"That is not the reaction I had prepared for," said Frankie.
"No. I imagine not."
"I had prepared for four reactions and that was not one of them."
"What were the four?" said the man at the rail, from behind his hands.
"Denial, aggression, a very long unconvincing explanation, and running away down that path," said Frankie Osei. "I had actually looked at the path."
He took his hands off his face.
"I have seen you four times," he said. "Four. And I have said nothing every single time, because there is no version of excuse me, I have seen you in four countries that does not sound exactly like what it sounds like.
"And I have been standing on this terrace for about twenty minutes working out whether I am now obliged to leave Georgia."
"You've been up here twenty minutes?"
"I have been up here since ten past seven," he said. "I came up in the dark. There was nobody on the funicular and a man asked me if I was all right, which is not a thing you want asked at that hour on a mountain."
"You're Danish."
"I am Danish."
"That's not — I didn't mean it as an accusation."
"It is very difficult to say the word Danish to a Dane without it being slightly an accusation," he said. "We are aware. It is a national situation."
Frankie Osei put her coffee down on the rail.
"You've got a book," she said.
The man went completely still.
"In your bag," she said. "In Naples it was on the bar and it was face down and it is a hundred and eleven pages and it is falling apart, and I have thought about it eleven times since September, and I would like you to take it out and put it on this rail."
He took it out.
It is the 1974 edition, which is the only edition — grey card, a typeface that somebody should have been prosecuted for, and a spine that has been re-taped at least twice.
THE CHEAPEST TICKET — A method, by H. Sorensen.
Frankie Osei took hers out of her coat pocket and put it down next to it.
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
"Rule eleven," he said.
"Rule eleven."
"Nobody does rule eleven."
"Nobody has heard of this book," said Frankie Osei. "That is the actual thing. I have been doing this for six years and I have met about four hundred people on the road and I have said the words the cheapest ticket to about eleven of them and every single one of them thought I was talking about a website."
"I have done twenty-six cities," he said.
"Thirty-one."
"Thirty-one."
"Thirty-one, and rule eleven in all of them, including one where the highest place in the city was a multi-storey car park in Vilnius, and I did it in the rain, at eight in the morning, in a car park, for forty minutes." She picked her coffee back up. "I have never said that out loud to another human being and I would like it to have been worth it."
The man at the rail started laughing and could not stop for about twenty seconds, which she found, at eight o'clock in the morning on a mountain, entirely unreasonable.
"What's your name?" said Frankie.
He put his hand out.
"Kit Sorensen," he said.