“Don’t ask me what she was like,” she said, bending to put the mortar back on its shelf. “The last time I saw her was years ago.”
What to ask, then? My palms were slick against the rough wood. “Do you have any stories about her?”
“Her stories are not mine to tell.”
I tugged at the pearl pendant on my necklace. “Then . . . do you happen to have anything belonging to her? A trinket or an heirloom? Something to remember her by? Of course I would pay you its face value—”
“I do, in fact,” she said, and I regretted mentioning money as she gestured to the large glass vessel on the counter.
“I’m sorry,” I said dubiously. “She kept a dead snake in a jar?”
“You mean Swag?” She tapped her thick fingernail hard on the glass. “He’s not dead!”
I didn’t know if she was eccentric or making a cruel joke. Or addled from the opium she used to sell. I changed the topic. “Is there anyone else who knew her? Friends or family?”
“No. Other than me, she was all alone. Your father promised he’d take her away from all of it,” she said with a hoarse chuckle. “And he did, after all. Not as he expected to, but for any problem there are many treatments and few cures. Why don’t you ask him what she was like?”
I didn’t bother answering that, and I don’t think she expected me to try.
“I wish I could say you resemble her,” she continued. “But even if I could see your face, I cannot quite remember hers. Tell me again your name.”
I sighed. “My name is Nix. It’s the name of a water sprite from legend.”
“Nix? N-I-X? But another meaning is nothing.”
“So I’ve heard. Many times.”
“But did you know, if you spell it backward, X-I-N, it is ‘happy’ in Chinese?”
I paused. “No, I didn’t know.”
“Quite an interesting name. Both lucky and unlucky all at once. Five must be your number.”
“Five?”
“Wu. Meaning is ‘me’ and also ‘not.’ Me and not me. Nix and Xin. Happiness and nothingness. Would you like me to draw your charts?” She gestured vaguely to a numerology table decorated with phoenixes cavorting up the sides. “I can tell your future for half a dollar,” she offered, her blind eyes staring into the space above my head. “Who you will marry. How you will die.”
“I’d rather not know.”
“Your mother didn’t want to know either,” she said, shaking her head. “Her number was four.”
“Four?” I said, my voice eager. “What does that mean?”
She held out her hand and waited patiently; it took me half a minute to decide to place a half dollar on her wrinkled palm. She rubbed the coin between her thumb and forefinger before tucking it into her thick cotton belt. Her hands found a stack of thin rice paper on one of the shelves; she peeled up one sheet and laid it on the counter. Then she picked up a bamboo brush and a pot of watery ink with a flourish.
“I will write it down for you, so you will not forget.” I rolled my eyes, but at least I was getting a show for my money. “This is five. Your number.” She stroked the brush across the page, slow and deliberate. Her eyes were half closed; she must have been working by feel. “Wu. And this is for your mother. Four—si,” she whispered as she drew the Chinese character, leaning in closer. “Death.”
“Death?” I waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. I gritted my teeth, then, feeling tricked. “That’s nothing I didn’t already know.”
“Ah?” She lay down the brush and threw sand on the ink. “Well, it is not difficult to tell the future of a woman who only has a past. I told your father’s future once. He is seven, that’s the number for togetherness. And for ghosts. Have you changed your mind about learning your own? Perhaps it shall be a tall stranger and a long journey.”
“No, thank you.” I didn’t bother to keep the disgust out of my voice.
A smile crossed her lips and died in her eyes. “You don’t believe?” She slid the paper over to me. Her writing was choppy and ungraceful. “Odd, considering your father’s profession.”
I gasped. Never before had I met a stranger who’d known about Navigation; my father had always insisted on secrecy. “I suppose I’m considering your profession.”
“Apothecary?”
“Charlatan. Although I suspect it’s better than opium dealer.”
“Auntie Joss is a dealer of many things,” she said. “Exotic wares. Special cures. Rare spices. Information. Is there nothing else you seek?”