“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.
