Inventing a Tinker

Part 1

Cadmus Errol stared out the window of his workshop office, watching the harbor for the telltale smoke that would herald the arrival of the Darksmith. A crowd was gathering by the docks. The population of Tinker's Island was only a few thousand, but those who could spare the day from their jobs joined the gathering. It wasn't every day a hero came home.

Greuder had served Errol Company for over twenty years, finding and recruiting the sorts of people Cadmus needed. The gregarious baker was worth his considerable weight in gold ten times over. It would be good to see him again; Cadmus hadn't been to Acardia since overseeing construction of the civic clock tower in Scar Harbor years ago. Moreover, it would be good to taste Greuder's wares again, if he was of a mind to set up a bakery on Tinker's Island instead of taking a well-earned retirement.

The ticking of a wall clock kept the quiet from settling in and leaving Cadmus alone with his thoughts. That clock was an old friend, one of the first bits of clockwork he'd ever assembled. But it nagged. Each second that passed unused was lost for good, and no man lived forever—not even the Mad Tinker. Cadmus used to resent the moniker, but it had served to spread his reputation further than a proper name could have ever done. And it was time for a Mad Tinker to get back to work.

Long gone were the days where he could lose himself in the workshop with a drafting table and pencil. Those hours of pure creation were stolen from his larger duties. Upon his desk were documents ranging from the weighty to the trivial. Orris kept the latter pile small by rounding up minor tasks and distributing them, but some still found their way to his desk. One letter offered thanks from the Takalish people for the delivery of 200 telescopic rifles. Another invited him to a dinner party across town. The shipyard and foundry had each sent up the month's production plans, which Cadmus glanced over and found satisfactory. He leafed through until he found a contract proposing that he sell two steam-powered ships to the royal family of Khesh; he tore it in two and let the halves fall to the floor.

There were some secrets Errol Company would keep a hand over. His ships would be the fastest, the safest against pirates. The soldiers that defended Tinker's Island carried guns that no government could purchase. Cadmus would not see his army outgunned by weaponry he sold elsewhere. He had a war to fight, and it was one that Tellurak's kings and dukes and emperors were blissfully unaware of. They poured their money into his coffers anyway, to the point where he worried more about whether mines and ships could supply him with enough ore and minerals than how he would pay for it all.

The clock struck six. Cadmus finished writing a note to the foreman at the smelters and set it aside in the tray for Orris to collect and deliver. It was time to keep a promise he'd made to himself. Greuder's impending return was all the more reminder that he was not a young man anymore. The prominence of the Mad Tinker and his dealings with certain untrustworthy sorts—mainly those same kings, dukes, and emperors—made his life a tempting target. Whether age or intrigue got him first, one day Cadmus would die, and so many little secrets would die with him.

He had promised himself he would commit to the page a choice few of his memories. None would see the light of day until he had passed on, but should that day come sooner rather than later, he felt the pressing need to write some of it down.

In a neglected corner of the workshop, he unlocked a cabinet and removed a journal. It was of the finest Takalish paper, leather bound and with a lock he'd added himself. He brought it back to his desk, and when it opened, the binding creaked with protest. The blank first page stared at him, defiant. Where would he begin? His childhood bored him. His birth and family history were already a matter of record, albeit obscure. No, he needed to start where the river of life diverged from the easy flow, and cut a path through mountains.

He knew exactly what day that was.