‘You seem hesitant,’ said the old man quietly, as if he was reading the boy’s mind. ‘You’re right to be. But I assure you, there’s nothing to worry about here. Not even my cooking. I passed through Paris many times when I was a younger man and learned a few tips from one of the greatest chefs of his day, and if I say so myself, I can scramble an egg with the best of them.’
Noah wasn’t entirely sure whether he was doing the right thing or not, but the rumblings of his own stomach echoed those of the clock, which was now staring at him with murderous intent, tapping a foot impatiently on the counter. Overwhelmed by hunger, he nodded quickly and ran forward, following the old man through the open door.
Inside, he found himself standing at the foot of a very narrow staircase and, like the puppets in the shop, the steps and the walls were all made of wood. There was a series of intricate carvings along the handrail and he touched them with his fingers, enjoying the sensation of the grooves against his skin. They were very even, as if they had been cut carefully into the wood and then smoothed down with a plane to prevent any accidental splinters. To Noah’s surprise, the staircase did not go directly up, as it did in his own house, but around in circles, so he could barely see the old man as he turned in front of him, for they were only within sight of each other for a couple of steps at a time.
They climbed and climbed, going round and round and round, until Noah began to wonder just how high they could possibly go. From the outside, it hadn’t looked as if there was more than one storey on top of the shop itself, but it seemed to be going on and on interminably.
‘There’s an awful lot of stairs to climb,’ said Noah, his voice wavering a little as he tried to catch his breath. ‘Don’t you get tired walking up and down them every day?’
‘More tired than I used to, certainly,’ admitted the old man. ‘Of course, when I was younger I could run up and down these stairs a thousand times a day and never worry about it. But things are different now. It takes me a lot longer to do everything. There are two hundred and ninety-six steps, actually. Or two hundred and ninety-four. The exact same number as there are in the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I don’t know if you’ve been counting.’
‘I haven’t,’ said Noah. ‘But which is it, two hundred and ninety-six or two hundred and ninety-four?’
‘Well, both actually,’ said the old man. ‘There are two fewer steps on the north-facing staircase than there are on the south-facing, so it really depends on how you make your approach. You’ve been to Italy, I presume?’
‘Oh no,’ said Noah, shaking his head. ‘No, I’ve never been anywhere. In fact, this is the furthest I’ve ever been away from home.’
‘I spent some very happy times in Italy,’ replied the old man wistfully. ‘I actually lived quite near Pisa for a time, and every morning I would race to the tower and run up and down the steps to keep fit. Happy memories!’
‘You seem to have been to a lot of places,’ remarked Noah.
‘Yes, well, I enjoyed travelling very much when I was young. I couldn’t keep my legs still. It’s all different now, of course.’ He turned round and looked at the boy. ‘But I think you’re getting tired of climbing, aren’t you?’
‘A little,’ admitted Noah.
‘Well, then,’ said the old man, ‘maybe we should stop here.’
The moment he said this, Noah heard the sound of heavy footsteps running up the stairs behind him and he held his breath nervously, for he was sure that no one else had been downstairs. He turned round, half afraid of who or what might appear, and then gasped, pressing himself against the handrail as the door through which they had left the ground floor came running past him, puffing and panting, its cheeks red with embarrassment.
‘Apologies, apologies all,’ said the door, pressing itself firmly into the wall in front of him. ‘I got talking to the clock and quite lost track of time. He never stops when he gets going, does he?’
‘That’s quite all right, Henry,’ said the old man, reaching out and twisting his handle. ‘I’m afraid I can’t afford a second door at the moment,’ he added, turning and looking back at Noah with an apologetic smile. ‘So I have to make do with just the one. It’s terribly embarrassing, but business has been rather slow these past few decades.’
Noah didn’t know what to say to this, and stood on the staircase for rather a long time before shaking himself out of his surprise and staring through Henry into a small kitchen, which was both clean and messy at the same time, if such a thing is possible. Looking down at the floor, however, he was astonished to see that there were only about a third as many floorboards as were needed, great gaps appearing between each one, large enough to swallow an eight-year-old boy, and he peered through them but could see nothing below except a great darkness. This was quite unexpected as there had been nothing untoward about the ceiling on the ground floor.
‘Well, shall we go in?’ asked the old man, stepping back and allowing the boy to enter first, manners being crucial to him.
‘But the floor,’ gasped Noah. ‘If I walk in there, I’ll fall right through.’
‘Ah yes,’ said the old man. ‘I should have explained. I had to use some of the floorboards last year when I temporarily ran out of wood for the fire. They weren’t happy about it, I don’t mind admitting, and it wasn’t my finest moment. But anyway, the rest of them make up for the deficiency. Watch this.’
Noah opened his eyes wide as the old man walked into the kitchen without a care in the world, and as he did so, the floorboards all jumped into action, popping up and bouncing forward with each step so the gaps kept changing but the old man never fell through, for each floorboard slotted into position beneath his feet just in time for him to tread upon it.
‘How extraordinary,’ said Noah, shaking his head in surprise and deciding to try it for himself. This time, the floorboards did the same thing – jumped out of every place and landed under his feet before he could fall through to the darkness below – but they seemed noisier now, and Noah was sure he could hear the sounds of gasping breath.
‘They’re not used to two people,’ explained the old man. ‘They’ll probably tire more quickly. We should probably go easy on them. Now – food, I think!’
A range of different types of food was laid out on the counter and Noah walked carefully towards them, licking his lips and feeling his mouth begin to salivate already, thinking just how delighted the hungry donkey would have been if he had been invited in to share it with them.
‘Please,’ said the old man, indicating the spread. ‘Help yourself. Just take a plate and fill it with whatever you want. If there’s not enough here, I’m sure I can find some—’
‘No, no,’ said the boy quickly. ‘There’s more than enough. Thank you very much, sir.’ He felt a sudden rush of affection for his host, and a feeling of gratitude for his kindness. He filled a plate with cold meat, coleslaw, a bread roll, a chunk of Old Amsterdam cheese, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, some sausages, a strip of bacon, a little horseradish, and decided that would probably do for starters. A bunch of very juicy-looking oranges were squeezing themselves into a pitcher at the end of the counter and he waited for them to finish before pouring himself a glass.