The Rain Sparks Circus pitched its tent in the market at dawn. Nela stood by the fence and counted the golden flags. For a fortnight she had been cleaning the carts and carrying popcorn. She did this willingly because she wanted to see the rehearsals up close. What she loved most was juggling, she practised at home with apples and potatoes. In the corner of the square stood a small tent with silver stars. On a sign hung: Rehearsals, no access. Nela glanced there every now and then because she heard a strange whispering. In the evening, the main tent smelled of cotton candy and fresh paint. Mr Leon, the convener in the red tailcoat, waved at Nela. - 'We have a problem, Nela, the juggler has lost his suitcase, I need your help.' He handed her three silver balls, heavy and cold as ice. She flipped them in her hands and the metal purred quietly like a kitten. She wondered where the sound came from, as the drums were still silent. A whisper reached her from the small tent: - Finish the rhythm, Nelo. Nela slipped under the flap and stood among the curved mirrors. Each mirror showed her with more balls in the air. A lone drum stood in the middle, and shiny gloves lay next to it. Nela muscled the skin of the drum and the whole circus fell silent for a moment. From outside, the noise of the audience grew, the light seeking a way through the canvas. - Into the arena, now! - cried Mr Leon, and a spotlight slashed a shadow. The floor vibrated slightly, a swinging trapeze bar descended low. In the topmost mirror, the shadow made a cascade, and the balls rolled. One touched Nela's shoe, the drum interrupted the rhythm in a half beat. Right next to her ear, someone whispered: -If you drop one, I'll show the sky. Nela tightened her fingers on the balls and took the first step. The trapeze hovered above her like an invitation, and the mirrors flashed. The threshold of the arena was already underfoot when the air trembled once more.