Iga arrived at the Passing Sun Circus just before dark, with a bag of tools and a sketchbook. The tent stood on the edge of town, high as a wave, smelling of sawdust and resin. In the narrow alleyways, light bulbs flashed, a catarina buzzed, someone practised a snare drum. Maestro Linos smiled from under his navy blue cylinder. - 'We need a light that doesn't blink,' he said. - You volunteered to be a technician and set designer. Tonight we start rehearsals for the night shows. Don't be late with Helios. Helios was the oldest spotlight in the stockade, framed in brass, whimsical as a cat. It stood on the highest gallery and roared like a sleeping furnace. The acrobats were spreading magnesia, juggler Mela was polishing mace and illusionist Zoya was setting mirrors into a glittering alley. Iga noted the angles, rubbed the lens and checked the wires. She had heard rumours: during the number "Leap through the silent light", Helios would sometimes go off on its own, as if refusing to be silent. Linos claimed it was superstition. It's just that in the circus, superstition walks on two legs. On the steps to the gallery sat Bruno, a white clown with huge shoes. He didn't talk much offstage, but today he nodded to Ize as if waiting. - 'If you hear silence, don't look down,' he muttered, handing her a small brass key with a sun engraved on it. - To the power wardrobe. After midnight it supposedly disappears. Lev, the lineman, passed underneath without a sound, and left a single grain of sand on the rope. - The night belongs to the balance - he chuckled, without looking up. The streetlights went out and the tent went into rehearsal for the sequence. Only the interior lights stabbed the space, the sound of the catharsis turned like a river. Mela threw three yellow tentacles into the cones of light, Zoya disappeared into the frame of a blank mirror, already appearing on the other side of the arena. Iga readied the light plan, clicked a row of dimmers, corrected Helios' ear. As the beam passed through the centre of the sawdust, letters forming her name flashed from the mirror. She climbed higher, up the rope ladder, and found a programme from ten years ago in a crevice in the old rib. On the cover of the programme, faded and dew-stained, was the number 'Leap Through Silent Light'. Below was a photograph: the outline of a figure on a rope, and underneath, a name she knew from family stories. She did not have time to turn the page. Linos rang the bell. - Rehearsal number thirteen! - His voice bounced off the canvas like a bird. Everyone fell silent. Iga had to stand by the power cabinet and wait for the signal. The headphones hummed, the Helios squeaked and Bruno dropped his red nose. It became suddenly chilly, although the air stood as if the tent was holding breath. At the height where fear usually begins, there was a lack of reflection in the three mirrors. Someone put his foot on the rope, unattached to his belt, and shifted his weight forward. The key in Iga's hand was icy, and the wardrobe lever didn't budge. - Now! - cried Linos, and the snare drum hovered in a half-stroke. Iga pushed the switch, Helios wailed and went out, and someone hovered over the arena in a half-step.