The kitchen air was thick with the scent of warm brioche and bubbling strawberry jam. Barnaby, five years old, sat on a stool so high his feet dangled in the air like two little fish out of water. In front of him, a bowl of milk steamed gently. Barnaby loved his routine: the crack-crack of cereal under his teeth and the softness of his flannel pajamas, as fluffy as a fresh cotton cloud.

In the village of Nutcracker, everything was quiet. The houses looked like big sugar-frosted cakes and the paths were paved with round pebbles, smooth like Easter eggs. Barnaby didn’t like surprises. If a sock was inside out, his eyebrows scrunched up and his hands fidgeted nervously. If the wind blew too hard, he hid behind the velvet curtains that smelled of sun-dusted fabric.

That morning, a strange noise shattered the silence. Cling-Clang-Boom! It wasn't the usual rooster’s crow. It was a metallic sound, as if a knight in armor were performing a tap dance on the roof. Barnaby stopped chewing. His eyes grew wide, round as glass marbles.

The noise came from the garden. Barnaby slid off his stool—thud! his bottom met the cold tile floor—and waddled to the window. Outside, in the middle of the rosebushes, a giant copper teapot sparkled under the sun. It wasn't sitting on a table, no. It floated a few inches above the ground, puffing out little clouds of steam that smelled strangely of peppermint and old parchment.

Pshhhh-Clack! The teapot's lid lifted all by itself. A tiny voice, high-pitched like a squeaky violin, escaped from it:

"Help! By the beard of a jellyfish, I’m stuck in the spout!"

Barnaby felt his heart thumping, like a little drum in his chest. An adventure? Right now? His fingers mechanically twisted the hem of his pajamas. He wasn't a knight. He was just Barnaby, the boy who always spilled his orange juice. But the teapot kept wiggling, making a sound of angry pots and pans: Clink! Chang! Blong!

"Please!" the voice continued. "If no one helps me, the Kingdom of Lost Objects will stay without music forever!"

Barnaby approached the glass door. His hand hesitated on the cold iron handle. Outside, the grass was covered in dew, and he knew the water would soak his bear-paw slippers. His shoulders tightened and he tucked his head into his neck, like a turtle hiding from a storm.

"What if I get lost?" he whispered to himself. "What if I fall into a hole full of broccoli?"

The garden suddenly looked huge, as big as an Amazonian forest. The sunflowers looked like yellow giants watching him. He took a step back, but the teapot let out a whistle so sad it sounded like a tiny kitten crying.

Barnaby closed his eyes tight. He thought of his stuffed toy, Blue-Bunny, who was left on the bed. If he did nothing, who would save the music? He took a deep breath, opened the door and... Splosh! His slippers sank into soft, sticky mud. It was a weird sensation, a bit yucky but also a bit funny, like walking through mashed potatoes.

Arriving at the teapot, Barnaby pulled with all his might on the spout. His hands slipped on the polished metal, smooth as an ice rink. Suddenly, with a champagne cork sound—POP!—a tiny character was ejected and landed right on Barnaby’s nose.

It was a cricket, but no ordinary cricket. He wore a tiny top hat and a red jacket with gold buttons. He smelled of beeswax and licorice.

"I am Gustave, Royal Butler of the Melodic Teapot," he announced, readjusting his round glasses. "Thank you, young giant in pajamas. But we have no time to lose! The Grand Metronome has lost its tick-tock. Without it, everyone is dancing crooked!"

Gustave tapped the ground with his little candy-cane staff. Ting-ting.

"You must come with me, Barnaby. Your hands are big enough to wind the giant spring."

Barnaby looked at his hands. They were covered in mud and a bit of strawberry jam was still sticking to them.

"Me? But I’m clumsy... I break everything."

"Exactly!" Gustave exclaimed with a wink. "To save the music, sometimes you have to know how to make a little noise!"

To reach the Grand Metronome, they had to cross the Forest of Lost Spoons. It was a strange place where the trees were made of polished wood and the leaves were tiny silver spoons that clinked in the breeze: Gling-glang, gling-glang. The air there smelled of hot chocolate and cinnamon.

The ground was covered in moss carpets, soft as silk but very slippery.

"Watch out for the fork-roots!" Gustave warned.

Barnaby did his best, but his clumsiness caught up with him. Trying to avoid a puddle of maple syrup, he got his feet tangled. Zoup! His feet shot forward, his arms windmilled like a crazy fan, and he ended up bottom-first in a bush of paper napkins.

Froufrou! Napkins flew everywhere. Barnaby was all disheveled, a silver spoon stuck in his hair. Gustave burst into a laugh that sounded like bubbles popping.

"Bravo! What a smashing entrance! You’ve got the rhythm in you, even when you fall!"

Barnaby ended up laughing too. He stood up, dusted himself off, and noticed the bush was actually hiding a secret passage. His blunder had put them on the right path.

They finally arrived in front of a huge tower, shaped like an old alarm clock. But something was wrong. The silence was so thick it felt like heavy cream. Not a sound. Not a breath. The smell of passing time, a bit like old paper and cold dust, floated in the air.

At the top of the tower, the Grand Metronome was frozen. Its giant needle leaned sadly to one side. Its texture was rough, covered in rust that scratched under the fingers like sandpaper.

"Look," Gustave whispered, his voice trembling. "A huge ball of chewing gum is blocking the gears!"

It was a pink, sticky, gigantic gum, probably tossed there by a giant, distracted child. Barnaby felt his legs turn soft like overcooked spaghetti. He had to climb up there. The wind made a scary whistling sound in the cogs: Hooooooo...

"I can't," Barnaby murmured, his eyebrows knitting together in fear. "It’s too high. What if the gum sticks to me forever?"

He sat on the ground, shoulders slumped, looking at his small dirty slippers. The whole world seemed to have lost its color.

That’s when Gustave began to hum a little song. Barnaby remembered his mommy’s music at bedtime. He stood up. He climbed the gears, one by one. The metal was cold and hard. Arriving near the pink gum, he took a deep breath. The scent of chemical strawberry tickled his nose.

Yuck! He grabbed the gum with both hands. It was slimy, stretchy, and elastic like cheese on a pizza. He pulled. Scritch... Stretch... The gum resisted. Barnaby put all his weight backward. He pulled so hard his face turned red as a ripe tomato.

Suddenly, the gum snapped. SPLATCH! Barnaby flew backward, bounced off a huge steel spring—Boing! Boing!—and landed right on a massive red button marked "START."

The needle began to move. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Joyful music, made of trumpets and drums, exploded through the valley. The spoon-trees started to dance, the clouds did pirouettes. Barnaby, covered in pink gum from head to toe, looked like a big strawberry candy.

Back in his garden, Barnaby saw the teapot fly away in one last cloud of vanilla-scented steam. Gustave gave him a military salute with his top hat before disappearing into the blue sky.

Barnaby walked back into the kitchen. His slippers were ruined, his pajamas were full of stains, and he had gum in his hair. His mommy looked at him with wide eyes, but Barnaby didn't lower his head. He didn't worry about his inside-out sock anymore.

He had saved the music. His hands still smelled of copper and adventure. He walked to the table, poured some milk, and when he spilled three drops next to the bowl, he just smiled.

"It’s just a little plop in the music, Mommy," he said with a wink.

The world was no longer a scary place where everything had to be tidy. It was a giant playroom where every mistake was a note in a song. Barnaby climbed onto his stool, closed his eyes, and listened to the beating of his heart. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Adventure was there, right at his sticky fingertips.