When Boxy, Gluebert and Pete emerged from the Clockwork Caverns, they expected sunshine.

Maybe a picnic spot. Possibly a polite sandwich.

What they got... was a maze.

It stretched endlessly in every direction… a labyrinth of stone and brass, glowing runes, floating platforms, and the constant tick-tick-tick of invisible gears.

At its entrance was a single sign:

THE TINKERER’S TRAP. PLEASE REMOVE ALL EXPECTATIONS.

Gluebert rubbed his hands together.
“Ah! My favourite kind of nonsense.”

Boxy squinted.
“Is this a test?”

Pete held up a sign:

“NO, IT’S PROBABLY A TRAP. IT SAYS IT’S A TRAP.”

The moment they stepped onto the first tile, it glowed under their feet.

Boxy’s lit up green. Gluebert’s shimmered blue. Pete’s flared a dramatic, judgemental orange.

Pete slowly turned.
Held up a new sign.

“I HAVE NEVER FELT SO UNDERSTOOD.”

The maze began gently.

The first chamber featured four glowing doors and a wall of floating instruments. Above each door was a symbol - spiral, zigzag, lightning bolt, sandwich. (Probably not important.)

A message hovered mid-air:

MATCH THE DOOR TO ITS RHYTHM.

Pete held up:

“IF THIS STARTS SINGING, I’M LEAVING.”

Boxy opened his backpack, and pulled out a pair of glowing maracas.

He gave them a cautious shake.

The spiral door flickered.

Gluebert grabbed the second maraca. “Rhythmic resonance! I once trained a yak choir in tempo therapy!”

Together, they shook. The spiral door lit up fully.

Pete, not to be outdone, performed a surprisingly elegant one-legged salsa with one eyebrow raised.
The zigzag door opened.

PING!
A sticker floated down.

Pete dropped the maraca with flair and held up:

“YOU CAN’T TEACH THIS.”

The maze twisted sharply.
The tiles beneath their feet began to hum. And then, from the ceiling, came a swirling cloud of glitter beetles, each the size of a walnut and twice as judgemental.

A glowing plaque read:

MAKE MUSIC. SOOTHE BUGS. NO PRESSURE.

Boxy reached into the bag again, and this time pulled out a delicate pan flute.

Pete held out his hand.

He examined the flute. Turned it over. Then, very seriously, placed it to where his mouth would be... and blew.

Nothing happened. No sound. No sparkle. Just a faint puff of confusion.

He stared at it. Blew harder. Still nothing.

Then he scowled. Looked at Boxy.

And slowly held up a sign:

“THIS IS DISCRIMINATION.”

Boxy tried next. He played a note that sounded like a duck giving up.

The beetles twitched angrily.

Gluebert puffed up, took the flute, and played a slightly wobbly lullaby that somehow sounded like naptime and a sneeze at the same time.

To everyone's surprise, it worked. The beetles swirled peacefully and disappeared in a cloud of sparkles and faint snoring.

PING! Another sticker floated down.

Pete held up:

“I’M STARTING TO TAKE THIS PERSONALLY.”

Further into the trap, the maze grew louder. Cogs churned. Pipes hissed. A series of tiles clicked in and out of place as they walked.

One door loomed ahead. Above it: a giant, ticking dial and a keyhole with a familiar shape.

Pete pointed at it. Then at Boxy. Then at the backpack.

Boxy reached in… and pulled out a small crank-operated music box.

He placed it on a platform near the door and began to turn.

Nothing.

The dial kept ticking.

Gluebert tapped his chin.
“Ah! Match the tempo!”

Boxy turned slower. The ticking aligned. The door shimmered. Then clicked open with a very satisfied ding.

PING!
Another sticker.

Pete held up:

“IN CASE NO ONE NOTICED: I WAS RIGHT. AGAIN.”

The next room was dark.

Only four glowing musical notes shimmered on the walls. A plaque read:

TUNE THE ROOM TO THE SONG IN THE WALL.

Pete walked over, pressed his ear to the stone, and listened.

Then plucked a small sequence on the wall with his fingers. Nothing happened.

Boxy reached into the bag. The kalimba glowed.

Pete took it without a word.

He plucked four perfect notes.

The room lit up like a concert.

The floor panels rearranged themselves into a staircase.

Gluebert whispered, “He read the wall.”

Pete turned slowly. Held up:

“MAYBE YOU SHOULD TRY IT SOMETIME.”

As they climbed the staircase, a soft meow echoed down from above. Then a metallic thud.

On a ledge above them, a small wooden cat with magnetic feet had stuck itself to a pipe by accident. It stared down, paws curled, dignity gone.

Pete stared.

Held up a sign:

“THAT’S MY NEW BEST FRIEND.”

The staircase dropped them into a massive chamber with a glowing pit. Suspended above it, turning slowly, was a golden key.

No bridge. No steps. No safety rail.

A message hovered above the gap:

THOSE WHO GRASP, MAY PASS.
(UNLESS THEY FALL INTO THE PIT.)

Boxy opened his backpack.

The hydraulic robot claw rose into the air.

Pete grabbed it before anyone else could, extended the claw arm with precision, and neatly retrieved the key without blinking.

Gluebert applauded.

Pete turned around and held up a sign that simply said:

“I IMPRESS MYSELF SOMETIMES.”

PING!
Another sticker floated down.

Finally, they reached the centre.

It wasn’t a trap.

It was an instrument.

Half-machine, half-magic, the device shimmered on a raised platform. It had strings, pipes, keys, and a copper horn, but it looked unfinished. Waiting.

A small brass plaque at its base read:

“Designed by T.M. - Music is a memory, not just a sound.”

The moment Pete stepped forward, it reacted.

It hummed.

He touched the keys.

Nothing.

Gluebert stepped closer.
“This isn’t a trap. This is for you.”

Pete hesitated.

Boxy stepped beside him.
“Maybe... maybe this is your voice.”

Pete placed both hands on the surface.

The machine lit up.

And from nowhere, a sound emerged. Not a word. Not a sentence.

But a note.

Clear. Soft. Gentle.

It echoed around the room like the memory of a lullaby no one had written yet.

Boxy and Gluebert froze.

Pete blinked.

Then slowly lifted a sign:

“DID I JUST MAKE MUSIC... WITH MY SOUL?”

Gluebert was speechless.

Boxy beamed.

Behind them, the walls slid open, revealing the exit.

The cat padded over and stuck itself to Pete’s leg.

He didn’t remove it.

He just held up a final sign:

“THIS ONE’S COMING WITH ME.”

Together, they stepped forward, through the final door of the Tinkerer's Trap, with the magnet-cat now happily stuck to Pete’s leg and a soft hum still echoing from the machine behind them.

Boxy looked back once, watching the glow fade.

The machine had responded to Pete.

Not with words.
But with music.

Behind them, a cog clicked into place. A gear turned somewhere far away.

And from deep beneath the floor, too faint for words, came a whisper that chilled the air around them.

“The Hollow Hall is waking.”

Pete paused.

Held up a sign.

“THAT’S NOT TERRIFYING AT ALL.”

Then, with a squonk, a swish, and a tail-thump from the magnetic cat, they headed into the unknown...

where something old... and hollow... waited.