In the evening, the tent of Circus Orion smelled of popcorn and sawdust. Kaja, an eleven-year-old juggling student, mended her leather gloves. The ring glittered in front of her and marching music rumbled low. On the programme board, someone had written in chalk: Number Zero - Surprise. - 'You're going to play a short solo today, Kaja,' muttered the Master of Ceremonies. - After the magic number, hold your nerve and bow confidently. Kaja nodded, but felt a tingling in her fingers and neck. A short whisper drifted from the dome, quiet as dust on the net. - Can you hear me? - the air above the arena seemed to say. Backstage a ladder swayed, though no one touched it. Above the arena, the trapeze moved slightly, as if waiting for someone. The spotlights went out, the orchestra fell silent and the audience held its breath. The Master's voice sounded serious: - Number Zero would begin unannounced. Kaja glanced at the board; her name was not there. And yet she felt that this number was about her. - If it's a joke," she whispered, "then it's a really clever number. She put her foot on the first rung of the ladder and raised her head. Just above her, something flashed, like a white glove waving in the darkness. A single ringing sound came from above, followed by silence. And just then a spotlight jumped up, dousing the dome with light. Kaja reflexively reached higher as the shadow leaned towards her. A ribbon of white zeroes dripped down onto Kaja's hand. It was icy and pulled gently, like thread from a kite. The audience began to clap uncertainly, thinking it was part of a number. - 'Kaju, higher,' whispered something as the ladder trembled slightly. The trumpet played three short notes, as if giving a cue. Kaja tightened her fingers on the ribbon and raised another step. Something rustled above the net, and light began to move. For a second she saw the outline of a figure standing on a narrow beam. Then the outline nodded to her and took a step to the side.