The whole Practice Wall shivered.
The painted bricks wriggled like jelly. Flour puffed from the bakery chimney. Mayor Grindle’s moustache umbrella popped open and twirled him in a tiny circle.
“That bell only rings backwards when something is missing,” said Granny Saff, rolling closer. “Something important.”
“My jam tart?” asked Pip from behind a barrel.
“Bigger than a jam tart,” Granny said.
Just then, every clock-flower in Tiddlepond bent its golden head. Their little petal-hands spun round and round, faster and faster, until they pointed not to any hour at all, but straight at Olo.
Olo sneezed sparks. “Pip!” he squeaked.
“Did your shadow just say Pip?” Mayor Grindle gasped.
“I think he said help,” whispered Miri, though her tummy was doing somersaults. Please do not be frightened, Olo. I am here.
Olo tugged Miri’s sock. Then he ran up the Practice Wall as if it were a grassy hill. Where his bright feet touched, the bricks turned warm yellow. A small shape appeared in the middle of the wall: a doorknob made of moonlight.
There was no door around it.
Granny Saff’s face went soft and worried. “The door that is not a door.”
Mayor Grindle blew his whistle, but it made a sound like a sleepy duck. “Stop! By order of the handbook, nobody touches mysterious knobs!”
Miri looked at Olo. Olo looked at Miri. His glow was trembling.
“Sometimes,” said Miri, “the handbook is too small.”
She reached out and turned the moonlight knob.
⁂
The wall did not open. Instead, the ground under Miri’s feet dropped.
Down she slid through a tunnel smooth as a teacup spoon, with Olo shining beside her and Granny Saff bumping after in her rolling slipper-chair. “I knew I should have packed biscuits!” Granny called.
They landed with a gentle plump in a place Miri had never seen.
It was the inside of Tiddlepond’s giant blue teacup.
All around them rose curved walls of shining china. Above, the town’s little houses stuck to the rim like toy buttons. Below, in the deep cup-bottom, stood a silver lake. But it was not water.
It was time.
Seconds glittered like minnows. Minutes drifted like ribbons. In the centre of the lake, a huge cork had been pushed into a round hole. It wobbled and squeaked, holding everything back.
“The Tick-Tock Rain,” breathed Granny. “It cannot fall because the spout is stopped.”
From behind the cork came a sneeze. Then another. Then a small, cross voice said, “Do not stare. I am very busy being stuck.”
A creature popped up. It had the body of a tadpole, the beard of a paintbrush, and spectacles made from dewdrops.
“I am Nibbin Not-Nearly, Assistant Keeper of Almost-Time,” it said. “And that bright shadow is late.”
Olo hid behind Miri’s knee.
“Late for what?” asked Miri.
Nibbin pointed one wobbly finger at Olo. “For remembering.”
Granny Saff gripped the arms of her slipper-chair. “No. He is only a child’s shadow.”
Nibbin’s spectacles flashed.
“When yellow walks where black should lie, the cup will tip and the stars swim dry.”
Miri hugged Olo close. He felt warm, like sunshine through curtains.
“I will not let anyone take him,” she said.
The silver lake suddenly began to bubble. The cork rose an inch. From the dark round hole beneath it came a long, slow knocking.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Nibbin went pale green. “Oh crumbs,” he whispered. “The someone who stole the rain has heard you.”
And then the cork flew out.
