Lena arrived in Gdansk in the late afternoon, as the fog rose over the Motlawa River. She carried a rucksack in which her mother's brass compass buzzed, stubborn and warm. Instead of pointing north, it spun slowly until it stopped at a bookshop signboard. Aunt Ida's bookshop was located in a narrow tenement on Świętojańska Street. The door was open, although a piece of paper said: Closed until further notice. Auntie was not there, only her scarf smelling of juniper lay behind the counter. She had come because Ida had sent a short letter with one sentence and a stamp. Atlases and fairy tales piled up on the shelves, and strange objects peered between them. A glass bird blinked, though it had no eyes, and a clock ticked without hands. The compass on Lena's hand warmed up and pointed to the floor, just behind the bookcase. There she found a flap with a brass circle and a note stuck under the slat. The note read: Lena Nowicka - in case of sudden silence. A lamp cord dangled from the ceiling, swaying quietly as if breathing. The cellar smelled of lavender and dust, but the air trembled as if someone was whispering in the walls. Jars of labels stood on the table: Wind from the Roof, North Shore, Alien Mist, Silence. Next to it hung a map of the city sewn with salt and thread, interspersed with pins. The chalk drew a protective circle sharply, unfinished and nibbled with traces of damp. A note from Ida lay on the desktop: Don't trust clocks that stand. Lena felt something looking at her, intently, even though she was all alone. Mum had always said that magic liked order and hated haste. Footsteps came from upstairs, determined and unfamiliar, though the shop should have been closed. The compass clicked into place, its needle whined and pointed to the largest jar. The mark of a mermaid's scales glittered on the wax, and the seal cracked without touching. The air began to flow in reverse, as if someone had picked up the sea and poured it into the jar. The map rustled, the threads shifted, laying a new path, straight across the water. Someone moved the key in the door upstairs, and twilight fell in the cellar. Footsteps stopped just above Lena, as if the intruder was counting her breaths. From two sides at once she heard a whisper of her name, strangely drawn out and close. Lena raised her hand over the cracking seal as someone's silhouette stood on the stairs.