The Tin Bird

The bird that flew

Chapter 3: The Bird that Flew

“You’ve done it! You’ve really done it!”

Trinket swiped the box from Calist’s hands as soon as he was within reach. For a second his eyes become impossibly wide as he looked over every inch of the music box. He turned it this way and that, upside-down and downside-up until he seemed satisfied that it was the right one after all. Then he put it in his pocket.

“Good girl,” said Trinket.

“Mr. Varnum is hurt,” said Calist. Trinket laughed.

“I’ll bet he is. Yes, imagine a contraptionist with one eye? Oh I doubt if he’ll be putting any new ideas to the test soon.” He started walking down the cobblestone road and Calist followed indignantly.

“You mean to say you meant for that to happen?” She asked.

“Don’t give me what for, thief,” Trinket reminded her. “I am simply an impatient individual, tired of waiting to get what’s rightfully his. Now keep up. It’s getting late and we wouldn’t want the corpse snatchers to come collect you, would we?”

Calist did not like the thought at all, and she was an awfully long ways away from West End. She followed a step behind him until they entered a cozy little cookery just down the street from where they’d started. It smelled like fresh baked bread and herbs, agonizing to an empty stomach.

“Eat, you’ve earned it,” said Trinket after the waitress set some bowls of soup and bread in front of them.

As hungry as she was, Calist still did not entirely trust Trinket. If he could do what he’d done to Mr. Varnum, then what was to say he wouldn’t do worse to her?

“Oh go on,” said Trinket with an impatient wave of his hand. “Suspicious thing aren’t you? That’s not a bad thing, no, not at all, but if I wanted to kill you I would have hardly spent the extra dime on your meal, would I? Eat. You’re too damn skinny.”

Calist watched him for another moment to see if there was any sign of a lie in his expression. Of course, with Trinket, there was hardly a moment where he did not look as though he was telling a lie. Her stomach got the better of her, and before she could even stop herself she was biting into her meal. The bread was warm and buttery. The soup was rich with potatoes and leaks and a cream broth that left her regretting only the fact that she could not finish it. When she finally looked up from her bowl she saw that Trinket was looking at the little box again. It reminded her that she still had a message to deliver.

“Mr. Varnum said that you won’t find the key,” she told him. She waited for the smug look to disappear from his face, but it stayed right where it was.

“Did he now?” Asked Trinket. “Where’s my pin?”

“It’s still at the shop-” Trinket interrupted her with a loud laugh.

“Is it? Check your pocket.”

Calist did as he asked because she did not like the growl in his voice when he said it. At first she only felt the little toy bird, but then she realized that there was something else. When she took it out, she saw that she was holding the pin in her hand. She dropped it on the table and it rolled over to Trinket.

“Now there’s a pin that will always be there when you need it,” he said. “A great pin indeed. Now, let’s see if it can hold up to great expectations.”

Trinket placed the box on the table near the pin.

“Pin,” he said, “unlock this box.”

Calist watched, wide eyed, to see if it would do as it had before. At first it did not move at all. But then it twitched. Slowly, very slowly, it propped itself up in a sad attempt to do as asked. However, the pin had only to touch the smooth black surface of the box to fall down flat and roll away. It was as though the box itself had rejected it.

“Interesting,” said Trinket.

“Now what?” Asked Calist. But he did not answer. Instead, he simply hid the box away again and said nothing of it. She noticed that he did look terribly disappointed about the whole matter, and she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

The silence that followed left her bored and anxious, so she took the bird out from her pocket and wound it up to watch it move its wings. She fancied that it was going somewhere far across the ocean to the mystic northland or the east islands. Both of which seemed like a great improvement to Newbird.

“What’s that?” Asked Trinket.

“It’s a Snowsparrow,” said Calist. “Mr. Varnum gave it to me-”

“Toys!” Scoffed Trinket. “Course he did. Old bastard would give a thousand useless toys away and keep his hands clamped around anything of real value. Give it here.” He held out his hand for the mechanical bird. Calist feared that he might throw it away and almost refused. But one look from him forced her to give it up.

“Don’t toss it, please,” she said. “I aint got noth’n except that in the whole world.” It may have been a disappointing toy, but it was still the only one she had.

“Do be quiet,” said Trinket. He turned the bird over and then, to Calist’s horror, started taking it apart. With deft fingers he split it in half at the seam and removed the wind up pin. Then, very carefully, he replaced it with his own pin and put it back together. He did it in less than a minute. When he was done he set it on the table where it immediately spread its wings of its own accord and took flight.

“What good is a toy?” Asked Trinket as the bird flapped its way onto Calist’s shoulder. “What good is the imagination when we have the power to create our own reality? That’s what I do, girl. I make dreams come to life.”

Calist had not yet taken her eyes off the bird. It was sitting still and dead on her shoulder. But she knew that with any simple command it would go flying off again. Across the ocean and back in a day? Maybe.

“So,” Trinket continued, “how would you like to work for me?”