Disney Fairies: The Trouble With Tink

by Kiki Thorpe

  “Oh!” Violet and Terence gasped. They turned to Tink, their eyes wide.

  Tink felt herself blush, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the leaking pot. She had never failed to fix a pot before, much less made it worse than it was when she got it.

  The thing was, no fairy ever failed at her talent. To do so would mean you weren’t really talented at all.

  AFTER A LONG, awkward silence, Violet closed her mouth, cleared her throat, and said, “I can probably share a dye pot with someone else. I’ll come back and get this later.” With a last confused glance at Tink, she hurried out the door.

  Terence was also confused, but he was in no hurry to leave. He set the twisted ladle down on Tink’s workbench.

  “Tink, you look tired,” he said gently.

  “I’m not tired,” said Tink.

  “Maybe you need to take a break,” Terence suggested. But he wasn’t at all sure what Tink needed. “Why don’t we fly to the tearoom? On my way here, I smelled pumpkin muffins baking in the kitchen. They smelled deli—”

  “I’m not hungry,” Tink interrupted, although she was starving. She hadn’t had breakfast, or dinner the night before. But the talents always sat together in the tearoom. Tink didn’t feel like sitting at a table with the other pots-and-pans fairies right now.

  Suddenly, Tink was irritated with Terence. If he hadn’t told her about the tag game, she never would have lost her hammer. Tink knew she wasn’t being fair. But she was upset and embarrassed, and she wanted someone to blame.

  “I can’t talk today, Terence,” she snapped. She turned toward a pile of baking tins that needed repair and tugged at her bangs. “I have a lot of work, and I’m already behind.”

  “Oh.” Terence’s shoulders sagged. “Just let me know if you need anything,” he said, and headed for the door. “Bye, Tink.”

  As soon as Terence was gone, Tink flew to a nearby birch tree where a carpenter-talent sparrow man worked and asked if she could borrow his hammer. The sparrow man agreed, provided that she brought it back in two days’ time. He was in the middle of cutting oak slats for some repairs in the Home Tree, he said, and wouldn’t need the hammer until he was through. Tink promised she would.

  Two days. Tink didn’t know what she’d do after that. But she wasn’t going to think about it, she decided. Not just yet.

  When Tink entered her empty workshop, something seemed different. There was a sweet smell in the air. Then she spied a plate with a pumpkin muffin on it and a cup of buttermilk on her workbench.

  Terence, Tink thought. She was sorry that she’d snapped at him earlier.

  The muffin was moist, sweet, and still warm from the oven, and it melted on her tongue. The buttermilk was cool and tart. As soon as she’d eaten, Tink felt better.

  She picked up the carpenter’s hammer and began to work on a stack of pie pans. The pans weren’t cracked or dented, but Dulcie, the baking-talent fairy who’d brought them to her, complained that the pies she baked in them kept burning. Tink thought it had something to do with the pans’ shape, or maybe the tin on the bottom of the pans was too thin.

  The carpenter’s hammer was almost twice as big as her tinker’s hammer. Holding it in her hand, Tink felt as clumsy as a Clumsy.

  Still, she had to admit that it was much better than the pebble.

  Tink worked slowly with the awkward hammer. She reshaped the pie pans, then added an extra layer of tin to the bottom of each one. When she was done, she looked over her work.

  It’s not the best job I’ve ever done, she thought. But it’s not so bad, either.

  Tink gathered the pie pans into a stack and carried them to Dulcie. Dulcie was delighted to have them back.

  “Don’t miss tea this afternoon, Tink,” she said with a wink as she brushed flour from her hands. “We’re making strawberry pie. I’ll save you an extra-big slice!”

  On the way back to her workshop, Tink ran into Prilla, a young fairy with a freckled nose and a bouncy nature. Prilla always did cartwheels and handsprings when she was excited about something.

  “Tink!” Prilla cried, bounding over to her. “Did you hear?”

  “Hear what?” asked Tink.

  “About Queen Ree’s tub,” Prilla told her. Ree was the fairies’ nickname for their queen, Clarion. “It’s sprung a leak. The queen’s whole bath trickled out while she was washing this morning.”

  Tink’s eyes widened. The bathtub was one of Queen Ree’s most prized possessions. It was the size of a coconut shell and made of Never pewter, with morning glory leaves sculpted into its sides. The tub rested on four feet shaped like lions’ paws, and there were two notches at the back where the queen could rest her wings to keep them dry while she took her bath.

  Tink’s fingers twitched. She would love to work on the bathtub.

  “The queen’s attendants looked all over, but they couldn’t spot the leak. I thought of you when I heard, Tink,” Prilla said. “Of course, Queen Ree will want you to fix it. You’re the best.” Prilla grinned at Tink and did a handspring.

  Tink grinned back, showing her deep dimples. It was the first time she’d smiled since she lost her hammer. “I hope so, Prilla. It would be quite an honor to work on the queen’s tub,” she replied.

  Prilla turned a one-handed cartwheel and flew on. “See you later, Tink!” she called.

  Tink thought about the queen’s tub all afternoon as she fixed the spout on a teakettle that wouldn’t whistle. What kind of leak could it be? A hairline crack? Or a pinprick hole? Tink smiled, imagining the possibilities.

  By the time Tink had finished fixing the kettle, it was nearly teatime.

  “They’ll need this in the kitchen,” Tink said to herself as she buffed the teakettle with a piece of suede. She would take it to the kitchen, then go to the tearoom for strawberry pie. Tink’s stomach rumbled hungrily at the thought. Strawberry was one of her favorite kinds of pie.

  But when she got to the kitchen, a horrible smell greeted her. Tink quickly handed the teakettle to one of the cooking-talent fairies and held both hands to her nose.

  “What is that smell?” she asked the fairy. “It’s not strawberry pie.”

  But the fairy just gave her a strange look and hurried off to fill the teakettle with water.

  Tink made her way through the kitchen until she found Dulcie. She was standing over several steaming pies that had just been pulled from the oven. She looked as if she might cry.

  “Dulcie, what’s going on?” Tink asked.

  As soon as Dulcie saw Tink, her forehead wrinkled. The wrinkles made little creases in the flour on her skin, which made the lines seem even deeper.

  “Oh, Tink. I don’t know how to tell you this,” Dulcie said. “It’s the pies. They’re all coming out mincemeat.”

  Tink turned and looked at the steaming pies. That was where the horrible smell was coming from.

  “We tried everything,” Dulcie went on. “When the strawberry came out all wrong, we tried plum. When that didn’t work, we tried cherry. We even tried pumpkin. But every time we pulled the pies out of the oven, they’d turned into mincemeat.” Now Dulcie’s chin wrinkled like a walnut as she struggled to hold back tears. Her whole face was puckered with worry.

  This was indeed a kitchen disaster. Fairies hate mincemeat. To them it tastes like burned broccoli and old socks.

  “Is there something wrong with the oven?” Tink asked Dulcie. She didn’t know much about ovens. But if there was something metal in it, she could probably fix it.

  Dulcie swallowed hard.

  “No, Tink,” she said. “It’s the pans you fixed. Only the pies baked in those pans are the ones that get spoiled.”

  TINK’S MIND REELED. She took a step back from Dulcie. But before she could say anything, a shrill whistle split the air.

  The tea water had boiled. A cooking-talent sparrow man hurried over to lift the kettle off the fire. Expertly, the sparrow man poured the water into the teacups until there wasn’t a drop left.

&
nbsp; But the teakettle continued to shriek.

  The sparrow man lifted the kettle’s lid to let out any steam that might have been caught inside. A puff of steam escaped, but the kettle still whistled on. Without pausing, it changed pitch and began to whistle a lively, earsplitting melody.

  All the fairies in the kitchen, including Tink, covered their ears. Several fairies from other talents who were in the tearoom poked their heads in the door of the kitchen.

  “What’s all that noise?” a garden-talent fairy asked one of the baking-talent fairies.

  “It’s the teakettle, the one that just wouldn’t whistle,” the baking-talent fairy replied. She winced as the kettle hit a particularly high note. “Tink fixed it, and now it won’t shut up!”

  Twee-twee-tweeeeeeeeee! the teakettle shrieked cheerfully, as if confirming that what she’d said was true. The fairies cringed and clamped their hands more tightly against their ears.

  “And the pie pans Tink fixed aren’t any good, either,” another baking-talent fairy noted over the noise. “Every pie baked in them turns into mincemeat!”

  A murmur went around the room. What could this mean? the other fairies wondered. Was it some kind of bad joke? Everyone turned and looked at Tink.

  Tink stared back at them, blushing so deeply her glow turned orange. Then, without thinking, she turned and fled.

  Tink was sitting in the shade of a wild rosebush, deep in thought. She didn’t notice Vidia, a fast-flying-talent fairy, flying overhead. Suddenly, Vidia landed right in front of Tink.

  “Tinker Bell, darling,” Vidia greeted her.

  “Hello, Vidia,” Tink replied. Of all the fairies in the kingdom, Vidia was the one Tink liked the least. Vidia was pretty, with her long dark hair, arched eyebrows, and pouting lips. But she was selfish and mean-spirited, and at the moment she was smiling in a way Tink didn’t like at all.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about your trouble, Tink darling,” Vidia said.

  “It’s nothing,” Tink said. “I was just flustered. I’ll go back to the kitchen and fix the teakettle now.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. Angus was in the tearoom,” Vidia said. Angus was a pots-and-pans sparrow man. “He got the teakettle to shut up. No, Tink, what I meant was, I’m sorry to hear about your talent.”

  Tink blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, don’t you know?” Vidia asked. “Everyone’s talking about it. The rumor flying around the kingdom, Tink dear, is that you’ve lost your talent.”

  “What?” Tink leaped to her feet.

  “Oh, it’s such a shame, dearest,” Vidia went on, shaking her head. “You were always such a good little tinker.”

  “I haven’t lost my talent,” Tink growled. Her cheeks were burning. Her hands were balled into fists.

  “If you say so. But, sweetheart, you have to admit, your work hasn’t exactly been…inspired lately. Why, even I could fix pots and pans better than that,” Vidia said with a little laugh. “But I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m sure they won’t make you leave the fairy kingdom forever, even if your talent has dried up for good.”

  Tink looked at her coldly. I wish you would leave forever, she thought. But she wasn’t going to give Vidia the satisfaction of seeing that she was mad. Instead, she said, “I’m sure that would never happen, Vidia.”

  “Yes.” Vidia gave Tink a pitying smile. “But no one really knows, do they? After all, no fairy has ever lost her talent before. But I guess we’ll soon find out. You see, dear heart, I’ve come with a message. The queen would like to see you.”

  Tink’s stomach did a little flip. The queen?

  “She’s in the gazebo,” Vidia told her. “I’ll let you fly there on your own. I expect you’ll want to collect your thoughts. Goodbye, Tink.” With a last sugary smile, Vidia flew away.

  Tink’s heart raced. What could this mean? Was it really possible that she could be banished from the kingdom for losing her talent?

  But I haven’t lost my talent! Tink thought indignantly. I’ve just lost my hammer.

  With that thought in mind, Tink took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and flew off to meet the queen.

  AS SHE MADE her way to the gazebo, Tink passed a group of harvest-talent fairies filling wheelbarrows with sunflower seeds to take to the kitchen. They laughed and chatted as they worked, but as soon as they saw Tink, they all stopped talking. Silently, they watched her go by. Tink could have sworn she heard one of them whisper the word “talent.”

  So it’s true, Tink thought. Everyone is saying I’ve lost my talent.

  Tink scowled as she flew past another group of fairies who silently gawked at her. She had always hated gossip, and now she hated it even more.

  The queen’s gazebo sat high on a rock overlooking the fairy kingdom. Tink landed lightly on a bed of soft moss outside the entrance. All around her she heard the jingle of seashell wind chimes, which hung around the gazebo.

  Inside, the gazebo was drenched in purple from the sunlight filtering through the violet petals that made up the roof. Soft, fresh fir needles carpeted the floor and gave off a piney scent.

  Queen Ree stood at one of the open windows. She was looking out at the glittering blue water of the Mermaid Lagoon, which lay in the distance beyond the fairy kingdom. When she heard Tink, she turned.

  “Tinker Bell, come in,” said the queen.

  Tink stepped inside. She waited.

  “Tink, how are you feeling?” Queen Ree asked.

  “I’m fine,” Tink replied.

  “Are you sleeping well?” asked the queen.

  “Well enough,” Tink told her. Except for last night, she added to herself. But she didn’t feel the need to tell this to the queen.

  “No cough? Your glow hasn’t changed color?” asked the queen.

  “No,” Tink replied. Suddenly, she realized that the queen was checking her for signs of fairy distemper. It was a rare illness, but very contagious. If Tink had it, she would have to be separated from the group to keep from making the whole fairy kingdom sick. “No, I’m fine,” Tink repeated to reassure her. “I feel very well. Really.”

  When the queen heard this, she seemed to relax. It was just the slightest change in her posture, but Tink noticed, and she, too, breathed a sigh of relief. Queen Ree would not banish her, Tink realized. The queen would never make such a hasty or unfair decision. It had been mean and spiteful of Vidia to say such a thing.

  “Tink, you know there are rumors.…”

  Queen Ree hesitated. She was reluctant to repeat them.

  “They say I’ve lost my talent,” Tink said quickly so that the queen wouldn’t have to. “It’s nasty gossip—and untrue. It’s just that—” Tink stopped. She tugged at her bangs.

  She was afraid that if she told Queen Ree about her missing hammer, the queen would think she was irresponsible.

  Queen Ree waited for Tink to go on. When she didn’t, the queen walked closer to her and looked into her blue eyes. “Tink,” she said, “is there anything you want to tell me?”

  She asked so gently that Tink felt the urge to plop down on the soft fir needles and tell her everything—about the pebble hammer and the carpenter’s hammer and even about Peter Pan. But Tink had never told another fairy about Peter, and she was afraid to now.

  Besides, Tink told herself, the queen has more important things to worry about than a missing hammer.

  Tink shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry my pots and pans haven’t been very good lately. I’ll try to do better.”

  Queen Ree looked carefully at her. She knew something was wrong, but she didn’t know what. She only knew that Tink didn’t want to tell her. “Very well,” she said. As Tink turned to leave, she added, “Be good to yourself, Tink.”

  Outside, Tink felt better. The meeting with the queen had been nothing to worry about at all. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed. All I have to do now is find a new hammer, and everything will be back to normal,

  Tink thought with a
burst of confidence.

  “Tink!” someone called.

  She looked down and saw Rani and Prilla standing knee-deep in a puddle. Tink flew down and landed at the edge.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing the fairies’ wet clothes and hair. She was used to seeing Rani in the water. But Prilla wasn’t a water fairy.

  “Rani’s showing me how she makes fountains in the water,” Prilla explained. “I want to learn. I thought it might be fun to try in Clumsy children’s lemonade.” Prilla’s talent was traveling over to the mainland in the blink of an eye and visiting the children there. She was the only fairy in all of Never Land who had this talent, and it was an important one. She helped keep up children’s belief in fairies, which in turn saved the fairies’ lives.

  Tink looked at the drenched hem of Prilla’s long dress and shivered. She didn’t like to get wet—it always made her feel cold. She was surprised that Prilla could stand to be in the water for so long.

  “I’ve been trying all afternoon, but this is all I can do,” Prilla told her. She took a pinch of fairy dust and sprinkled it onto the water. Then she stared hard at the spot where the dust had landed and concentrated with all her might. After a moment, a few small bubbles rose to the surface and popped.

  “Like a tadpole burping,” Prilla said with a sigh. “Now watch Rani.”

  Rani sprinkled a pinch of fairy dust on the water, then stared at the spot where it had landed. Instantly, a twelve-inch fountain of water shot up from the puddle.

  Tink and Prilla clapped their hands and cheered. “If I could make just a teeny little fountain, I’d be happy,” Prilla confessed to Tink. Tink nodded, though she didn’t really understand. She’d never wanted to make a water fountain.

  Just then, Tink heard a snuffling sound. She turned and saw that Rani was crying.

  “I’m so sorry, Tink,” Rani said. She pulled a damp leafkerchief from one of her many pockets and blew her nose into it. As a water fairy, Rani cried a lot and was always prepared. “About your talent, I mean.”