The Tinkerer

Near the top of a tall tree, The Tinkerer sat on a branch, dangling her feet in the air. She ripped one of the many red flowers that shielded her from unwanted eyes and inhaled its scent. It smelled of vanilla and leather. How wonderful. The stone in her pocket vibrated, and she pulled it out. A voice came from within.

“She’s at the ball; go.”

“Understood,” responded The Tinkerer.

She placed her silver goggles on, grabbed her bag and climbed down. Once on solid ground, she rearranged her hair in a bun and put her hoodie over her head. She moved quickly and silently, going past fruit trees and vividly coloured flowers. Eventually, The Tinkerer reached the front of the cave. A round metal door blocked the entrance.

“Let’s see if it works.” She placed her bracelet against the door and whispered, “alu’h mira ar.”

The metal roared before splitting in half and creating a small entrance. The Tinkerer smiled. As she walked inside, orbs glowed all around the ceiling, lighting up the entire place.

“I’m in,” she announced into the stone. “Melisa, are you there?” No answer came back. The Tinkerer didn’t like to wait, so she proceeded to fulfill her contract. She reached another door and opened it. The room on the other side was massive, exceeding the cave’s dimensions, most likely through magic. Or maybe she just passed through a portal? Very unlikely since portals usually made her dizzy.

“Are you there?” said the voice through the stone.

“Yes,” responded The Tinkerer.

“I had the misfortune of chatting with the culprit. But enough about that, how’s everything going?”

“Smooth so far. It all worked as you anticipated.”

“Splendid, but be mindful of traps. She’s a very cunning sorceress.”

“Understood; I’ll keep you updated.”

She looked at the massive painting on her right, at the blonde woman depicted in it. The famous sorceress Plums Alorsa. Her eyes were so big and green - no doubt, enhanced by magic - that they made her look poisonous. The Tinkerer wasn’t impressed. Famous or not, she would steal from her the same way she did from everyone else. She pretended to bow in front of the painting when something materialised in front of her. A weirdly shaped package wrapped in brown paper and held together by a red string. Not suspicious at all.

“Trap number one,” she whispered and picked it up. “Show me what you’ve got.”

She untied the package to find a small figurine of a boar inside. Before she had time to understand what it meant, an actual boar charged from behind. The Tinkerer flipped in the air in time to avoid the impact. The creature was the result of a spell, every inch of its skin covered in blue energy. It turned around and resumed its attack. The Tinkerer slid out of its way, grabbed its neck with one hand and buried a knife in its throat with the other. The spirit-made animal squealed and disappeared. Two others materialised in its place.

“On Flera’s eyes,” she said, pulling another knife out of her boot.

They engaged on sight; however, before they could reach her, they dropped to the floor, blades sticking out of their foreheads. That caused them to multiply once again. She had to find the source of the spell and cancel it.

The Tinkerer grabbed the small figurine before using a nearby table to jump on the wardrobe. She then hopped on the massive chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, wrapping her legs around it. The Tinkerer took a moment to catch her breath, admiring the glowing orbs around her.

“Okay, okay,” she whispered. “Where are you?”

Nothing stood out. She pulled out another knife and kissed the blade. She only had two left, so she had to use them carefully. Below, the boars stood unmoved, waiting for her to come down.

She aimed the dagger at the closest one and released it. As the creature vanished and two more appeared, The Tinkerer looked around the room. A slight glow came from under the painting.

“There you are.”

She pointed the figurine and threw with as much force as she could muster. The statuette moved through the wall as if made of water. The blue boars below her roared in anger before disappearing, and The Tinkerer climbed down. She exhaled loudly.

“Well, that was exhausting.”

Before she could get up, another package appeared in front of her. It was enclosed in the same brown paper.

“No, thank you,” said The Tinkerer, leaving it on the floor. Instead, she searched for the magical artifacts she was hired to retrieve. Inside drawers, wardrobes, wicker baskets, but she couldn’t find any of them. When she eventually took down Plums’ painting, two circles were carved in the wall—one with a boar inside, crossed off, and the other empty.

“Melisa, I think I might’ve found them,” she said, placing the stone to her mouth. “But you were right; she’s very cunning.”

“Not surprised one bit,” her voice came sharply.

“I have to go through whatever trials she placed around the artifacts.”

“Not to be rude,” said Melisa. “But you ought to hurry. This ball will not last forever.”

“Fine,” whispered The Tinkerer to herself. “Trap number two.”

She picked up the package and removed the brown paper. It was another figurine. It looked

like…one of the glowing orbs on the ceiling. And that’s what it was. The room suddenly succumbed to a red light that constantly switched on and off.

Someone that looked like her father approached from the darkness.

“Definitely not real,” she said, shaking her head.

“Are you positive?” he responded in his usual raspy tone, getting even closer.

“Couldn’t be more positive if I tried to.”

“I’m real, Ava. I’m back.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh right,” he said, clearing his voice. “You’re The Tinkerer now, aren’t you?”

“You’re not real. I buried you with my own hands.”

“Fine. If that’s what you truly believe, then dispose of me.”

“With pleasure,” she responded, stabbing him in the chest. Her father dropped to the floor, blood gushing out.

The room turned dark and then red again, and her mother was next to move out of the shadows. She was crying, kneeling next to her husband.

“Why?” she asked. “Why have you done this? Why ruin our family, Ava?”

“Do not call me that.”

“Precisely. Murderer suits you best.”

The Tinkerer rushed in front of her and placed a blade on her throat.

“Go on then, kill me,” yelled her mother, tears roaming down her cheeks. “Kill me, you murderer. Live up to your reputation.”

The Tinkerer sliced her mother’s throat with a swift movement, her body resting on her husband’s.

The room turned dark and then red. The Tinkerer’s eyes widened as tens of people appeared all around her. Some that she remembered from her childhood and some that she didn’t.

“Murderer,” they all yelled in unison.

“Shut up,” she responded, looking around the room, trying to identify the source of the spell.

“You call yourself The Tinkerer,” continued the tumult of voices. “A perfect name for one that tinkers with life itself.”

“Shut the hell up.”

“It’s because of you that your brother never came back home. You deserved to be abandoned.”

Tears rolled down The Tinkerer’s cheeks. She couldn’t allow herself to be affected by that. They were just a spell. All that she had to do was to find the source and shut it down.

The voices continued. “It’s because of you that your lover died.”

“I must control myself,” she whispered to herself. “I must...I must control myself.”

“You’ve done him a favour. Saved him from a life of misery.”

And with that, The Tinkerer lost herself. She jumped at the nearest person and ended their life. She then ran around the room, killing randomly. With each death, the word ‘murderer’ echoed in the room. Again and again, until she hurled her knives as further away from her as she could and crawled under a table. The Tinkerer hugged her knees and cried, rocking back and forth.

“Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.”

In a matter of seconds, she collapsed and lost consciousness.

When she finally opened her eyes, she was in the same room, inside an energy cage that looked dangerous to touch. Outside, Plums was sitting on a chair, laughing.

“Most amusing, little sister. You thought you could steal from me?” She placed one leg on top of the other and brushed her blonde hair. “Aren’t you naive?”

“Spare me the theatrics.”

“Catty as always,” said Plums, mimicking a paw with her hand. “What will I do with you now?”

“You’ll let me go; that’s what you’ll do.”

“Not a chance.”

Another laughter came from behind.

“Silly, little mouse,” said Melisa, sipping on a glass of wine and handing Plums another.

“You conniving weasel.”