The Star Circus stood by the river, with a red and blue tent. It smelled of candyfloss and sawdust, and drums practised quiet rhythms. Eleven-year-old Lenka carried the chairs and counted the colourful flags. She knew every string at the flagpole, but dreamed of juggling. In the evening she would pass the balls, so close to the lights and the applause. In her pocket she kept an old ticket, a talisman from her first performance. It had brought her luck during rehearsals and stormy days. Master Rollo, the magician of lights, placed his hand on the box. It was silver, in stars, with a lock like a moonlit claw. "This is the final number," he whispered. "The box opens with real applause." He handed Lenka three balls, light as feathers, ringing inside. "Listen to the rhythm of the audience. If anything changes, come up." After dark, the spotlights flashed and the strings fluttered like wings. The clown nodded, the orchestra played, and the crowd whistled with delight. Rollo bowed deeply; the curtain sparkled with a thousand speckles. Suddenly the lights blinked three times, like a secret signal. The box rumbled, though no one touched it, and it squeaked. "Lenko?" She heard a whisper, quiet but clear, straight from inside. Rollo did not lose his smile, but his eyes were quick to ask. "Now," he muttered, almost without moving his lips. "The rhythm has changed. Go." The girl stepped into the circle of light, with the balls close to her chest. One broke with a thin crack; a cool little key flashed. The crowd fell silent so suddenly that one's own breathing could be heard. Lenka slid the key into the lock, and the drums interrupted the snare drum....