Tidy was at the gatepost drawing the day in pictures.
"Stop," said Tidy. "Say the smallest one."
I stopped. "...Wicks."
"Good. That's the top of the plan."
10:00 · morning
the gatepost
Tidy draws the day as nine pictures in order and pins the board to the gatepost, with the hanging done from the far end back towards Winky's house. Muddle arrives overwhelmed and is told to name the smallest job: wicks. Wobbly asks what if the wicks run out, and Tidy says then we are on the second picture instead of the third.
3 fluffs tell this minute. None of them saw the same one.
And there it was. The way in. I found a flat board and drew the day in pictures, the way I draw every day: a sun coming up, a bucket, a lantern with a wick in it, a lantern with a flame, a sun going down. Nine pictures in the end, in order.
Wobbly read it over my shoulder and said, "But what if the wicks run out?"
"Then we're on the second picture instead of the third," I said, "and I draw a new one."
I heard that come out of my own mouth and was rather surprised by it.
I was at the gatepost at ten while Tidy drew the plan, and I asked what if the wicks run out.
I want to be fair to myself here, which I am not often. That was a reasonable question. There was one supply of wicks and fifty-five lanterns and no second shop.
"Then we're on the second picture instead of the third," said Tidy, "and I draw a new one."
That answer has stayed with me all day. Not because it fixed the worry — it did not, I had eleven more before lunch — but because of the shape of it. Tidy did not tell me it would be fine. Tidy told me what we would do if it was not.