Excerpt:

A thousand miles ago, in a country east of the jungle and south of the mountains, there lived a firework-maker called Lalchand and his daughter, Lila.

Lalchand’s wife had died when Lila was young.  The child was a cross little thing, always crying and refusing her food, but Lalchand built a cradle for her in the corner of the workshop, where she could see the sparks play and listen to the fizz and crackle of the gunpowder.  Once she was out of her cradle, she toddled around the workshop laughing as the fire flared and the sparks danced.  Many a time she burned her little fingers, but Lalchand splashed water on them and kissed her better, and soon she was playing again.

When she was old enough to learn, her father began to teach her the art of making fireworks.  She began with little Crackle Dragons, six on a string.  Then she learned how to make Leaping Monkeys, Golden Sneezes, and Java Lights.  Soon she was making all the simple fireworks, and thinking about more complicated ones.

One day she said, “Father, if I put some flowers of salt in a Java Light instead of cloud powder, what would happen?”

“Try it and see,” he said.

So she did.  Instead of burning with a steady green glimmer, it sprayed out wicked little sparks, each of which turned a somersault before going out.

“Not bad, Lila,” said Lalchand.  “What are you going to call it?”

“Mmm…Tumbling Demons,” she said.

“Excellent!  Make a dozen and we’ll put them into the New Year Festival display.”

The Tumbling Demons were a great success, and so were the Shimmering Coins that Lila invented next.  As time went on she learned more and more of her father’s art, until one day she said, “Am I a proper firework-maker now.”