Tinker and Tat

“Tink?” he called, praying he wasn’t putting his life on the line.

“We’re in the basement!” a voice called back.

T relaxed. By her voice, Tinker didn’t seem to be under duress. Still, his anxiety was taking a moment to calm down.

He kept his shoes on – you never knew what was happening in the basement – and stepped lightly through the kitchen. As he reached the top of the stairs, he paused, something registering on his vision. There was something different here, but he couldn’t place it.

With a shrug and a sigh, he pulled the basement door open. The dim light took a second to readjust to. Tink was sitting on one of the high stools at her worktable, studying something in a glass vial. She cocked her head as he hit a squeaky stair, pushing her ever-present goggles onto her forehead. “T! Thanks for coming.”

Her effervescence was like her goggles. Not only did she never leave the house without it, it made her stick out no matter where she went. She set the vial down and motioned to the seat in front of her. “I need some help, T.”

“What is it?” T asked, rounding the end of the stairs and tugging at his jacket. He forgot how quickly the temperature rose in the enclosed room. He threw the coat onto another stool and took a seat.

His face dropped when he saw that Tink’s face had become serious. “I need someone to talk to about sparkly stuff,” she said, leaning forward.

“Magic?” T clarified. He motioned to the loaded table. “All of this?”

“This is science,” Tink sniffed. “With… Magical elements.”

T rolled his eyes. “Sure, and I just make video tattoos.”

“That’s a great way of looking at it,” Tink said, nodding sagely. She nodded to his arm. “See? Even Bartimaeus agrees with me.”

T’s eyes dropped to the tattoo dragon, which was spiraling around the anchor and ropes on his wrist. His eyebrows narrowed as he lifted head. “He never reacts to your alchemy table,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“That’s because alchemy is science,” Tinker reminded him, but tossed her head across the room. “It’s probably him.”

T turned to look, and nearly fell off his stool. A massive man, wrapped in a massive cloak, his face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, was seated in the corner. T couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead, he sat so still. “What. The.” he started.

“I need help, T,” Tink said as his attention flickered back to her. “He was here when I came down this morning. Nearly jumped out of my skin.”

“Why don’t you call the police? Or your parents?” T asked.

Tink waved him off. “What are the police going to do? He’s obviously just going to leave them cursed or dead. And my parents are academics. They’d just call the police, because they’re stupid.”

“Well,” T asked, glancing back at the big man, “What do you want me to do?”

Tink lifted her hands. “Support me? I mean, you’ve had mysterious strangers in your shop. What did you do?”

T’s mind flashed back to the event. A group of five, dressed as pirates. “I gave one of them a tattoo,” he said. “Because that’s what they wanted me to do.”

“So I just need to figure out what Bolfingar wants me to do!” Tink said, her tossing her thick curls.

“Bolfingar?” T asked. “Is that his name?”

“Not that I know,” Tink replied. “I just came up with that.”

T sighed. Tink was one of his closest friends, but sometimes, he didn’t know why. The energy and excitement were endearing, but eventually, led to exhaustion. “So… How can I… Support you?” he finally said.

Tink’s face twisted as she thought. “We should probably see if he’s awake and ask him what he wants.” She turned, but before she could say anything, the big man lifted his head slightly.

“I’m awake, little tinker.” He had a heavy accent, but T couldn’t place it. “And my name is Radarack Berhungdar.”

“Bearhugger is pretty close to what I said!” Tink said. She winked at T, getting off the stool and turning to face the shadowed figure. “And what do you want, Radarack Berhungdar?”

“To return home,” he said. “I do not know where I am, except that it is not where I should be.”

“You’re in the city of Newson Port, the sub-country of Arrunson,” T explained. He looked at Tink. “Have you Hexplated him?”

Tink’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah! I forgot you got me some of that.” She spun and started scanning her cabinets, finally pulling out a second set of goggles. She traded it with the pair on her head, studying the man in the corner. “Huh,” she said, pulling it off and handing it to T.

T had been using Hexplate for a long time. It was necessary in his business to make sure that no one was being magically induced to get a tattoo. But nothing he had ever seen compared to the tangle of lines and lights exuding from the man in the corner. “What in the world?” he asked quietly.

“Is that normal?” Tink asked.

“No,” T replied. “That’s the furthest from normal I’ve ever seen.” He handed the goggles back. “Take a look at me, that’s fairly normal.”

He stepped around the corner, his curiosity piqued. “Where are you from, Radarack?”

“My home is called Beirshaire,” the man replied, shifting. His face turned up, but was still barely visible. All T could see was a dark, straggly beard covering the lower half of his face. “But I have never heard of Arrunson.”

“That’s interesting,” Tink said behind them. “Not that you haven’t heard of Arrunson, that’s fairly normal. We’re small. But T, he has blue lines, just like you!”

It took T a second to understand. “You have living tattoos?”

The big man considered. “I have been inked with doğaüstü mürekkep, yes.”

 “What’s that?” Tink asked, still studying all the lights from Radarack.

“Arabic?” T suggested.

Tink shrugged. “It’s all Greek to me.” She handed the goggles back to T. “Any ideas what the other colors mean?”

T took them, studying Radarack with more interest. He could see the blue lines easier now, the same Bartimaeus caused on his own skin. They were brightest from his chest and shoulders, but were just as present along his biceps and forearms. A few emanated from his lower legs, but they were smaller than the others. “I’ve never seen someone with this many living tattoos,” he said, taking a step forward. “Where did you get them?”

“I am a Sampyon,” Radarack said. “A third level. I was given them by my Ustâd.” He struggled. “My master?”

“May I see them?” T asked. “It might give us an idea on where you’re from.”

“It would not be easy to reveal my marks,” Radarack said. He adjusted the cloak, and T saw the leather armor underneath. “But what questions do you have on them?”

T took a step back, looking at Tinker. “What in the world?”

“Yeah, the armor threw me, too,” Tink said, fiddling with something on the table. “I haven’t seen anything like it since college, except maybe in a museum?”

“Do you recognize the design, maybe?” he asked. Tink had graduated with a cross-disciplinary degree, deciding that the “forced regimen of a too-specific degree” would only hinder her growth. One of those disciplines had included an intensive in the anthropology of armor.

“It’s not classical European,” Tink. “I know that. It’s almost Greek, but like a neo-Greek? A lot of elements of the Ottoman Empire’s armor, except for that hat. I don’t know where that came from.” She shrugged. “I didn’t take a hat course.”

Radarack was struggling with his forearm strap. “I can get this off,” he said. “Perhaps it will help?” He slid the armor back, revealing lines of tattoos. Some of them where normal, just dark ink sunk into the skin. Others glowed the blue of Bartimaeus and other magical tattoos. But one emanated red light, twisting as it played into the air.

T was drawn to this tattoo, but he set it aside for the moment. “It looks like writing?” he asked, switching between the Hexplate goggle and his bare vision.

“Yes,” Radarack said. “It is an ancient poem. The words have great power.”

“What does it say?” T asked, noticing that specific words where lit blue, while others were just black. The red was a twisting design just beneath the lines that looked nothing like any kind of text he had seen.

“The flight of the mighty roc,” Radarack said, sliding his finger down the line, “The breath of an ocean bird. A wolf’s bite with power. The mountain goat jumps without fear.”

“The animals are living tattoos,” T noticed. “But they don’t move.”

Radarack struggled for words. “Living… It is not the right word. They are doğaüstü – not of this world.”

“Magic!” Tink piped up. When T looked at her, she said, “Just because your magic tattoos come to life doesn’t mean all magic tattoos are living. You should know that.”

“Right, but magical enhancement through tattoo infusion is illegal,” T said. “It would be impossible…” he trailed off as he turned back to Radarack, backing away. “Where did you get those tattoos?”

“They are not illegal where I come from,” Radarack promised. “My Ustâd gave them. They are to protect us in battle and assist us in peace.”

“What are you fighting?” Tink asked, a bit too cheerily for T’s taste.

“The world and all the monsters in it,” Radarack said. “We are the protectors of our nation. We keep it safe.”

T considered, his anxiety beginning to race in his heart again. “What’s the last tattoo, below the poem?”

“It is the mark of my tribe and my people,” Radarack said. “It cannot be faked, cannot be inked into someone who is not one of us.”

T turned away, his fingers dancing as he thought. “Do you know anything about this from the anthropology courses?” he asked.

“I blocked those out as soon as I finished the exams,” Tink said. “The history of armor? Interesting. The rest of the culture? Lame.”

There was a pounding at the door above, and everyone froze. “Did you invite anyone else?” T asked, staring at the ceiling above.

“No,” Tink said, slipping off her stool. “I’ll go up and check the door.”

“I’ll come with you,” T said. He looked behind him. “Stay here, Radarack.”

“You have my word I will not move,” the big warrior said.

T followed Tink up the stairs, shivering slightly. The entire day had taken so many surprising twists, he wasn’t sure what he expected anymore. At the door, Tink peered through the peephole. “It’s just two people. A guy and a girl. Looks like they’re driving a hippie van?”

Without waiting for T to comment, she pulled the door open. The man, tall and rather lean looking, lowered his hand, which was about to knock. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Stef. This is Izza.” He looked to the side, trying to figure out the words. He opened and closed his mouth, gesturing incoherently with his hands.

“Do you have a Turkish asker – a soldier here?” the woman, slightly shorter than the man, interrupted, throwing him a look. 

“You can’t miss him,” Stef said, grinning sheepishly. “He’d have on classical Turkish armor. Maybe some weapons? Anyway, we’ve been looking for him.”

“Why?” T asked, his voice pitching the word upwards.

“You’re Tebrick Abridd, aren’t you?” the woman, Izza, said. “You’re the tattooist. Rumor is you do living tattoos?”

“It’s not a rumor,” Tinker said brightly. “He’s one of the best.”

The pair exchanged a look, then bumped fists. “Score,” Stef said.

“Wildly lucky is more like it,” Izza said.

“Our Turkish friend is in a bit of a pickle,” Stef explained. “We’re here to save his life. And, hopefully, his mind.” He looked behind him. “We don’t have much time. Do you have Triadia ink at your shop?”

“What is this about?” T asked.

“The asker is in danger,” Izza said. “Hopefully, with a bit of living tattooing, we can minimize that risk. So. Is he here?”

“He’s in my laboratory,” Tinker said. “I’m Theresa, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stef said. “Where’s your lab?”

“It’s in the basement,” Tinker replied. “Come with me.” She turned around and led the pair past a dumbfounded T.

“You’re letting them in?” he asked, still standing by the open door.

“Shoes off or on?” Stef asked, but Izza pushed him forward. “I’m just trying to be polite!”

“And I’m trying to save someone’s life,” Izza said.

T closed the door, following after the group with a grumble. As he closed it, he noticed the hippie van sitting in the street. It was brightly colored with spraypaint. Most notably, the word Jeopardy was prominently portrayed along the second half. “Discreet,” he muttered, then turned around. Even annoyed as he was, he had to appreciate the art and the artist who had designed it.

In the basement, Izza and Stef were talking with Radarack in what he assumed was Turkish. The big man had moved off his seat and had his back to them. Izza examined the nape of his neck, asking something to Stef under her breath. Stef nodded, pointing to something. “Good news,” he said in English, directing his voice over his shoulder. “We found the source of the problem. All we need is Mr. Abridd to add a small tattoo to this man’s already impressive collection.”

“What is it?” T asked, coming off the stairs and pressing closer. Under Stef’s thumb, he saw a minute design. “Is that an hour-glass?” he asked, looking between the two. “I don’t understand.”

“Mr. Berhungdar has been gifted a rare sigil,” Stef said. “It’s an amnesiac tattoo. They’re not common, especially in the modern day, and even less in countries like these. But he’s on a timer. His memories of preceding events will continue to be erased as he continues to make more.” He studied it closely. “Every second we wait is another second that his memories deteriorate,” he said, growing quiet. “We can stop the effects with a tattoo barrier around it.” He looked at Tebrick, his eyes earnest and determined. “We need you, Mr. Abridd. Please. Izza and I both do not have the experience or skill necessary.”

T paused, staring at the tattoo on the man’s neck. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get back to Spelling Ink, and if you tell me the design, I can do it.” He looked behind him. “Tinker, you want to come?”

Tink smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You better believe it, Tat.”

T went first up the stairs, followed by Stef and Izza. Radarack came next, and Tink ended the procession, locking the door as she went. “Experiments still running,” she explained casually. “Never a good idea to leave it unlocked.

As T went to step out the front door, Stef grabbed him. “Izza, check if it’s clear.”

The dark-skinned woman did so, scanning the street. “It looks like we’re okay,” she said. “But let’s not wait around to find out otherwise.”

Stef threw the others a smiling look. “Just remember if we get into it – as long as we’re in jeopardy, we’re safe.”

“I do not understand this,” Radarack said, touching just behind his ear.

“Long story,” Stef said, grabbing his arm and pulling him down the porch. “I’ll tell you if I get the chance, but for now, onwards!” He pushed the big man across the yard as Izza ran ahead to open the door.

“Are we insane?” T asked, looking over at Tink.

“Not that I know of,” she said with a smile, then followed the other across the lawn. With a long exhale, T followed.

Stef and Izza took the front seats, while the other three crowded in the back, the space remodeled to live in. “Just keep your head down, Mr. Berhungdar,” Stef said, looking at them through the rearview. Then, as he pulled away from the curb, he continued, “Some answers to your questions, Mr. Abridd. Izza and I work in and around the magical community in crisis management. I understand you’re not as involved as you used to be, but Brian Lofters would say hello if he knew we were here. We’ve heard about some of your stories at Chimera Circle. All good things, of course.”

“Crisis management,” T said. “So, what, someone shows up in a basement, and you’re called in to deal with it?”

“Something like that,” Stef said. “Mr. Berhungdar has been on our radar for a bit. As far as we can tell, he was kidnapped and brought here illegally. Why, we have no solid reasons. Some ideas, but they’re just educated guesses. And how he got in your basement, we have even less. But at least we found him.”

“How?” Tink asked. “How did you find him?”

“Modified Hexplate,” Izza said. “We can track magical signals.”

Stef cleared his throat. “Living Ink isn’t normally unique enough, but Mr. Berhungdar is a special case. His clan’s sigil provides a surprisingly clear signal.”

“And you’re not worried anyone else has been able to track him?” T asked.

“Jeopardy has a magic dampener,” Stef said, patting the dashboard. “As long as he’s in Jeopardy, he’s safe.” He winked at them, then turned his attention back to the road.

T and Tink exchanged a look, but said nothing. Behind them, Radarack remained as low as his massive frame would allow.

The drive was not long, and soon, they were pulling to a stop in front of Spelling Ink. “You get the door open,” Stef said, “We’ll come in. The less time we’re outside, the better.”

T nodded, then stepped into the warm morning sun. He looked up and down the street, but there was no unusual looking cars. “No reason to be anxious,” he said under his breath. He reached to flick his coat collar, but stopped as he realized he wasn’t wearing it. He fiddled with the lock, muttering at how old it was. Finally, it clicked open, and he pushed the door open, the bell overhead ringing.

The other four crossed the sidewalk quickly as T stepped inside and waved his hand. His chair rearranged itself into a table for Radarack to lay down on, and his desk opened to reveal his equipment. “Tink, the Triadia is in the back closet. Do you mind getting it while I prep the canvas?” he asked, falling into work mode.

Stef watched with a slight smile until T turned to him. “Lock the door and tell me what the design is. Other than that, keep your mouth shut.” He motioned to Radarack. “If you’d like to lay down, I’ll take a look at that tattoo.”

Izza preceded Stef to stepping to the opposite side of the table as Tink returned from the backroom. “The design needs to be a Turkish shield,” Izza said, pulling out a phone. “Segmented into four parts. The lines of the hourglass will become the center of the segmentation, and there are four sigils to be added, one in each segment.” She turned the phone, showing T the designs needed.

“With any luck,” Stef continued, “It’ll lock the current sigil and stop the amnesiac affects. If not, we’ll need to get him to Turkey…” he trailed off, looking at Izza. “I’m going to make some phone calls. We’re going to need to get this set up quick.”

Izza nodded, touching his shoulder as he turned away. T stepped forward, touching the back of Radarack’s neck. “Are you ready, sir?” he asked.

“Yes,” Radarack said. “I am ready to get my tattoo.”

T nodded, pulling on a pair of gloves and readying his machine. Then, with a quick dip into the Triadia ink, he was off. As he often did with living ink, he went freehand, occasionally checking the design as a reference. It was quick work – straight lines to a curved exterior. He added some shading for depth, to make sure it was recognizable as a shield, not just a sliced pie.

He frowned as he came to the sigils. They were shapes he didn’t recognize, but it didn’t make them impossible. “Hold one second,” he said, going to his desk for a pen. He practiced them on a piece of paper for a second, then nodded. “Okay. Ready.”

He returned to his canvas, confidently inking in the sigils to finish the work. He stepped back, wiping the skin clean one last time. “There you go. That should do it, Radarack.”

“Thank you,” the big man said. He touched the back of his head, avoiding the part of his neck where he had just been tattooed. “I feel something. A memory, I think.” He looked at Izza. “A man named Chesterfield?”

“That could be,” Izza said. “He shows up in the strangest places. He’s not a kidnapper, though.”

“No, he didn’t kidnap me,” Radarack said. “I came willingly. But why?” He blinked furiously, clearly racking his mind. Suddenly, he snapped to attention. “The Anti-Magic. I need to go to Dragontooth Caverns. I don’t know why yet, but I do.”

“We can do that,” Izza said, signaling Stef, who had just stepped back in, putting his phone in his pocket. “We have a new place to head,” she said, a smile playing on her lips.

“The mystery deepens?” Stef asked, echoing the expression.

“To Dragontooth Caverns,” Izza said.

Stef whistled softly. “That’ll do it.” He turned to T and Tinker. “Thank you for your help. Couldn’t have done it without you.” He paused as Izza helped Radarack out of the chair. “You know, you’re welcome to join us. I rather like you.”

T and Tink shared a look. “I think we’re okay,” T said, pulling his gloves off. “Thank you, though.”

Stef smiled, reaching into his pocket. He withdrew a rather battered business card. “If you ever need us,” he said, “Don’t hesitate to reach out.”

T looked at the card. The background was their van, with the words The Jeopardy Team across the top. Below was their names and contact information. He handed the card to Tink, following the three out.

Radarack paused before getting into the van. “Thank you, Mr. Abridd,” he said. “You’ve helped more than you know.”

Stef threw him a big thumbs up, and Izza gave him a small smile, then they both got into their respective seats. Radarack closed the door, nodding as he did so. The van pulled away and T turned back inside.

Tink was looking up from the card, a curious look on her face. “They kind of ignored me,” she said.

“Probably for the best,” T said, closing the door and locking it. “It’s not like you want to advertise.”

“Yeah,” she said, taking a seat on the tattoo chair. “I guess that true.” She laughed slightly. “They said as long as we’re in jeopardy, we’re safe. But I guess our motto is different.” She looked up. “As long as we’re in anonymity, we’re safer.”

---

If you’re wondering why Stef and Izza seem familiar, you might recognize them from The Miracle Mile. Obviously, some things have changed since then… You’ll have to stick around to find out what exactly.

It’s not the last we’ve seen of any of them. In fact, some could say that Tinker and Tat’s stories are just beginning…

Looking for more to read, or a refresher on what else is happening? Read more at Adventures in Fantasy. And keep your eyes out. There are clues and hints all throughout – and there is much, much more to come.