In a narrow street just off the market square, between a cobbler's shop and a cinnamon-scented café, stood Mrs Halina's shop. The brass signboard proclaimed: Needle of the North - Maps and Globes. Inside, it smelled of paper, ink and dried orange peel, and a pendulum clock counted down the minutes as if they were raindrops. Zosia, Mrs Halina's eleven-year-old granddaughter, knew every bookcase in the place better than her own pencil case. She always said that maps were not drawings, but obediently assembled stories. Her cousin Tymek, a year older, shared this opinion, although he added a compass, a torch and a box of matches "just in case". - Do you hear? - whispered Zosia as the rain sped up and the windows began to drum like a pianist's fingers. - 'Just rain,' muttered Tymek, picking up a roll of map collected from the amber road from the floor. - 'Or something fell in the attic. Mrs Halina lifted her gaze from the stack of bills. - 'The attic must not be entered, dear,' she said calmly. - The beams creak like whimsical thoughts. Anyway... - She smiled the way someone who knows more stories than she can tell smiles. - Tonight is the evening for ground floor discoveries anyway. Zosia and Tymek looked at each other. When Grandma spoke like that, it usually meant that there was something lurking somewhere in the shop that wanted to be found. The clock's pendulum struck six times. At the same moment, a quiet sound came from the nautical chart rack, as if someone had dragged a finger along the rim of a glass. Thread, a shop cat with eyes the colour of tea and honey, wagged her tail and jumped onto the counter. - 'The sound came from over there,' Zosia pointed to a narrow cabinet marked 'Family and not-so-familiar atlases'. In its third drawer lay an atlas they hadn't seen before: bound in navy blue cloth with silver thread embroidered stars. There was no title on the spine, just a small metal moon - a clasp. - Can we? - asked Tymek, although his hands were already reaching for the buckle on their own. - Gently," said Mrs Halina. - And remember that some maps lead not only where we want to go, but also where we need to go. Zosia opened the atlas. The page smelled of the night after the rain, and the ink glistened like wet asphalt. The first map showed their town - every alley, every chimney. It was so accurate that Zosia even recognised the paint stain on the wall next to the cobbler. But right next to the market square was a narrow, straight street that wasn't there in the real world. It was signed in small letters: Shadowless Street. - 'I've never heard of it,' whispered Tymek. - 'Neither have I,' replied Zosia, and Nitka murmured, as if to add: "And yet. Between the pages of the atlas was a small compass. It was not ordinary: surrounded by a brass wreath, with a crack on the glass in the shape of a lightning bolt. The needle trembled slightly, as if it could not make up its mind. When Zosia put her finger on the edge, the needle stopped pointing north and went straight to the drawn street No Shadow - only that in their own map room. - 'That's impossible,' Zosia began, but Nitka jumped off the counter straight onto the carpet, and the needle, as if by magic, made the same movement on the paper after her. - It's like a game... - Tymek swallowed his saliva. - Only real. A microscopic inscription glinted in the bottom right corner of the map: 'Come down when the bells are silent'. The clock's pendulum stopped for a moment, as if listening along with them. From outside came the sound of church bells tolling six o'clock. One, two, three, four, five, six. Then silence - thick, as if the world had taken a deep breath. - 'It's now,' said Zosia. - Just for a moment, Grandma. We promise not to run around the attic. Mrs Halina looked at them thoughtfully. There was warmth in her eyes and something else - as if a memory of her own expeditions, which she had never fully recounted. - Take a torch, warm sweatshirts and a notebook. And leave me a note where you intend to go. It's best to start with maps and end with maps," she smiled. - And let Nitka go with you. He has a nose better than a compass. The street behind the shop sparkled, washed by the fresh rain. The sky was slowly clearing from the clouds. Zosia held the atlas, Tymek the compass, and Nitka walked ahead, flicking her tail to measure her steps. As they passed the café, the compass needle twisted, twitched, trembled - and began to track the cat instead of midnight. - 'No Shadow Street should be here,' muttered Tymek, stopping in front of the wall of the old theatre. - But it isn't. Zosia pressed the atlas against the wall. On the map here, where the wall actually was, a thin blue line flowed - like a stream under the stones. - Listen,' she said. They put their ears to the bricks. From deep within came a quiet murmur, too even to be wind, too watery to be the movement of a mouse. Thread had already found something near the ground: a narrow drain grating, at which the moss was arranged in the shape of an arrow. Tim slid his fingers under the edge. The grate gave up with a groan, as if it had waited a long time for someone to pick it up. A stone staircase ran underneath. Downwards. Where the light of the lantern did not reach. - A staircase in the courtyard theatre? - Timek was surprised. - Maybe the theatre has a backstage area that's bigger than we think,' replied Zosia and switched on the torch. They descended slowly. The walls were cool, damp, greenish from the lichens that glistened slightly, as if they remembered what it was like to be leaves in the sun. The steps appeared deeper than they looked from above. A sign was carved on every third one: a fish facing right, three crescents, a nail, a star. - 'Strange that someone did that under the theatre,' said Tymek in a half-whisper. - Maybe the theatre stands on someone's old plan - muttered Zosia. - After all, first there is a map, then the world is built. The thread stopped at a wall that was not covered by the torch beam. When Zosia moved the light, they saw a strip of mosaic blue. It was arranged in lines like on a city plan. In the middle, where the two strands intersected, was a small, five-pointed star, with a thin hole in the middle. - It looks like a keyhole - said Tymek. - Only star-shaped. Zosia flipped through the pages of the atlas. In between the pages, by the ribbon-clip, there was a small metal object - like a pin, like a slippery ice flake. It was shaped like a star, fitting perfectly into a hole in the mosaic. - Do you think...? - Tymek began. - That it's a key? - finished Zosia. - It looks like an invitation. She brought the star closer to the mosaic. Right next to the opening, they noticed an inscription so tiny that it read more with the fingers than with the eyes: "Don't reverse the needle unless you want to change the direction of the questions". - That means... - Tymek looked at the compass. The needle was now whirling slowly, like a leaf on water, then stopped, no longer pointing north, just a point near their feet. - 'If that's really a door,' Zosia said quietly, 'then where does the door hidden under the theatre lead to? Floss meowed briefly and touched the star in Zosia's hand with her paw. The clock from the town hall, distant and muffled, killed once, as if to add the missing word. - 'Maybe to a place that wasn't on our maps,' replied Tymek. They put the star to the hole. Metal and mosaic muscled together, making a sound like the first tone of a violin. Something in the wall vibrated. The line of blue mosaic glowed slightly, like a snail's path shining after the rain. - Can you smell that? - Zosia closed her eyes for a moment. - Like a forest after a storm... But we are underground after all. - And also... - Tymek drew in the air. - As if far away from here, very far away. Something creaked. A piece of mosaic moved a millimetre away. From the other side, from the darkness, a chill blew in. Not the cold of the cellar, but the pleasant, pure chill of the night just beginning. At the same moment, the compass needle popped up and stuck in one direction, as if hypnotised. - Did you hear that? - hissed Zosia. From behind the door came a sound that neither of them could name. It was not like the sound of water rushing or the flutter of birds' wings. It was like a combination of both of these sounds and something else - quiet, distant, like the echo of footsteps on stone slabs, although no one but them was standing on the stairs. The mosaic moved once more, this time more clearly. Floss jumped back half a step, then sat up, staring into the gap, ears stretched forward. Zosia squeezed the star key tighter, feeling the pulse of her own heart under her fingers. Tymek raised his torch and notepad, as if he wanted to write something down and illuminate something at the same time. The light danced on the blue tiles. Somewhere very low, as if beneath the floor of the world, something answered with a sound that resembled the breathing of a great sleeping creature - or the wind peering into a place where no one had looked for a long time. The clock in the town square struck a single beat again. The mosaic vibrated a third time and something flashed in the gap that might have been a star reflected in a drop - or something that was yet to show its true light. - Ready? - whispered Zosia, and the door, as if it had heard her, responded with a sudden, soft movement, as if someone from the other side had slipped a matching key into the lock.