The Clockwork Order

For three hundred years, the great clock tower had watched over the town of Bahari, its deep chime (the ringing sound of a bell) marking every hour. Then one grey morning it simply stopped. No tick. No chime. The whole town seemed to hold its breath.

Tryphonia and her friend Grace were sent up to investigate. Past cobwebs and rows of still, silent cogs (the toothed wheels that turn inside a machine), they found a brass panel glowing with a faint blue light. On it was a single sum, and a warning, scratched in old letters: Solve me in the correct order, or I stay frozen forever.

The sum read: 6 + 2 × 5.

“Easy!” said Grace, reaching for the lever. “Six plus two is eight, and eight times five is forty.” She sounded certain. But the moment she pulled, the machine gave an indignant (offended, rather cross) buzz and stayed as still as stone.

“Wait,” said Tryphonia, catching her hand. “I think we broke the rule. In maths we don’t always work from left to right. Some operations are stronger, they must be done first.”