguin Books Australia

Prologue

NORTH MELBOURNE
1940

Bones of the Soothsayer

Mirabel blew into her gloved hands. A flash of movement caught her eye and she paused, turning her head towards the rusted rubbish bins across the street. There! A white cat fixed her with arched green eyes, and a filament of disquiet stirred deep within.

Mama, small and neat in hat, coat and gloves, saw it too and stamped her foot. 'Get away, you horrible thing!' she said, and the cat leapt through the iron railings in front of one of the bluestone houses that lined the street. Once safe, it stretched its back and looked at them.

Mama pulled at Mirabel's arm. 'Now remember, be respectful,' she said in a low voice. 'Listen to the soothsayer's words well, for these Daoist wizards know much that is hid­den from the minds of ordinary men.'

'Yes, Mama,' Mirabel replied, turning around to look for the cat. But it had gone.

Mama hesitated outside Number Eight, then knocked on the door.

Except for a small bagua mirror over the entrance to ward off evil spirits, the cottage looked too ordinary to be the house of a wizard, Mirabel thought. Yet, as the door opened, her heart beat a little faster in anticipation.

The soothsayer stooped slightly. His hair was pure black, comb marks clean as furrows in a field of rich earth. He 'had a high brow and bright eyes that held a gentle intensity. He greeted them with a nod.

As they entered the house, Mirabel smelled incense. Shafts of light from the window behind her fell onto an altar lit by two squat candles. Flames like yellow tongues licked the scented air.

'Qing zuo, please, take a seat,' the soothsayer said in Mandarin. He gestured at a green sofa by the wall, then entered a kitchen hidden behind a heavy blue-and-white cot­ton curtain.

Mirabel heard the trickle of tea being poured and the sweet fragrance mingled with the smell of incense.

The soothsayer returned and handed a small cup to Mama.

While the adults spoke in quiet voices, Mirabel looked around. The room was heated by a fire and contained a wooden table, two hard-backed chairs, and a single bed with a dark-brown mian bei or doona folded on one end. On the wall hung a long scroll with a brush painting of an ugly old man leaning on an iron crutch. He had a dirty face and scrag­gly beard. It was Li Tie Guai, one of the Eight Immortals Mirabel's mother had often told her about. This particu­lar immortal helped the poor, sick and needy with herbal medicine from his magic gourd. Beside the scroll was a shelf with all kinds of Chinese painting equipment - a bamboo canister of brushes, carved inkstones, and rolls of white paper. On the very top shelf, as if standing guard over the room, sat a Chinese griffin: half lion, half dog, with a horn like a unicorn and fire all over its body. It was carved from white jade.

Mirabel was about to reach up and touch the griffin when she realised the adults had gone silent and were look­ing at her.

'Guo lai, come over here,' the soothsayer commanded. He handed Mirabel two lit incense sticks and showed her how to bow in front of the altar. Then he walked towards the bed, beckoning for her to follow.

Mirabel watched as he dragged out a battered tin trunk. He unhooked the latch and lifted the lid.

She gasped and fell a step backwards. What she saw was so repulsive she put her hand over her mouth and nose. The chest was full of dried-up old bones and tortoise shells.

The soothsayer's dark eyes glinted amusement, but his face remained serious. 'These are oracle bones,' he said, lifting one out. It was flat, shaped like a large leaf with the texture of chalk. 'This is the shoulder blade of an ox. Come child, choose the one that speaks to you.'

'The one that speaks to me?' Mirabel frowned. She glanced at her mother but received a stern nod as if to say, 'Go ahead, do as he says.'

'Na yi ge. Take one,' the soothsayer said forcefully.

Behind her the fire hissed and crackled.

Then all at once, the reflection of yellow flames seemed to dance across the floor, and a vision of strangeness arose before her. As the light touched the tin trunk, the bones and tortoise shells seemed to come alive. One was in the shape of a swan, another was a prince with a cape and a sword. And there was a shell that looked like a stallion with a griffin riding on its back.

As Mirabel watched the scene unfold before her, she stud­ied each bone, seeing - no, it was more like feeling with her eyes - their shape and texture. She no longer felt the hard con­crete floor under her knees.

Then she noticed a small bone in the corner of the trunk. It reminded Mirabel of the white cat she had seen in the alley­way outside: the same shy exterior, and yet also strength and a hidden courage. She could hear it speaking to her just as the soothsayer had said - not in words, but like gold threads that reached out and spun themselves around her thoughts.

Mirabel gently pushed the other bones aside and lifted the cat bone out.

'Hao, hao, hao,' the soothsayer said. The spell was broken.

The room returned, and Mirabel suddenly felt the grating pain in her knees. She struggled to her feet.

This time the soothsayer's eyes sparkled. He hooked a pair of rimless glasses over his ears and, taking the bone from Mirabel, told her to sit down at the table and wait.

She watched as he began to carve two round holes into the surface of the bone. Every now and again, he held it up to the window and blew away the fine white powder. Then he continued with his carving, scraping, digging and chiselling.

Finally, he seemed satisfied. He laid the bone on the table and crossed to the fireplace. With a rag he drew out a thin metal rod, red hot from the fire, and, lifting the cat bone, care­fully inserted the rod into each of the holes.

Mirabel heard a faint snapping sound and when she looked closely, she saw a maze of tiny fractures had appeared, radiating from each hole.

The soothsayer held the oracle bone with both hands and went strangely still. The fire hissed, the light from the coals glowed then faded. He turned the bone, studying the fine lines. Then more stillness. Another angle.

Mirabel rose and sat beside Mama on the couch, not daring to speak. At times a shadow of a frown crossed the sooth­sayer's face. At other times the corners of his lips twitched or he raised his eyebrows, wrinkling his brow.

The fire burned low as shades of dusk crept into the room.

At last the soothsayer picked up a metal probe and began carving onto the surface of the oracle bone with tiny scratch­ing sounds.

The waiting was too much for Mama, who stood up, then sat down again, clasping her hands on her lap.

At last he held the oracle bone out to Mirabel. 'Hao le, it is done.'

Mama, unable to contain herself, took the bone from him. She stepped to the window to read the inscription aloud.

'Dressing the dead
Treasure not wed
Lost on the sea
To fortune you'll flee.'

Mama looked up, puzzled.

The soothsayer took the bone and pressed it into Mirabel's hands. 'Wherever you go, no matter how far from home, be sure to take it with you,' he said with soft urgency.

'Yes, sir. Will . . . everything be all right?'

The soothsayer made no reply but ushered them to the door.

Out in the gloom of the alleyway where the hooded streetlamps flickered, Mirabel walked in silence across the cobblestones. But her mother's words echoed inside her head: Changing your name will change your whole destiny.