Climbing
There were one hundred and twenty-three steps to the top. Mrs Kvist had counted.
The class started up. Mr Halpern at the front. Liv's mama in the middle. Marek's papa at the back.
The stairs were narrow. They wound around and around, tight, like a screw. Every now and then there was a small landing with a small window, and you could look out and see, far below, the rocks and the sea getting smaller.
Around step sixty, Eyo said quietly, "I am tired."
Mrs Kvist, who was just ahead, said, "We will rest at the next landing. Lighthouse keepers always rest. The trick is to take it in pieces."
They rested at the next landing. They had a small drink of water. Then they kept going.
By step a hundred, several children were red-faced. By step one hundred and twenty, even Mr Halpern was breathing hard.
Then they were at the top.
There was a small round room. Inside it, a huge lamp behind a thick glass shield. Outside it, a railed platform with a view that — well —
The view was the sea. All of it. The sea went all the way to the edge of the world. There was a small ship far away, smaller than your fingertip. There was a long, long stretch of grey-blue water with sun glittering on it.
The class was very quiet.
"That," said Liv, eventually, "is the biggest thing I have ever seen."
Mrs Kvist nodded.
"Lighthouses make the sea feel smaller, by being a place to come back to. But