At least he's not a complete idiot. Ciri doesn't thank him or comment on the assistance, but she does take it; once the precarious stack has gotten taller and she's balanced a couple of chairs on a table, she climbs up and reaches down, expecting to be handed something else light enough to keep stacking as she keeps climbing.

"Some time," she answers vaguely, but with confidence.

"It may be possible, but I think it's unlikely. These places morph on their own, and they do not respond to the manifestation and manipulation we can normally use, even in others' domains. No, this is something new. A part we haven't experienced before. I think it is-- unstable, somehow."

She's almost reached the hole in the ceiling. And the unpleasant pink substance has almost reached the bottom table's legs.