The Tinker

By Katherine Briggs

When fleeing the country, was it normal to feel like a rat stuck on a skinny branch above a pack of snarling wolves?

Even though tonight I would leave forever, I swept dust off the floors, checked for cobwebs in the spick-and-span nooks and corners, and comforted myself that I would no longer face this tangle of shelves, gadgets, and shadows every evening. Time to hang up the family apron and forget our hoarded secrets for good… except Grandfather’s book…

Blocks away, Assessors’ warning cries ripped the air.

They didn’t want me… yet. Still, I cringed before recounting today’s sales. And cringed again.

Ouch.

Father and Grandfather would roll over in their graves. I couldn’t even hold one of our firecracker candles to their craftsmanship. Yet I wore our surname Fidger as a sobriquet and undeserving credential.

Everybody needs something fixed, or a new doodad to make life a pinch easier, especially on the cheap. That’s how we tinkers stick around through thick and thin. How many times did they tell me that?

How about tinkers who can’t think up new doodads? I would retort silently.

I dragged my palm across my prickly stubble, then reached around my neck for the chain and attached sound-recording gizmo—Father’s greatest contraption. To me, anyway. I clicked its tiny widget for courage, and Melodee’s sugar-sweet recorded voice floated to my ears like a song.

“Oh, Fidger.” The most beautiful wind chimes couldn’t compete with her laugh. “I’m not sure what to say. So many things. How about, I love you very much forever and ever?”

My cheeks warmed. I was the luckiest guy in the world having a girlfriend like that. Why couldn’t everyone see her as I did? Then we wouldn’t have to run before the Assessors studied her pretty face and spied the Unwanted blood lurking high in her family tree. Before the borders closed tonight. Stupid war.

My heart squeezed.

She was waiting for me with the last two train tickets. I’d worked long, grueling hours for those. Saving the damsel, escaping the bad guys… Why didn’t I feel like a hero?

Time for final packing. I snagged practical wares like warming blankets, flexible-indestructible boots, medicines to cure frightfulness and queasiness, and glowing lights to see by, though I forwent the umbrella hats, recording contraptions, and one-time-use flying messenger devices.

My mind traipsed to the hidden cabinet beneath the selling counter, holding the remains of Grandfather’s dabblings before they were deemed illegal. Since childhood, I’d carried his book of secrets in my breast pocket and dreamed of replicating his invisibility blanket—originally intended to conceal messes from surprise guests. But I’d either fail miserably, as usual, or be caught trying.

I shuffled my feet toward the front door to hang the “Closed” sign. One last time. I sucked in a breath, lifted the placard… and imagined Father’s shop ransacked like so many abandoned others.

Did I double-check the storage room? Couldn’t leave a hungry sneak-varmint trapped back there. Even if it had never happened before.

I dashed to the back room, then heard a scuffle of movement. Not a varmint. Late-night customers? I circled around and found the shop empty.

Yanking my shoulders down, I shut off the remaining lights, secured the “Closed” sign, and fished the old key from my trouser pocket.

I froze.

An intruder’s eyes glinted like coals in the darkness. His small, shadowed form stood pressed against a shelf.

“Please.” His young, wide eyes and accent betrayed him.

An Unwanted hid in my shop.

My insides turned over.

Assessors bellowed. Things crashed and shattered outside—surely from the business next door—followed by tempests of cussing.

What should I do? Hail the authorities? Run and leave him?

I recoiled and glanced at the waif again… and saw the unmistakable hint of her.

Melodee.

Choking, I raced to the hidden cabinet and hissed, “Hold still.” Please remain functional. I flung the invisibility blanket over the boy.

Assessors tore the shop door off its hinges.

Their shining uniforms, glistening weaponry, and glaring hatred blinded me. I nearly fainted.

They growled.

One spoke. “Have you seen an Unwanted?”

I pursed my lips and said nothing.

They shoved past me and roamed the shop, knocking goods over and muttering. At last, they left via the gaping doorway.

Breathe. Breathe!

The invisible spot hugging the shelf remained still.

I set the door back on its hinges, swiped damp hands down my apron, and staggered forward to grab a recorder. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I captured my own, shaky voice.

“Melodee… I love you… pl-please… wait for me.”

Then I emptied the contents of the register.

Tiny fingers emerged from the blanket. I grasped them, whispered directions to her hiding place, and handed over the recorder, cash, and surely my heart.

Like a wisp of smoke, the Unwanted fled the shop. For the border. After a long moment, I tore my gaze away and considered the mess surrounding me.

It looked like I needed to start tinkering with Grandfather’s book after all.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katherine Briggs loves exploring other worlds, fathoming the vastness of the universe, and expanding her tea repertoire. She primarily writes speculative fiction, both short stories and novels. When not writing or teaching fourth grade, she enjoys adventuring with her awesome husband John. You can visit Katie, peruse her library, and join the Story Newsletter at her website.

You can hear an audio narration of “The Tinker” on the Finding Fantasy Reads podcast.

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Author Website