TINKER BLOMP liked to juggle. It was the closest he could get to that forbidden activity known as laying odds.
With the subtleties of rumour there was always a risk, like dropping a pebble in the water and seeing how the ripples behaved once they had passed the limits of concentric uniformity. As soon as one misbegotten idea had been put out of its misery than another might spring forth, fully armed and ready to battle common sense with a multitude of weapons. Gossip, lies and political speeches all came into play at some point along the line.
'Do not fight fire with fire,' he had been warned often enough.
No, he was not using scorn or sarcasm to allay fears everything was going to end soon. Pushing back against such doomsaying only reinforced the fear.
Pretending such a forbidding future was simply a thing of no moment only brought worriers clamouring to be heard as if they were party to arcane knowledge the benighted needed to know. It was their good deed for what time was left to them to mend a shortlived world. A pity when that life appeared to extend and extend so that these good deeds tended to dry up.
Except in one notable source.
The purity of such actions spoke for themselves, proof against any adversity or diversion or temptation.
This was one of the little Tinkering tricks Tinker Blomp tossed in the air.
Rumour, the counterweight which preceded it, must needs be juggled with too of course. This one he wanted to let fall and shatter like a ceramic bowl upon unyielding concrete.