runs up stairs

I don’t know how far down those stairs went.
I’m not even kidding. I’m not taking poetic license. The stairs went down twelve steps, took a right angle, and went down twelve more, took another right-angled turn, and went down twelve more, and so on. I stopped counting in the low two hundreds and resorted to my awareness of the island to feel out the rest of them. Duh. Seventeen hundred and twenty-eight—twelve cubed.
The stairs were about eight inches each, which meant eleven hundred feet and change, straight down. That was well below the water level of the lake. Hell, it was below the bottom of the lake. The staircase echoed with deep, groaning sounds pitched almost too low to be heard. In the wan light of the chemical glow stick, the place took on a kind of amusement-park fun-house atmosphere, where you suddenly realize that you’ve been routed into a circle with no apparent way out.
“Down, down to goblin town you go, my lad!” I sang in a hearty, badly pitched baritone. I was panting. “Ho, ho, my lad!”

Cold Days Chapter 16, Page 154


“Harry,” Bob said. “Sunrise in one hour.”
“Right.” I sighed and picked up the skull. I tucked him away into the messenger bag and said to Demonreach, “I’m on it.”
“GOOD.”
I muttered darkly under my breath and turned for the stairs, then started jogging back up them, thinking of all the problems arrayed against me.
Good thing I’d been working out.

Cold Days Chapter 17, Page 172


Okay, for the record: That is one hell of a lot of stairs to go up.
Also for the record: I did them two and three at a time, at a run, and went to the top without stopping.
From there, I went pounding down the hillside, my feet never slipping or faltering, until I got back to the beach, moving at an easy run. The sun was rising behind me, but the solid mass of Demonreach kept it blotted out in shadow, and I could tell only by the light beginning to fill the sky.

Cold Days Chapter 18, Page 173