Tinker Bell and the Lost Treasure (3 page)

D
ay after day, Tinker Bell worked. Time was growing short. The month was flying by. The moon was more than half full, and she was beginning to get nervous.

Tinker Bell had sketched design after design, but Terence always had some opinion about ways to improve the scepter, or some suggestion for changing her approach.

It was nice having help. But the help was starting to be, well … not so helpful. She felt guilty about thinking that way—but she couldn’t avoid it. Every day, Terence arrived at the crack of dawn with muffins and advice. The muffins were great, but the constant advice was beginning to sound more like constant criticism. And the “help” seemed more like meddling.

The result was that, after days and days of work, Tinker Bell was behind. Way behind.

The cricket chirped and Tinker Bell sat up in bed, her stomach sinking as Terence came sailing in, punctual as always. “Knock knickity knock. Out of bed, sleepyhead.”

Tink flung back the covers and flew to the fireplace to put a piece of metal in. Before she could even position it, Terence was beside her, stoking the fire with a bellows. “You’ve got to keep the fire nice and hot,” he told her (which he really didn’t need to, because if anybody knew that a fire had to be nice and hot, it was Tinker Bell).

Terence gave the fire another puff with the bellows. The flames began to smoke and the fire belched a big black cloud.

Tink coughed. She was covered in soot. She bit back her angry words. After all, Terence was only trying to help.

Tink gritted her teeth and flew to her workbench, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and shaking off the soot. She needed every second to complete her task. She could eat breakfast later.

She picked up the scepter. The base was looking good. The ornate decorations were delicate but not too fussy. While she studied it, planning her next move, Terence came up behind her with a broom, forcing her to move while he swept.

Tink cleared her throat and made a great show of being preoccupied. But Terence didn’t take the hint. He continued to sweep around her—here, there, under her feet, under her elbow. She tried to avoid him by moving, but he just followed her wherever she went.

“Excuse me, Tink. You should really try to keep that work space clean. Let me just get that little bit right … there!”

Tink let out a loud sigh and moved to the end of her bench.

“Just one more … and …”

Tink sighed yet again. She moved even more and—
“ARGHGHGH!”
—fell right off the bench.

Terence looked down at her in surprise. “Whoa!”

Tinker Bell gritted her teeth. She tried Fairy Mary’s calming trick. “One, two, three, four …”

“Why are you counting?” Terence asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned and continued sweeping.

Tink knew she had had just about all the help she could stand. But when she looked at the calendar, she swallowed her anger. Only a few days left. Only a few. She could do it. She could finish. All she had to do was concentrate and get it done in
spite
of Terence’s help.

Over the next few days, Tinker Bell kept her irritation and anger at bay, determined not to let Terence know that he was driving her absolutely, positively crazy. By the end of the week, she was almost finished with the scepter.

Tinker Bell was very proud of herself. She had never worked so hard on anything in her life. Not on the scepter—or on controlling her temper.

Terence hovered, peering over her shoulder. “Watch your angle there,” he cautioned. It was all Tink could do not to scream.

Terence picked up a broom and began to sweep, whistling while he worked. The shrill whistle and scratching sound of the bristles were about to drive her mad. How did he think she could get anything done? Still, he was her friend. And … he was trying to help.

Tinker Bell held the scepter in her hand. It was almost finished. It was a masterpiece of elegant curves and graceful lines. She wanted to make sure it was finished well before the revelry so that Fairy Mary, Queen Clarion, and the Minister of Autumn could inspect it. Tink wanted it to be one hundred percent perfect.

Terence buzzed around—sweeping, tidying up, and driving Tink nuts. But right now, she refused to let herself be distracted. It was time to add the last and most important touch of all—the moonstone.

Tink opened the case containing the fragile gem.

Just then, Terence picked up the bellows and began pumping the fire.
SQUEAK! SQUEAK!

Tink carefully lifted the moonstone and held it poised over the tip of the scepter.

SQUEAK! SQUEAK!

“Careful,” Terence said as he watched her work.

His interruption broke her concentration. She put the moonstone down, flexed her fingers, then picked it up again.

Terence hurried to her side. “You have to take it easy. This is the tricky part.”

Again, Tink stopped. “I know,” she said through gritted teeth.

Terence was too close. Tink was already nervous, and it didn’t help to have him practically standing on her toes. Still, she told herself, he was only trying to help.

Once again, her fingers held the fragile moonstone as it hovered over the scepter.

Terence piped up. “Now we have to match the trajectory of the light beams with the—”

“Got it!” Tink snapped. She wished Terence would hush up and let her do her job.

But Terence was determined to continue advising. “With the—”

“I
know
!” Tink repeated.

Terence took a step even closer. “With the—”

“Shhh!” Tinker Bell said.

Terence refused to be shushed. “With the curvature of the moonstone.”

Tink was so angry, her hands were shaking. “Will you
please
…”

As she spoke, one of the prongs for the setting fell off. Darn! It would have to be fixed or the moonstone wouldn’t stay in place. Tinker Bell returned the stone to its case and closed it. She grabbed a stick and tried to fix the fallen prong by poking a hole in it. She jabbed and jabbed until the stick finally snapped.

Tinker Bell angrily threw down the stick. She closed her eyes and tried to take some deep breaths.

Terence picked up the scepter and studied the problem. “Looks like you need some sort of sharp thingy to fix this.”

Tinker Bell’s eyes flew open. “That’s
exactly
what I need! Could you go out and find me something sharp?” she asked Terence.

“You got it,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” Terence flew out the door in a streak. “Take your time,” Tinker Bell called out after him, hoping he would be out looking for a long, long while.

M
eanwhile, at Tinkers’ Nook, Clank was putting the finishing touches on his own new invention. He hammered a stake into the ground just as his friend Bobble came flying in with a set of bagpipes. “Clank, what is that?” Bobble asked.

“A fireworks launcher,” Clank said proudly. “Iridessa and Rosetta will mix light crystals with flower pigment. The mixture will go into the launcher here. Then I tighten the spring, like so.”

Clank loaded the launcher with the fireworks, not noticing that one of his feet was tangled in a coiled rope. “When you throw the trigger, the fireworks shoot into the air.” He hit the launcher and the contraption sprang. The coiled rope tightened around Clank’s leg and—
SPROING!
—hoisted him into the air, where he swung back and forth, dangling upside down from a tree branch. “Like sooooooooo,” he concluded.

Bobble applauded. “Clanky, that’s brilliant!”

Clank continued to swing, trying to decide whether or not to pretend he had done it on purpose, when Terence came flying over. “Hey, Bobble. Listen, do you know where I can find a sharp thingy?”

“A sharp thingy?” Bobble repeated.

“How about a stick?” Clank asked, swinging past Terence’s head.

Terence looked around, unsure where the voice was coming from. “Huh? No, a sharp thingymajiggy.”

Clank swung back the other way. “A stick can be pretty sharp.”

“I need something to help Tink,” Terence explained.

Clank swayed again. “Oh! For Tink? Did you try the cove?”

Terence snapped his fingers. “Of course! That’s where all the Lost Things wash up. Thanks, Bobble. Thanks, Clank.” Terence waved to them both and took off.

“Our pleasure,” Bobble called out politely. “So long, Terence.”

Clank decided that nothing really looked all that good upside down. “I’m getting a little dizzy,” he announced. As the words were coming out of his mouth, the rope broke and he fell to the ground. “Ahhhhh! That’s better,” he said, grateful that matters had straightened themselves out so nicely.

“Perfect!” Tink stepped back and admired her work. With Terence out of the way, she was making speedy progress. Ever so carefully, she placed the moonstone on the scepter’s tip. She blew on it and gave it a polish. “And now, for the finishing touch: a spattering of silver shavings.”

Tinker Bell placed the scepter in a special stand made out of a spool and went to her supply chest to find some shavings.

She had just put her hand on a little box of spare shavings when she heard Terence. “Hey, Tink! I’m back!”

She turned and saw Terence rolling a huge compass through the door. “
What
is this?” she demanded.

“It’s your sharp thingy,” Terence said happily.

Tinker Bell could feel her temper rising, so she counted quickly. “Onetwothreefourfivesix …” It was no use; she was too mad. “Terence, this is not
sharp
. This is
round
. It is, in fact, the exact opposite of sharp.”

Terence didn’t seem to be listening. “But if you look inside, it’s—”

Tinker Bell cut him off. “I need to work, okay? Now would you please get this thing out of here?” She bumped her hip against the compass to get it out of her way, and it began to roll …
straight toward the spool and the scepter!

The compass knocked into the scepter, the scepter hit the floor, and the moonstone popped out and rolled across the room. Terence quickly leaned down and scooped it up. Across the room, the compass began to wobble like a coin standing on its edge.

Tinker Bell watched in horror as the compass fell sideways on top of the scepter, shattering it. The silver shavings fell from Tinker Bell’s hands. “My scepter!”

“Tink,” Terence pleaded. “I am so …”

Tink picked up a fragment of the broken scepter. So much work. So much time. So much care. And now … now it was all for nothing. And it was all Terence’s fault. She snatched the moonstone from him and exploded. “
Out,
Terence! Just go!”

“What?”

“You! You brought this stupid thing here! You broke the scepter. This is your fault.”

Terence stared at her in disbelief. “Tink, I was just trying to be a good friend.”

“Go away! Leave me alone!”

Terence’s face hardened. “Fine. And this is the last time I try to help you!” He flew out the door without so much as a backward glance.

Tink placed the moonstone safely on the soft cushion next to the fallen compass and began pacing. She was fuming. She looked at the calendar. Only a few more days left until the Autumn Revelry.
What
was she going to do?

Enraged, she hauled off and kicked the compass with all her strength. Mistake! Big mistake. “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” she cried. She hopped around in pain and then …
“Oh, no!”

The compass cover popped open and landed right on the moonstone, breaking it to bits.

Tink’s eyes grew large. Her heart pounded in her chest. “No!” she whispered, slumping to the floor. “No!”

This was a disaster beyond imagining. A catastrophe not just for Tinker Bell, but for all of Pixie Hollow. Without the scepter and the moonstone, there would be no blue pixie dust. The Pixie Dust Tree would perish. There would be no flying. No traveling to the mainland. No changes of seasons.

The world of fairies would come to an end.

What was she going to do?

Her eyes fell on her workbench and her scattered tools. She took a deep breath. She would do the only thing she could do. Get back to work.