Everything was quiet in Smudge’s office.

Well, except for the sound of Smudge snoring. And dribbling a little bit.

What he was supposed to be doing, I’m not entirely sure. But whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t sleeping. And it definitely wasn’t forgetting that Lyra, Orin, and Zia were due to arrive at any moment. Smudge had a “little” job for them after all.

Knock. Knock.

Smudge snored.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Smudge snored again.

Then came a BANG BANG BANG.

Smudge woke with a start. “No, you’re sleeping!” he shouted, scrambling in his chair.

There was a wobble, a stumble, a flap of arms, and then a crash. A moment later, Smudge was lying in a heap on the floor.

More precisely, he was lying in a heap of his own inventions.

There was the Self-Stirring Soup Spoon, the Automatic Sock Sorter, the Emergency Biscuit Launcher, the Banana-Powered Umbrella, and a collapsible garden rake, which had chosen that exact moment not to collapse.

“Owwww,” yelped Smudge.

The knocking came again.

“Oh! Visitors!”

After untangling himself from the garden rake, Smudge managed to call out, “Come in!”

The door opened, and in stepped Lyra, Orin, and Zia. They were the very first students at Sacred Geometry School and good friends of Smudge.

“Hello, Smud—”

Lyra stopped. His office was a total mess. The ultimate mess.

“How do you live like this, Smudge?”

Without saying another word, Lyra gathered a pile of papers and stacked them neatly out of the way. Some were clearly important. Some were self-portraits of Smudge wearing a cape. Some were both.

Orin began gathering pieces of a small ladder that had been dismantled “for inspection” and never put back together. Within minutes it was fixed and leaning against the wall at the most perfect angle imaginable.

Zia quietly collected three random screws from the floor and placed them beside the steam-powered toast catcher that they belonged to. Nobody knew how she knew this, including possibly Zia.

It turned out that all three were excellent at sorting, tidying, fixing, and all manner of helpful things.

Before long, they were in full swing organising Smudge.

Smudge helped, of course. Or at least he appeared to. Mostly, he wandered around shuffling papers from one pile to another while making thoughtful noises.

“Hmm.”

“Hmmm.”

“Very important.”

Reaching into the mess, Orin pulled out a clipboard which looked rather important. It had been wedged between a bent ruler, three envelopes, and a biscuit tin lid. He brushed a few crumbs from the top page, straightened the paper with both hands, and frowned.

“This looks official,” he said. “Official things should not be stored with biscuit tin lids.”

Smudge took it. He glanced at it. Then he glanced at it again.

“Oh.”

“Oh no.”

“What?” asked Lyra.

“The inventory.”

“The what?” asked Orin.

“The warehouse inventory.”

Ah.

That was it.

That was what Smudge was supposed to be doing. Not sleeping. Or dribbling. The warehouse inventory. And if he didn’t need help before, he certainly did now.

The warehouse was where Smudge—the caretaker—stored everything that kept the school running. And it was, let’s say, in need of some organisation.

Smudge looked at the clipboard. He looked at the ceiling. Then he looked at the clipboard again. “I may be a tiny bit behind.”

“How far behind?” asked Zia.

Smudge considered this carefully. “Do you know how some people say they’ll do something tomorrow?”

“Yes,” said Zia.

“Well,” said Smudge, “I may have said that several tomorrows ago.”

“How many?”

“48.”

“48!?”

“It may have been 47,” said Smudge in an attempt to make it sound less bad.

It did not.

Moving swiftly on, Smudge spread his arms wide, as though he were about to announce a grand prize.

“So,” he said brightly. “Excellent news. You’re here to help!”

“We are?” said Lyra.

“Yes,” said Smudge. “Thanks. Good. Very good.”

Orin narrowed his eyes. “What sort of help?”

“Tiny help,” said Smudge.

“How tiny?” asked Zia.

Smudge led them across the office to a large wooden door at the back. “Just a few bits and bobs.”

He placed one hand on the handle. “We’ll beeeee right through it.”

The door swung open.

The trio gasped.

Beyond the doorway stretched the largest warehouse they had ever seen. Shelves climbed so high they disappeared into the shadows above. Crates were stacked in what could only be described as towers. Boxes filled entire aisles. Machines whirred. Labels dangled. Conveyor belts rattled. Strange inventions blinked, buzzed, and occasionally puffed smoke. The warehouse went on… forever.

Lyra opened her mouth. Then closed it again.

Orin blinked.

Zia’s face slowly lit up. “I want to climb it!”

“Absolutely not,” said Lyra and Orin together.

Smudge smiled, reached behind the door, and produced a hat that appeared to have several pockets sewn onto it for no obvious reason. He popped it on his head with great seriousness. “I shall supervise.”

“Are you going to help?” asked Lyra.

“In a supervisory way.”

For a while, nobody said anything. The warehouse hummed. Something clattered. A crate wobbled. Somewhere far away, a bell rang.

The trio weren’t exactly sure how they had got themselves into the biggest job in history. But somehow, here they were.

Smudge rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Well,” he said. “Where do you want to start?”

Where Next?

Wherever you like. Pick a warehouse job that sounds interesting and see what happens.