Lila Sawicka, a scholarship student at the Vistula River High School of Cartography, knew two languages: people and ink. When others could see the lines of the streets, she could hear the maps breathing clearly. Autumn rain polished the cobblestones of the Old Town, and the library bell rang the dusk. In the dark vaults, behind three walled arches, the Chamber of Whispers was said to await. It was said that no one had brought anything out of there since the fire a century ago. After her last lesson, Lila found a page in the atlas in an unfamiliar, yet familiar script. The letters trembled like a compass needle and formed the sentence: 'It's not a fire, it's a passage'. At the end was the signature of her missing brother, John, dated a week ago. Underneath were the coordinates and the time of the meeting, exactly equal to this midnight. Someone, or something, very clearly wanted her to go there just today. Lila called Iwa, who was able to open the door with words from textbooks. - 'This smells like a trap,' he muttered when they met outside the library, between the water and the silence. - 'You don't have to go,' she replied, tucking the note in the case of a metal compass. An engraving of rusty letters gleamed on the padlock: Turn over the map and you will find the key. She bent the city plan in origami until the streets formed the sharp edge of the key, and the metal gave way. A dragonfly lamp swayed over the steps as they descended, where the smell of soot mingled with ink and wet brick. The Whispering Chamber was larger than the auditorium, empty, yet full of quiet trembling. On the stone floor stretched a map of the city, drawn by a light that did not fade. The streets shifted as if someone was turning the pages of an invisible book. - Lila - whispered the lines, as if they had known her name forever. In the middle lay John's compass, twisted against time and yet working. The arrow pointed not north, but to a spot under the floor where the stone had scarred. - 'If it's a trap, it's beautiful,' admitted Iwo, touching the edge of the scar with his finger. With the touch, the thin outline of the doorway lit up, pieced together from the knotted lines of the rivers. From the depths came a whisper brighter than breath: Save your way before you enter. Lila stuck a piece of paper into her notebook and quickly noted each movement of the arrow. Then the floor softened like paper under water, and the map swung open like a throat. A path of light dust rose from the darkness, and someone behind them warned: - Don't trust the map. They turned at the same time and saw a silhouette in John's coat, with eyes agitated with ink.