There was a crooked tent in the corner of the big top, a painted sign hanging over the entrance. The soft wood was starting to rot and age had scraped much of the paint away, but Ash could still make out the words: Freak Show.

Found the tent, she murmured.

Can you get to it? Benjamin whispered.

Ash turned the volume on her earphones up to maximum. You don’t need to whisper, she said.

Sorry. It’s the suspense. Can you get in?

Ash watched the performers. The acrobats were arguing, a juggler was guffawing at them. Yes, she said. I can sneak past.

She slipped through the dusty shadows, footfalls soft against the hay. An old-fashioned car was balanced on a pair of wooden crates she ducked behind it, peering through the windows at the performers. No-one was looking her way.

The last few metres were too exposed, lots of light, no cover. Ash dug around in her pocket, found a coin, tossed it back the way she had come. It struck a metal support strut with a clang.The performers turned as one to face the entrance. Ash ran, a silent dash across the patch of light, heart clamouring in her chest. She shoved the tent flaps aside and ducked into the freak show . . .