A Tinker’s Tale

This story is by Adam W. Roberson and was a runner-up in our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Adam Roberson calls Shenandoah County, Virginia, home. By trade, he’s a project manager, but at heart, he’s a creative. Passionate about people, process, and prose, Adam has a knack for blending project methodologies with the creative process to inspire both himself and those around him.

“You Tinkers are said to be so obsessed with your craft that no one in the land can match your expertise!” The large man towered over the plump inventor, who was barely taller than a young girl. His voice rose as he continued, “Yet your contraption has failed, once again, to catch the vermin stealing from the kitchen storehouses!” 

Holding up a heavy object wrapped in burlap, he continued his rant. “You asked for another part to fix your trap, but the one you described was thrown out with the rubbish weeks ago. So, make do with whatever this is.” He shoved the item into the Tinker’s hands. “And know this—one more failure, and I’ll revoke my patronage, strip you of my protection, and leave you without access to the gears, gadgets, and gizmos you so desperately need to survive. I’ll return at dawn, and your contraption had better work!” He thrust a thick, gloved sausage of a finger in the air. “Final warning!” he barked, slamming the hovel door shut.

 

It was true: the sole purpose of a Tinker was their obsession, and every Tinker was a master of their craft. You might assume this leaves a few Tinkers waddling about, but rest assured, there are countless subjects in which Tinkers possess infallible knowledge. This particular Tinker was a master contraptor—designing, building, testing, and launching contraptions was as vital to her as breathing. Perhaps even more so, given the events of this particular morning.

Tossing the burlap aside, a quick inspection confirmed the Patron’s claim. “This will certainly not suffice,” she muttered. “But I’ve managed with worse.” Studying the gears and pulleys of the failed contraption, the Tinker held the spare part at different angles, both below and above. Her mind raced, envisioning added weights, a bit of spare rope, and a makeshift pendulum to counterbalance the sluice.

“Yes, this might work.” Her auburn curls bobbed as she set to work installing the part. “You have no choice—make this work or be banished. No more failures, no more setbacks. You must succeed!”

However, the spare part—which was not the proper part—refused to fit into the contraption, because it simply did not belong there. The Tinker, fearing her fate, decided that a stroll along the stream might prove fortuitous given her plight.

 

Fortuitous it was, for the Tinker happened upon a Fox. 

Now it is well known that only the most intelligent animals possess the gift of speech, and, like this Fox, they are often reluctant to reveal such secrets. Perhaps it was the kindness that the Tinker had shown the Fox on previous strolls—a spare apple here, a pile of berries there—that obliged this particular Fox to speak.

“Follow me, and you shall find what you seek,” he said.

Grateful for the rare endowment and invitation, the Tinker followed. Soon, they arrived at a large tree beside a large rock that concealed a large hole leading into a rather large den, which looked to be more of a cave.

The Tinker, who had no reason to squat, stood in awe. To the right, her host’s Vixen rested with her four pups. To the left, shelves were stacked with fruits, vegetables, and sacks of unknown contents. But ahead, the Tinker’s gaze landed on an impressive collection of spare gears, gadgets, and gizmos.

 

“I believe this is the part you need,” the Fox said, dropping a rather odd-looking mechanical piece at the Tinker’s feet.

She rocked back on her heels in delight and exclaimed, “Yes! Indeed, that is the part! I thought this had been tossed with the rubbish.” Turning the strange item over in her hands, she examined it.

“Aye, it was, along with a bunch of other trinkets. I see no reason to waste them; they just lie there, waiting for someone who might find them useful one day.” The Fox smiled. “Like today.”

“May I have this?”

“It’s yours if you’d like. Should make that contraption of your work, I think.”

The Tinker glanced curiously at the shelves of food. Upon closer inspection, she noticed the fruits and vegetables were slightly discolored and spotted. “And where did those come from?”

“The kitchens.”

The Tinker raised her eyebrows. “You stole these from the kitchen storehouses?”

“Not at all. They all end up in the rubbish, too. The large folk discard the strangest things and then chase me off with brooms and sticks for helping myself.” The Fox trotted away, calling back, “Good luck with your contraption!”

 

It was indeed fortuitous that the Fox chose to speak to the Tinker and that the Tinker chose to follow the Fox. Even more fortuitous was the fact that Tinkers are such short creatures; this one had no trouble standing in the Fox’s den. Yet, short as she was, she felt smaller than a field mouse and longed to be anywhere else but there.

The Fox perceived the shame on the Tinker’s face.

“If you’d rather not go, you’re welcome to stay,” he said.

The Tinker sighed. “If you only understood. The part you’ve generously gifted me will indeed make my contraption work. And it will work extraordinarily well! But the contraption is a trap to catch the vermin that has been stealing food from the kitchen storehouses.”

The Fox nodded. “Ah, I see your predicament.” Foxes are indeed clever creatures.

“If I leave to fix the contraption, they will catch you,” the Tinker said, walking to one side of the den. She paused, turned, and began walking in the opposite direction. “But if I don’t complete the contraption, my Patron will abandon me… and what purpose will I have then?”

The Fox spun in a circle and laid down in a comfortable position. “Yes, well, that is indeed a predicament.”

 

The sound of a large fist pounding on the hovel door greeted the dawn. Without waiting for a reply, the Patron stormed inside, only to find the room utterly bare. None of the Tinker’s scrolls lay about, and the various miniature apparatuses that once cluttered the tables were gone. Indeed, all her tools and instruments were conspicuously absent from their hooks. The only thing remaining was an odd-looking contraption centered on the table.

The Patron stomped over to inspect it, exclaiming to no one in particular, “What sort of devilry is this?”

On the table sat an oblong box made of wooden slats. Rising from its center was a thin dowel with a sharp blade tied to the top. In front of the blade was a very thin, but rather taunt, piece of thread stretching from one end of the room to the other, with a small hook tied at each end.

Of course, the Patron was oblivious to all this. His only focus was on a small piece of parchment inside the box. Without thinking, he shoved his large hand into the box, pinched the parchment with his sausage fingers, and pulled it out.

Had he taken a moment to notice the contraption, he would have seen that by reaching into the box, he had knocked the dowel free from its precarious balance, tipping the blade and severing the thread. This released the hooks at either end, triggering a chain reaction of gears, gadgets, and gizmos.

The large man looked up at the sudden racket of devices and pulleys working in their mechanisms around the room. Irritated, he huffed and unfolded the note he had retrieved.

His eyes widened as he read aloud, “Sir, I have found that the part you provided was insufficient to complete my work. However, as you will soon discover, I was successful in getting this peculiar contraption to achieve some use after all.”

At that moment, a loud click was followed by the squealing of a pulley unwinding. The Patron looked up just in time to receive a nasty blow to his thick skull from a net containing a large rock toppling down upon him.

Peering through a nearby window, the Tinker and the Fox snickered with delight as the contraption proved to be a grand success.

“I can’t believe he fell for it,” laughed the Fox.

“He’s thick, that one,” the Tinker nodded. “Let’s get back to the den,” she said. “I have work to do.”