Sophie was fourteen years old and collected maps of places that don't exist. After lessons she would go down to the basement of the library, where it smelled of dust and glue. Her grandmother had left her a pocket watch that went backwards and was silent in the sunlight. On the lid was engraved the phrase: "Come back when the currents turn again". It was said of the old town bathhouse that it hissed like a river at night. No one guarded it because the pool had cracked and dried out long ago. Sophie took Nicodemus there, who recorded echoes and disliked legends. In the evening, as the trams went out, they slipped under the fence and stuck torches on. The interior was cool, with dull light through a cracked skylight above the basin. A mosaic of wind roses glistened on the bottom, with a black east in the middle. Sophie's watch sped up, as if someone was winding its spring from the other side. Nicodemus put up the speaker, let out a pulse and listened to what came back from the bottom. Instead of the walls of the pool, a quiet rumble came back, like a hidden second heart. "That's not a normal reflection." - he muttered, looking at the wind rose. At the drain grille they noticed a sign, an eye with three eyelids and a dash. The eye looked up as if it was waiting to look at someone specific. On the wall, beneath the peeling paint, hung a plaque in the old spelling. Sophie read the words, shuffling the torchlight like pages in a book. - "Don't stand with your back to the rose. Don't go in alone. Leave something it remembers." - Do you have something that remembers? - asked Nicodemus with no humour in his voice. Sophie took a pawn out of her grandmother's travelling chess set and placed it in the east. The watch tapped, the pointer reversed course and the mosaic trembled like skin. The shadow of the skylight moved inversely to the moon, even though the wind had ceased. Circles appeared on the surface, but inside there was only dry night. A whisper flashed from below, as if a fan was arranging her name in the air. - Sophie - it repeated, not from the hall, but from under the rose, as if from behind the glass. Nicodemus squeezed Sophie's sleeve, but did not take a step back with the torch. Beneath the mosaic, the streets, bridges and tower of their city shimmered, but skewed. The sky on that side was purple and the water stood upright like glass. - 'Just a moment more,' whispered Nicodemus as all the pipes let out an icy breath. Sophie touched the circle and felt not water but wind and a high bridge. Then the first step spread downwards and a silhouette in her grandmother's red shawl emerged from behind it.