The Master poured ten little polished sea shells into Janelle's cupped palms. They reminded her of the glass marbles Uncle Brian had given her and her brother one stinking hot Christkas when they were kids back on the sheep farm in Canowindra. But this was no past game to her; Janelle needed to know if future things were gonna pick up. If she'd be free of that prick, Tezza, and if she could see her kid again according to Social Services. The Master told her to think of Lakshme, the goddess of good fortune, and release the shells on to the scraped table between them. Some fell shell side up and some shell side down; the Master held a long knitting needle with a red-and-gold thread at his end and tapped each on that was shell-side up. "Seven from ten," he said and nodded, while writing the figure down in a school exercise book, next to her birthdate, address and passport number. "That is a good sign," the Master said, "but inconclusive." He put his silk shawl over his head and started making more calculations. Janelle didn't know where to look so she looked at all the gods and goddesses in the Master's consulting studio, next door to the rub-and-tug and the joint where the Chinese sent vitamins and baby formula back to Beijing. Each statuette had a $50 note on it. "I need the mojo this guy has," she thought to herself. The Master stopped his number-crunching, put down his Biro, and pulled the shawl away from his head. "I believe I have discovered the blockage now and how we remove it for your future happiness to be guaranteed," The Master said. Janelle was impressed by how he backed himself.