The hammer rang once. A spark jumped off the anvil and did not go out. It waited. They followed.

The autumn fair had come to the Green. There was a cake stall, a hoopla and a tent full of games. The spark hopped past all of them. It stopped at the very last booth.

The booth was striped red and white. A painted sign said ANY GAME YOU WISH, WHILE YOU WAIT.

Lan and Inkling stepped inside. The booth's striped curtain swung shut behind them, and the noise of the fair went soft. The curtain had a long tear sewn up with red thread, and beside the stitches somebody had drawn a tiny hammer.

A round little capybara sat at a workbench. She wore a canvas apron with tiny pockets. Beside her was a box of wooden parts.

"I'm Trial," she said, and yawned. "I'll build it exactly as you wish. The fair packs up on Sunday night."

"I'll go first!" said Lan. "I wish for a race I always win. I promise it will be great."

Trial nodded. She laid out a track of twelve spaces. She set two pieces at the start.

"Your piece moves three every turn," said Trial. "Inkling's moves one."

Lan went three, six, nine, twelve. Four turns. Inkling went one, two, three, four.

Lan won. Lan cheered.

They played again. Lan won in four turns. They played again. Lan won in four turns.

"I already know how it ends," said Inkling. She put her piece down on the bench. "I noticed something. It's stuck because nothing can happen."

It had been fun for about ninety seconds.

"Then make mine jump six!" said Lan. "That will be exciting. I'll do it, I promise!"

Trial did not reach for her parts.

"Watch what she does, not what she says," said Trial.

Lan turned round. Inkling was not there. She was at the cake stall, looking at a lemon bun.

Lan's cheeks went hot.

Trial opened a little notebook.

"Twenty wished games since Friday," she said. "Children played them forty times in all. That is about twice each. Then they left."

"Did they say they liked them?" said Lan.

"Most did," said Trial. "But I don't write down what they say. Look at what they did next."

Lan went to find Inkling. They wandered into the games tent.

A bright ladybird with seven spots ran a garden game. Two dice rolled across a tray. Children shouted, groaned and laughed. Nobody knew who would win. Everyone played again.

"Seven!" said Lucky. "Six ways to make seven. Not luck. Counting."

"I think it's called chance," said Inkling.

Behind the booth, a fennec fox was rolling a plain die. Her ears were almost as big as she was.

"Chance has a job," said Bones. "It lets the one behind still win."

"Even me?" said Inkling.

"A die doesn't know who's winning," said Bones. "Every roll, each of you has the same one-in-six chance of a six. Roll it and find out."

On Sunday evening the hoopla came down. The cake stall was nearly empty.

Trial yawned over her box. Lan's race lay on the bench. Nobody wanted to play it.

Lan sat on the stool and felt small.

Then Lan took the track back.

She put both pieces at the start. She took one plain die from the box. Both of them would roll it.

Then she thought of something nobody had shown her.

"Whoever lost the last game rolls first," said Lan.

They played. Inkling won! They played again. Lan won, by one space. Inkling was laughing so much she nearly dropped the die.

"Come on, quick! One more!" said Lan.

Trial watched the third game. She wrote nothing down. She only smiled.

Then she gave Lan the plain wooden die to keep. It was the first piece in Lan's pocket.

The curtain swung open, and the Green was full of fair again.

The spark dimmed to a warm dot and settled back on the anvil. The Green was just the Green again.

Back on the Green

At home, Lan set up a race for her little brother Tí. She gave him the first roll. He won, and laughed all the way to bed.

Tell the story back to someone. Why did nobody want Lan's first game? What did her rule change?