In the town of Silver Birches, mornings smelled of warm yeast and wet grass. Above the bakery stood an old tower with a clock that blinked its golden hands every hour and called people to tea, to lunch, to bedtime. Zosia lived just below the tiles, in a room with a window to the market. She had a braid twisted like a spring and a green dotted notebook in which she drew anything that sounded like a shadow or smelled like rain. Her best friend was her cat Pod, fluffy and white with grey patches, who purred like a hot kettle. One morning, Sophie woke up to a quiet "tic... yes... tic..." that was out of the ordinary. The sound also resembled a giggle. She glanced around the market - pigeons were strolling about as usual, a lady in a red beret was carrying a bag full of pears, and glistening buns were fluttering from the bakery. Only the tower stood a little straighter than usual, as if pretending nothing was happening. A leaf lay on the windowsill. It was not ordinary. It shimmered softly like a drop on a spider web and was shaped like a key. A small star glittered on its edge. Zosia touched it with the tip of her finger. The key-leaf was cool and soft, and when the girl lifted it, the air murmured: "Shoo... shoo... when the cuckoo falls silent". Zosia looked up at the tower. The clock was approaching twelve o'clock. Every day at this time, a little wooden cuckoo popped out of it and sang, so that even the cats stopped blinking for a while. Pod raised his ears. "Meow?" - he asked in cat-like fashion, which meant: "Shall we go?". "Let's go!" - whispered Zosia and slipped the key-leaf into the pocket of her star-spangled blouse. Doughnut jumped onto her shoulders like a warm shawl, and they set off down the steps, through the smell of croissants, through the murmur of conversation, all the way to the market itself. The market had a fountain that liked to tell splashing stories. On this day, the water flowed more slowly, as if it was listening. The clock indicated twelve o'clock. Everyone trembled - the bell should rumble, the cuckoo should sing. But nothing. Just a quiet "tick... yes... tick...", like a whisper under a blanket. Zosia lifted her gaze. On the dial, where the number twelve resided, a tiny light flashed. The girl felt the key-leaf in her pocket tremble, as if it could not wait. The bud straightened his moustache. At the foot of the tower, between ivy and stone, Sophie noticed something that had not been there before: a tiny door, the size of a book, with a leaf-shaped lock. The girl knelt down. Through the crack, it smelled of rain and something cinnamon-y, like fresh snails from a bakery. "Let's try it," she said to Pod, who was already putting his paw on the lock, very gently, for fear of sneezing dust. Zosia took out a key leaf and slid it into the lock. Click! The door swung open and a soft light poured out onto the stairs. A narrow spiral staircase spiraled inside. Small lanterns hung from the walls, lighting up one by one like a row of skylights. Zosia placed her feet carefully, listening as board after board quietly answered: "here-here, here-here", while Pod, with his tail raised like a question mark, trotted past. They passed pictures of seasons that moved slowly. In one, spring was blowing on the dandelions and down was shooting up; in another, autumn was swinging on a red leaf. Susan stopped briefly and brushed her finger against winter - the snow giggled. A bud tried to touch summer, but the sun tickled his nose and the cat sneezed: "apczi!". Echo answered him with five quiet sneezes, like five grains of poppy seeds. The higher it got, the louder the "tic... yes..." sounded, yet it was gentle, like a lullaby. The air smelled of mint and the dust of stars. When they stepped out onto the platform just below the dial, Zosia opened her eyes wider. The inside of the tower was like a garden of wheels and pinions. Some of them were made of wood, some of them were made of glass, and some of them looked like crunchy biscuits. A small glass swallow, blue as morning, floated above the mechanism. It had a ribbon of stars by its leg, the same as on Zosia's blouse. She sat down on the balustrade and blinked. "A chirp?" - she asked, or maybe that was just what the flapping of her wings sounded like. "Good morning," Zosia said in a whisper. The swallow made a circle and sailed upwards towards the shield. It stopped at a small door hidden just behind the number twelve. The lock was different from the one below: star-shaped, with a tiny leaf in the middle. The leaf-key in Zosia's hand trembled again. Pod sat like a statue and stared at the door. The tower purred, but not alarmingly - more like a big cat, very old and very patient. The clock hands moved unhurriedly, as if dragging themselves out after a nap. The sound of bells reached Zosia, although she saw no bell. "Sophie..." - the whisper came like a light breeze that had known her name forever. The girl looked around; the voice came from behind the door. The budgie was looking at Sophie with one eye, the other at the swallow, and drawing essy-flores in the air with its tail. "I am" - replied Zosia and lifted the key-leaf. The edges lit up softly, as if stars had lit up on the leaf. She pressed it against the lock. It fitted perfectly. Suddenly, everything in the tower went quiet, like when a book holds its breath just before reading the most important sentence. The fountain in the town square splashed once, very slowly. A tiny drop slipped from a street lamp and hovered, shining like a pearl. A glass swallow spread its wings and stopped in mid-air, as if waiting for a signal. Zosia felt warmth in her fingers. The bud climbed onto her shoulder, so gently that she laughed, but the laughter stuck in her throat as the door vibrated. The lock twinkled with a star. Something fresh blew through the crack, like a morning at the beach on a day when no one had yet set footprints on the sand. "Ready?" - asked silently, the wind playing in her hair. Zosia nodded her head. Slowly, very slowly, she turned the key-leaf. Click. A streak of silver radiance oozed from within. It hung over her hands, swirling and silently ringing, as if it were made of thin threads of ice and laughter. And then the glow swung open like a curtain and.... ...At the very centre of the dial something tinkled. Once. The second. "Sophie..." - this time the whisper was closer, warmer and unexpectedly cheerful. The budgie puffed up its tail and let out a quiet "mrr?" The door swung open wider. Something on the other side moved, as if taking a breath. A glass swallow flashed its eyes and soared higher. The clock pointer stopped for a fraction of a moment and pointed straight at the girl, like a finger making a "ciu". Susan stood on her tiptoes, took a deep breath and looked inside, and then....