Lena lived by the harbour, under the old Wind Change Tower. Grandpa Teo used to look after the clock, the bell and the flag there. He said the tower remembered dragons, just as it remembered storms. On the second floor there was an iron trapdoor with a scaly mark engraved on it. "Don't touch that," Grandpa Teo said every week. That evening he went down to the harbour to fix the lighthouse radio. He left Lena the key to the barometer and a small oil lamp. The fog climbed suddenly up the stairs like a calm wave. The bell rang three times, although there was no wind. The clapper grew warm, like a stone by the cooker. Lena carefully touched the mark on the flap with a gloved finger. The metal shimmered and gave way slowly, without the slightest groan. She descended the narrow steps to the circular chamber below. It smelled of wet rope and old sail smoke. In the middle lay a shell as big as a plate, green-blue in colour. Next to it, in a nest of ropes and canvas, stood an egg. The egg purred quietly and glowed like breath under the quilt. A long shadow moved along the wall, as light as a seagull's shadow. Something circled the tower and the lamp trembled on the wick. An egg circled and touched her hand gently. It was heavier than it looked, as if it held the waves within it. Lena retreated to the balcony and opened the shutter. A dark streak with slowly beating wings glided over the harbour. Two golden sparks hovered in the mist and looked up. A claw clattered against a stone by its foot, and a voice like a chimney whispered: "Who holds my heart?"