Tink Cogsworth's Arc

Chapter 1 of 7

Tink Cogsworth wanted a friend who could think, and the friend lay dead on the workbench. Half goblin, half gnome, Tink stood barely as tall as the stool. The clockwork body was finished. Copper joints, glass eyes, a chest full of gears waiting to turn. But the gears did not turn. Nothing turned. Tink had built a mind and had no way to wake it. The problem was power. Every source in the workshop was too big or too weak. A steam boiler would cook the delicate gears. A wind-up spring died in an hour. Tink needed something small enough to fit inside a chest cavity and strong enough to run a thinking mind forever. No such thing sat on any shelf here. "Fine," Tink said. "Start smaller." Tink cleared the workbench and set down a robotic chicken instead. It was a squat metal bird with a wobbly neck and a red gem for one eye. If a tiny power core could run the chicken, it could run the clockwork friend later. A test. Tink pulled on the goggles with the rotating colored lenses and clicked a dark shield into place. Then Tink took the last idea off the highest shelf. A shard of glowing crystal, harvested from a fallen branch of the great tree-city that rose outside the window. The tree held whole homes and shops in its crown. Its living wood carried a faint hum of energy. Tink had scraped this one shard loose months ago and had been too scared to use it. Tink slid the shard into the chicken's chest and closed the panel. "Please work. Please don't explode." The shard flared. Green light poured through the goggle lens. Tink ducked. Gears inside the chicken screamed, spun too fast, and the metal body shook across the bench. The red eye blazed. The neck snapped straight, then the whole head popped off its spring and clattered to the floor. Silence. Tink lifted the shield lens and stared. The headless chicken still stood. Its legs stepped in place. Its chest glowed steady and calm now, the wild spinning settled into a smooth, quiet rhythm. The crystal had not burned out. It had not died. It ran the whole body on its own, gears turning by themselves, with no wind-up and no steam. Tink picked up the fallen head and laughed out loud. The power worked. The living wood of the tree could bring clockwork to life. The friend on the bench could wake after all. Then Tink looked out the window at the tree, and the laugh faded. One loose shard had nearly torn a chicken apart. A thinking mind would need far more. And every shard came from the living tree where people slept and worked and traded. Tink would have to take more. A lot more. And someone up there was going to notice.