Uncle Tymon's antique shop was located on the corner of Sunny and Fragrant Streets, where the tenements were getting lower and the street lamps liked to light up a little earlier than they should. Above the shop window dangled a cast-iron sign that read "Under the Clock with No Directions", and in the window stood a real clock with no directions, which nevertheless ticked as if it knew what it was doing. Inside, it smelled of paper, dust and baked bread from the bakery next door. A streak of light wandered between the shelves, as if searching for a favourite shelf. Nina was eleven, her hair gathered in a blue kerchief and a notebook in which she drew anything that interested her. Olek was nine, pockets full of strings and buttons and questions that never ended in question marks. Caraway, a brindle cat with eyes like spilled cocoa, was their guide to the shop's affairs. Uncle Tymon claimed that Caraway knew every ridge and every nook and cranny here. - 'Just don't rearrange anything,' warned Uncle, polishing a lamp shaped like a flying fish. - Some books take offence at anything. - And some? - Olek asked. - And some just say 'please'. But that's rare," smiled Uncle and disappeared behind the counter, where a bell had just rung. Nina and Olek moved between the shelves, with Caraway trotting alongside, stroking the wooden legs of the cabinets sideways. They stopped at a shelf with a sign that read 'Almost True Journeys'. Someone had pressed a thick volume with brass fittings into a row of thin volumes. On the spine was silvered the title: 'Atlas of the Domestic Imagination'. Caraway hopped onto the shelf and nudged the cover with his paw. Something sighed quietly. - 'It's an atlas that sighs,' whispered Olek with delight. Nina carefully slid the book out. The leather of the cover was rough and strangely warm, like a stone heated by the sun. Tiny leaves and stars were embossed on the edge of the ferrule. The lock didn't have a key, just a vortex-shaped notch. When Nina's finger touched that spot, the lock swung open on its own, as if it was waiting for just that movement. When it opened, the smell of rain on the lake gushed from inside. The first page was blank, only in the corner sat a cartoon bird, which unexpectedly moved its wing and wrote in black ink: "Good morning". The second page shone softly, as if someone had sprinkled a bit of moon dust into the paper. At the top was the headline: "A map of places you can reach without moving from the carpet". Below it, a pink wind rose was spinning and the compass needle was constantly changing its mind. - 'Look,' Nina leaned lower. - This looks like ... our room. Indeed. The layout drew the interior of an antique shop: a long counter with scattered tabs, rows of bookcases, a bunch of steel keys on a nail and even that crookedly hung picture with the burning balloon. A brindle cat was drawn on the carpet, dragging itself... and the real Caraway, as if to confirm this, dragged itself identically next to the book. - 'Impossible,' sighed Olek, and touched his finger to a small rectangle in the corner of the map, where it was written in trembling script: "Warning: this map likes to be touched with clean hands". The ink rustled. The compass needle stopped and pointed to a place signed "Here and Now". At the same moment, a narrow pocket on the edge of the cover fanned out, and from it slid a chalkboard, white and a little shiny. - O! - Olek turned the chalk in his fingers. - Does it sign itself? - I think she wants something from us - said Nina. - Look, here's an instruction manual. Along the margin, in small writing, were the words: 'To begin, draw the first step'. - The first step is... - Olek looked around. - Here? - On the carpet - Nina decided, feeling her heart getting light and heavy at the same time. She bent down and, with great care, drew a small line with chalk on the carpet, exactly where the clear path began on the map. Something happened that neither of them expected. The line did not disappear into the soft bristles of the carpet. The dash grew, curved and lifted, as if someone had grabbed the end of it and pulled it upwards. Within seconds, the first hard step hovered over the carpet, milky white like chalk pulp but as smooth and springy as a trampoline. - Stairs! - whispered Olek. Caraway didn't wait for encouragement. With one leap he landed on the step, did a pirouette and winked at them with a golden eye. The compass needle in the atlas circled, and a thin laugh rolled over the edge of the page, like the clink of a spoon against a glass. - 'Uncle said not to rearrange anything,' Nina reminded her, but her voice sounded like he was asking for persuasion. - 'The stairs are not rearranging, they are... growing a room,' acknowledged Olek seriously. - And yes, someone needs to check that they don't creak. Nina carefully stood on the first step. It bent softly, but not threateningly. Olek joined in, and Caraway jumped onto the next one. Muffled voices of Uncle and customer came from the bottom of the shop. It smelled of a little cinnamon and ink. A gentle, warm gust blew in from above, although the ceiling was as smooth as ever. The atlas turned the pages of itself. A new spread showed a chalk staircase identical to the one they were walking on, and in the margin it added: "Warning: stairs like laughter". Olek giggled uncertainly. The step below him wrapped itself in light, as if thanking him. They climbed slowly. Each successive step rose before them just in time, not too fast and not too slow. The shelves beneath them receded and laced away, like cities on a map. On the way, they passed a shelf they had never noticed before: thin books in leather cases winked at them with titles and hummed quietly. - Look! - Nina pointed to the ceiling. - It was always smooth, wasn't it? But now the ceiling rippled slightly, like the surface of a pond when someone blows on the water. In the middle, where there should have been the usual white smoothness, a rectangular flap with a brass handle in the shape of a leaf was carved out. On the handle in small letters was calligraphed: "Do not open in a draught". - And do we have a draught? - Olek asked in a whisper. Nina did not feel the cold. On the contrary, there was a pleasant warmth emanating from the flap, and a little bit of shiny crumbs, like scattered glitter, spilled out from under the edge. Caraway sat by the flap and looked up, as if waiting for a signal. In the shop, the clueless clock ticked more confidently than usual, and in the atlas, the compass needle twitched and pointed to the word 'Please' written between the lines. - Maybe it's just a clipboard for... road signs? - suggested Olek, although road signs were unlikely to be stored in the shop. - In the ceiling? - Nina laughed briefly, and then felt the laughter make the step beneath her even more certain. - 'All right,' said Olek. - I'll count to three. - Wait. It's not a game, it's... - Nina searched for the word. - ...invitation. - Then I'll count to three very kindly - replied Olek and nodded seriously to the flapper. - One... two... Before he could say 'three', the handle twitched. All alone. The metal made a quiet, ringing sound. Caraway grew a moustache, but did not run away. From below, the muffled voices fell silent for a moment, as if someone in the antique shop had held their breath. - Uncle? - cried Nina, but she was only answered by a soft noise from above, like pages turning in a giant book. Summer shuddered through Nina's skin. Her fingers sweated on a brass leaf that was as cool as the morning dew. Olek put his hand on her palm. They looked into each other's eyes. That look said: "We go together." - Three," whispered Olek. They pushed simultaneously, but the flap did not give way immediately. It vibrated, like a string that someone had touched. In the atlas, the page scrolled on its own and a tiny sentence appeared in the corner: 'Knock if you want someone to answer'. - 'Knock,' Olek asked, and for the first time something serious sounded in his voice. Nina lifted her fingers. Instead of tapping, she barely touched the edge. A drop of light dripped from the crevice and went out at the tip of her fingernail. Then, from inside, there was a distinct sound: a knock. They froze. Caraway squatted, his tail wrapped around his paws. The compass needle in the atlas turned once more, like a kid spinning in place, and pointed again to 'Please'. - Do you hear? - Olek uttered half-heartedly so as not to panic the sound. Knock. Harder this time. And then a third, emphatic one: PUK. The handle vibrated, and a warm light burst from the thin slit, curving the air like a transparent wave. The flap trembled, the hinges beeped with the quietest possible song, and something from inside began to slowly, very slowly, push back the slider.