Ever since Minnie moved in, Mickey went to every store, dinky business and port of call looking for a job. A better job than washing Captain Pete’s deck and pocketing his chewing tobacco for extra change. Bringing a girl in through music is simple, especially when she’s a sweet songstress herself, but keeping her? Especially when she’s the most talented singer he ever did hear? Difficult, unless he could prove his worth as a proud working-class mouse. If only he had the experience of one, because knocking door to door had to be the hardest Mickey ever worked in his life. All for no reward but also more pain than necessary.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Mick, and the years haven’t made me more trusting” yells Old Man Dutch, swinging his dusty broom back and forth, aiming for Mickey’s poor head. “Be my employee? Bah! Just another one of your schemes, and I see right through it!” The old goat stood as the keeper of the town’s one and only candy store, a squat establishment filled with barrels of taffy, fudge and gum that never seemed to run low, and he ran it solo since the turn of the century when his brother passed from the pox. Mickey heard rumors that Dutch planned a retirement of sorts, falling back from the day to day operations. If he didn’t know any better, the mouse would accuse the townsfolk of being misinformed, but the candyman made clear his reasons. “Been a pest to this here place ever since you stood shin-high,” Dutch says with another swing of his broomstick. Flakes of dust floated down into the candy barrels, giving milk-white candy wrappers a more rusty-coloring, but Dutch didn’t care. The goat talked and swung so fast that Mickey couldn’t get any new words in. “I remember you sneaking around, fists full of pilfered gums and fudges, and the gosh darn mouse-capades that turned all of us in a tizzy.” Foolishly, the mouse hoped for a ceasefire but the candyman stayed stuck on yesterday’s grievances. “I’m supposed to believe you done turned a new leaf and become an honest young man? I say thee nayyyyy~”
A pause to chuckle at Dutch’s verbal slip kept Mickey still enough for the broom to find its mark, and it hit hard enough for him to rethink this whole job search. What mouse his age needs the grief? However, the guiding star that was Minnie’s smile, framed under that cute little cap and singular flower, kept his sight clear and his feet planted. The strength it took to stand after an old-fashioned Dutch Special shocks the old goat, who stops his assault to speak high of Mickey’s resolve. “You really aren’t running after that? Not even for a doctor? Well, blow me down, you really do want to work. How come?” Dutch, just to be safe, knocks the end of his broom handle three times against the wooden floorboards. Good to clear any bad juju in the air.
After a quick shake of the head, Mickey explains in slurred speech, “I-I used to work a steamboat, but only got on boring and endless trips down the river in return. Things changed.” Another shake. Mickey adjusts his footing, puffing out his chest, and continues with clearer dictation. “Things changed so much that I now rent a cabin near the Milligan Farm and need some serious moolah to stay. I’m talking about steady employment Dutch, and this candy store had the biggest business in my childhood. Your face is the one most familiar here in old Timeless. In fact, you disciplined me more than my own father did, wherever he went after I first opened these eyes of mine.”
Mickey steps forward, shoulders back and chin raised to further plead his case. Dutch had several feet on him, and he looked down with the kind of admiration fellow goats give a rambunctious kid. “Please Dutch, from someone you knew as a young rascal, give me something. Whether it’s a job at the till or treks to and from the port with tons of merchandise on my back, I will do anything and will do it with gusto you and your brother would be proud of!” The emotional appeal finally launched towards the old man’s heart, Mickey backs down and lets an old mind turn. “Just enough pay to cover a simple monthly rent. What do ya say?”
Dutch leans against his broom and turns his head both sides, surveying a store that’s been in his family for generations, ever since they first landed in Timeless across a sea of troubles. He was born in a small living room above his head, the stairs to it hidden by burlap curtains in the rear hallway. He watched his brother be brought into the world on the same bed that they slept in together as they grew up. Dutch remembers the first time he chewed on strawberry-flavored taffy and how he’d trade them for books and newspaper scrap at school. He recalls his father’s lessons concerning the checkbook and inventory, needing to have everything just so and standard from morning ‘till night. Miscalculations were punished. Most of all, Dutch reminisces on how much he fought with his brother when they ran the store together, their ad horns clashing the same way his broom met Mickey’s head. Finally, he clicks his tongue, breaking the short silence, and says, in a succinct tone, “Nayyyy~”
Mickey’s heart sinks, falling so fast and heavy it feels the entire earth is about to swallow him whole. The wind that powered his sails this far vanished, leaving nothing but thin air that choked his once-jolly spirit. The ache on his cranium returns and grows stronger, leaving him with enough clarity and fortitude to merely ask, “H-how come?”
Dutch turns his back and returns to sweeping the floors, a morning task he never seemed to finish in time. “My brother and I made a bet that I could run this here store just fine by my lonesome, and the last thing I want is him collecting in heaven once I join him. Now get outta here, mouse. I’m about to open.”
Micky, shell-shocked, bet the entire day on getting this job. He planned to celebrate with Horace at the bar. He was going to surprise Minnie with the good news, freeing her from giving music lessons at the Mortimer Manor with that slime ball Matheus and his snot-nosed kid. After so long hunting for work, he was going to end the day not feeling useless against the prettiest, sweetest girl he ever met. The girl he loves. Dutch pays no mind to him or his troubles and merely hums to himself.
Dejected, Mickey turns to leave and faces the rest of Timeless as a broken, jobless mouse, the kind he’s been since he was born, no matter how much he fights it.
However, before his person is fully out the door, he hears the old goat Dutch call from behind, easy to do with ears as big as alabaster saucers. “You did have a good point on going to the port though,” he grunts, lifting an empty barrel and a full candy bag. “Forget about how it looked when you were a kid. Timeless grew a lot since you last been up and down the river. Plenty of tycoons have set up shop, and they don’t yet know the minimum wage.” He slams the barrel down and fills it with an overwhelming cascade of pastel colors, different to what he usually sells. “You could get lucky!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As a kid, Mickey thought Timeless to be black-and-white, or at least duller than the coastal cities described to him in books and tall tales from Horace and the other older, traveling men in his life. With its raw dirt roads, square shoe box buildings, and endless miles of farmland and cattle, the town did not shine as a place to spend the rest of one’s life. The only railroad station was twenty miles away, with a one-way ticket costing more than an impatient mouse was willing to wait for, so Mickey jumped onto Captain Pete’s steamboat first chance he could. However, the furthest that dingy ever went was across the state border, only 200 miles away in a straight line between there and Timeless. A year in, and he was bored to tears by the limited vistas the job offered. Meeting Minnie was the best thing to happen to him on that boat, and he made sure to stay with her first thing, quitting the next morning with a crumpled pipe hat in hand. Only pure luck made it so Mickey got kicked off at the same stop as Minnie, right back home in old Timeless.
On the way to a motel, their first proper date on-land, Minnie told him how excited she was to become a music teacher, even if it was for a single student. Timeless, according to her, was the best place for a new singer and dancer to start her stride. She read in the paper that the state government was investing in that small riverside town for the sake of economy and trading. The fact that anyone would care about Timeless that highly was the biggest news Mickey heard. He started to think the return home would be much more bearable with a girl like her by his side, until she revealed who she’d be tutoring for.
Her music tutorship, her main source of income if she went it alone, would be for none other than the Mortimer family, one of the biggest reasons Mickey wanted to leave Timeless in the first place. As a kid, the Mortimers were the richest rats in town, and they made sure to remind everyone of it every day. The one Mickey had the misfortune of growing up with, Melvin Mortimer, had to be the center of attention, being the only kid chauffeured to school and bringing the biggest lunches for his loud mouth. Meanwhile, the biggest brother Leonard made the most racket, thinking himself the only Timeless musician worth a darn. Hogging the stage and spotlights wherever they appeared, he made sure to be the most obnoxious aspect of any fair or holiday parade. The parents, invisible puppet masters over the town council, did nothing to deter them. In fact, if they didn’t have their way, the Mortimers would make sure to hold the festivals and holidays over every townsfolk’s head. As small as it usually is, missing an Easter parade still made Mickey’s heart sting.
To let the girl he just met walk into the lion’s mouth and give it lessons, lessons no doubt for Leonard the Lothario’s moppet, brought horror for Mickey, so he made sure to get a big enough gig to save Minnie from such a fate. Dutch may have destroyed that plan with a ruthless swing of the broom, but the lifeline he threw about the port, tenuous as it seemed, brought some sort of hope. The old goat seemed almost ecstatic to lead him that way, with an excitement for Timeless’ future that shined brighter than Minnie’s.
A shame for Mickey that others saw more in this place than he did as a boy, but, as a young adult, he makes the effort to catch up each day, discovering something new and hopefully good about the town he left behind. Dutch was surely right about the port. Not only were the new neighbors bustling, they were hustling, selling all possible merchandise, from crops to trinkets, and shouting at all possible tones, trying to one-up one another.
New buildings, towering over the stall merchants, beckon the curious and needy forward, of which Mickey definitely counted. At the riverfront, he saw a collection of boats docked at far-reaching piers.
The biggest addition was a riverfront saloon, and it seemed to bring the biggest crowd. He could do with less boat work after the way old Pete drove it, so he approached a saloon, the biggest building in the area. It’s a wide wooden log of a property with rows of thick glass slits for windows and worn-out nets thrown over the roof. Its name is “The Barrel,” a place for fish and sailors. His kind of people, so he’ll fit right in. Before pushing through the swing doors, Mickey takes a deep breath and sets a goal. Aim for a job at the menial level, he tells himself, preferably dish washing, an activity he has the most experience with in kitchens on the boat and in the orphanage. Then, he says outloud, “For Minnie.”
For the sake of his own confidence, Mickey Mouse enters the saloon like a big shot, arms open wide as the swing doors burst and make the hinges crack. A move like that turns every head inside, even when you’re four-and-a-half feet tall. Mickey looks over to his audience, a collection of sea dogs and regular mules fill the tables, their paws and hooves filled with full golden jugs. Barely a plate among them. Mickey eyes the bar, run by a fat tabby cat several yards away, and walks towards it, head held high and whistling a little tune. The kind of tune everyone can bounce along to.
Soon, he arrives and jumps up on a stool, knocking the bar top twice to catch the bartender’s attention. All eyes were on him, a play to pressure the bartender into giving Mickey work, just in case. The tabby eyes him, brushing his tail against the floor back and forth.
Mickey starts on the right foot, “The name’s Mickey Mouse friend, and I’m looking for work.” He smiles to enhance his eagerness. “What’s yours?”
The bartender replies, “Tom, and I don’t want rats in my restaurant.” He leans forward, his smile exposing uneven teeth and askew fangs. “Get out.”
All of a sudden, the saloon becomes an abyss, and laughter erupts like a bomb. Mickey feels himself go deaf as he runs away. He barely feels the heat of the sun returning to his face as he escapes to face the day, a day of failure and unearned mockery. Finding a new job would be rough, he knew that, but before he even started looking, he was at least encouraged by the notion that not every boss would be Peg-Leg Pete. Every “interview” since his return to Timeless disabuse him of the notion. If it wasn’t an old goat smashing a broom handle, it was getting called a rat and getting laughed out a dingy bar. He’s a mouse for darn sake, he tells himself, but he knows what the cat really meant. No doubt word of a rat looking a job, any job, is gonna spread through the docks, heck through the town, like wildfire, and the word is not gonna be good. Mickey could not help reaching that conclusion. It was how Pete punished him whenever he went to other boats and asked questions about engines, crews and sailing. He wasn’t jumping ship over Pete being a bad boss either, he was just curious!
Instead of exploring the rest of the Timeless port, looking for more employers, Mickey sits against a wall behind another random building. The next sound he hears is his own sobbing, and it feels almost like rain.
Then, from the darkness, he hears a kind, unassuming voice. “Hey there, kid,” he says, easing him back, “Trust me when I say that those mugs mean nothing. They’re the last drags of a time left behind. Screeching bullies getting bulldozed for a time of mice and men.”
“You were there?” Mickey, uneasy, wipes his eyes to find the kind gentlemen kneeling down, dressed in denim and a light leather jacket. Dark round eyes with cerulean rings hung above a gentle smile of organized, sharp ivory. A lot skinnier and approachable than the barkeep, but the mouse was still uneasy. “Y-you’re a cat.”
“Yep! The name is Cole Lewerk, but trust me when I say that I’m not like that tasteless tabby.” After straightening his jacket collar, he rolls up a sleeve and gestures toward the ebony fur along his arm, fine and full of luster in the afternoon sun. “I’m a black cat, see, and I had my own problems growing up in a town like this. Heck, when I was your age, I couldn’t walk the street without folks performing a sign of the cross. Living like me is what led me to you, in the back corners against the wall, alone. Getting treated like bad luck all your life ain’t for the faint-hearted, so I’d rather work to raise up my fellow cold-shouldered critters when they’re down.”
The black cat runs two fingers along the brim of his white hat. A magical flourish to uplift one’s heart, and Mickey could feel his skip a beat. Cole stretches a paw out and says, “So, tell me your name, friend.”
Suddenly feeling a bit ashamed, Mickey quickly gets back on his feet, wiping the gunk and dirt off his red bottoms. He refuses Cole’s offered hand, preferring to flaunt his independent strength, and smiles like he did at Old Dutch. Such hospitality deserves an equally welcoming attitude, and the black cat sure did seem the safe kind of sincere. Respecting Mickey’s rise, Cole steps back and straightens his back, towering over the mouse but keeping that tender grin. Mickey sniffs, saying, “This has just been a bad day is all. Sure, being a mouse in this big world is tough, but it’s rare for that fact to come so… forceful against me.”
He shakes his head and puffs his chest. Just imagine, the mouse thinks, that this is an interview. The cat did dress nice, so you never know. “My name is Mickey, Mickey Mouse, and I grew up a Timeless boy. Got back after a stint on a steamboat. W-with a girl.” He blushes at that impulsive addition and turns his heel. “She’s not from here and we’re living together, so I just want to help her get settled. Part of settling is finding work, a steady paycheck, and it shouldn’t be her burden to bear. Being a Timeless boy, now a Timeless gentleman, I knew all the shops and their keepers, so I thought it would be easy as pie.” His shoulders drop just an inch. “Turns out it isn’t, so I came over to the port and all of my new neighbors. Thought it best to introduce myself to those who don’t know me, but, well… as you heard and see before you now, I am a mouse and not even the neediest bartender appreciates it.”
Mickey kept his head high, brightened by his honesty. In response, Cole brings a paw down on Mickey’s shoulder and gives a hearty pat. The black cat’s gentle smile turns into an ecstatic grin, twin fangs exposed like pearly spears. “Well, Mickey, today is lucky ‘cause it is a mouse that I’m looking for!”
Mickey blinks and twitches an ear to make sure he’s hearing clearly. “C-can you repeat that… Please, Mr. Lewerk, sir?”
A dry chuckle later, and he says, “I’m saying I have a job for you, my boy! It’s a genuine small business owner you’ve met today and I’ve been waiting to meet one with Timeless grit on these here docks, and I think you fit the bill.” From his jacket pocket, the cat pulls out a yellowed parchment scroll and reveals its contents in an effortless unfurling.
The bill in question, Mickey guessed, eyeing the job flyer up.
At the top, Mickey sees what must be the business name in thick, blocky letters: LEWERK WRECK RECON. Underneath the title are a trio of illustrations for maritime tools; a compass diamond, a crane with a large metal claw and what looked like a sphere with blunt spikes along its equator and meridian. Being a steamboat lackey, Mickey recognizes the first two things but not the third. What follows after the drawings are a collection of sentences, terms and conditions, that Mickey skims over before Cole rolled the paper right back up.
“During the war overseas, I learned about the horrible reality of leftover boats, submarines, bullets and cannon shells just left to spread in the ocean currents. The most diabolical of the abandoned warfare tools are the naval mines, big black balls of fire waiting to be touched upon What’s worse, I learned the government, whether local or federal, have to do squat about it, so I came up with the idea of a private enterprise for the community, searching and those mines and the explosive hulks and trash that manage to wash up near our coastal shores. This may be a river town, but we’re right by the sea over there, and who knows what dangerous things the currents and storms will bring.” From another pocket, he takes out another scroll and shows a detailed blueprint of a naval mine. With a thick iron shell it was hollow inside with a clock-like device in its center held in mid-air by spiraling cables. Next to the mine, was a rougher blueprint seemingly made from the average pencil for something that looked like your average rifle. The bullets were shaped like a harpoon but with sharp petals that dropped downward around the main frontward spike. “I made an invention to help with the proactive detection and demolition of such rogue elements, but I have to prove it works before I can expand my enterprise beyond Timeless, Mr. Mouse.”
Mickey interjects with a compliment, saying “Neat gadgets, even if they are dangerous.”
Cole rushes the blueprint back into his pocket, ready to pounce on such a casual rejoinder. “The naval mine, sure, but the other tool is more than a mere gadget, Mickey, and it’s absolutely not dangerous.” The cat comes in close, whispering what must be a close-guarded company secret. “It’s a genius machine that I call a Core-Piercer, a special harpoon launcher built from rare but hardy materials, able to strike through iron while holding a built-in explosive attachment to obliterate harmful debris. How it works, you need to aim it at the naval mine or a silent hulk threatening to crash into unsuspecting boats and fire. In a great geyser, the problem solves itself, with any harmful sea-trash fully obliterated.” He sighs, imagining a sight Mickey also wants to see, but then frowns. His speech loses a certain energy, but is still gripping. “However, I, Cole Lewerk, am worse than a mouse on the Timeless docks. I’m an out-of-towner, with no knowledge of these shores or how to pilot a boat about them…”
Mickey recognizes the play and nails the incoming pitch, matching the cat’s enthusiasm. “So you need someone local who can spot anything out of place! Ho-boy, that sure is smart, Lewerk!”
The cat smirks again and begins to walk out of the alley, forcing Mickey to follow. Together, they emerge into the afternoon light, where Cole Lewerk’s smile takes on a different shadow. “Indeed! I’m also smart enough to step back and let the expert do their work.” From a different pocket, this time from the back of his pants, he pulls out another scroll and drops it into Mickey’s hand. The mouse gently cradles it, like a delicate treasure. “That is my business contract, Mickey Mouse. The absolute first of its kind. I’ve only just started my business, a mere week ago, so you’ll be my only employee for now. However, that solidarity gets you the utmost benefits. You’ll get to run your own ship, a fine, experimental vessel I purchased up north, with no bitter sea-dogs or beasts to disturb prowl the port. Just you and the mighty sea, with you fully equipped for whatever you shall meet!”
The two come to a stop on the docks. A fork with a leftward trail leading back to the mainland, with the familiar houses, shops and neighborhoods, and a straight-on path towards the end of the dock, where Lewek must keep his ship and business premise. The cat says, “All you need to do is go over this contract, sign it with whatever ink or graphite you’ve got, and go to the furthermost shack early in the morning, where your boat and first day on the job awaits.”
A pregnant pause in the air, Mickey unfortunately stutters, “M-Mr. Lewerk, I’m not completely sure what to say—“
“Just say you’ll do your best, for both me and that girl of yours, when you tell her the good news. Have a dashing night Mickey Mouse!” With that, Cole Lewerk strolls into the evening crowd and disappears.
Mickey, his heart full of excitement, runs on the trail, ecstatic to return home. From Captain Pete to his own boss! Minnie is going to love it! Should he play the game right, she’ll even love him enough to not work for the Mortimers!
Under the silver moonlight, Mickey is a pure, golden joy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mickey told Minnie the good news, and the red on his cheek stings in the salty morning air. Still, he perseveres. He’s got a job to do.
“And it’s a really good job, just like the one when we first met,” he remembers telling her last night, the dusky sun three quarters under the horizon. “This time though, I get my own boat, so you’ll get to call me Captain Mickey Mouse, sweetheart.”
She joined her hands, soft and delicate, and held them close to her chest. “That’s wonderful, Mickey,” she sighed, heat all a-flutter, “I just knew you would rise to such an important role, but are you sure it’ll be safe? You did tell me the new boss is a cat.”
“Sure, but he’s not Pete and he’s definitely not any of the other cats in Timeless. An out-of-towner seeing potential in a rascal like me? That means something, Minnie. While everything to come might not be as shiny as he promised, it’ll still get me further than I’ve ever been and I can finally be a man of the house!” He puffs his chest out, playfully exaggerating the role. Minnie giggles and he feels even taller.
Hands to her sides, she pulls her shoulders in and cuddles, “Well, don’t forget I’ll be the house’s lady alongside you. With your new boat and my tutoring at the Mortimers’ we’ll be set for life!”
Mickey subtly deflates and rubs his heel on the floor. Having run this conversation on the long and happy walk back home, he suddenly finds himself a little tongue-tied. He knows what’s at stake in the game and makes his move.
“Actually, Minnie, I think that with a go-getter like Lewerks signing my checks, this new home of ours won’t need a double income. Me being out of sea, I’ll not only be bringing in bread but the fish too. My trip to the docks had entire ships and nets filled with fish, so the currents must be stuffed. I tell you Minnie, this day will make it so that you won’t have to worry again! Instead of going out to that mansion, you can… just stay here and write your songs!” He smiles, hoping the idea gets through.
It does, but it causes Minnie to furrow her brow, wringing her hands. “Well, song-writing does sound nice, Mickey, but…” She backs away from him, but he keeps on smiling. “It’s just…” She paces back and forth. “If you’re doing all the work… what am I supposed to do when you’re gone? I do love my songs, I really do, but here in Timeless, a brand-new place for me, it wouldn’t feel right to just stay at home all day. Now, I think I know what you’ll say next, but public performance might not be the best course. You, Mickey Mouse, might know all the dives and holes at the river, but who’s to say they’re still safe or even popular in the time you’ve been gone?” She finds her smile again and continues, “Besides, that Mortimer tutorship won’t just give out money. They promised me new instruments in case the ones I brought from home break. Stage performances at um… finer establishments. The madam is even connected to a local academy, so who knows where it’ll take me?”
Seeing the small gloom gather on her face, Mickey pivots. Here was the greatest girl he ever laid eyes on, making her case and worried about the future. While he does know Timeless and its every feature and landmark along the river, she doesn’t trust his thinking to be ‘good’ for her. While it hurts, it’s completely understandable. Minnie here almost missed her ship to Timeless, with no plans for romance, and it’s because of Mickey that she was able to arrive in time, but everything since then has been a whirlwind of her trying to accommodate their new relationship with plans and dreams she made from the past year. She still has those newcomer difficulties and doesn’t want to miss out on the opportunity the Mortimer family kindly gave her. He almost kicks himself for not seeing it sooner. For not thinking through on how a new job would affect her rise to life. He didn’t want to take any of her greatness away. He just wants her to direct it to a better place. A place with less rich, spoiled rats. All things he thinks, but would never say. It’s just… What if she decides to leave?
Voice high and golden, Mickey really says, “With the scratch Lewerks is offering, I can cover all that instead. All you’d have to do is just wait here for a bit. Maybe get this shack spruced up, ‘cause I really like it. The perfect space for us and our new life. Trust me Minnie, you deserve to be better than another Mortimer maid.” Mickey ends with what he thinks to be a most romantic rejoinder, saying “Just be MY girl instead! Then, you’ll rise as high as me.”
A thoughtful silence hung in the air. Then, she slaps him.
Still feeling the ache hours later, he rubs his cheek and forces a smile. His boat bobs through the waves towards the open sea, where the work can begin. His first day and he pushes himself to perform with maximum effort, which is fittingly much more work than he ever gave working for Captain Pete. To his side at the steering wheel stands a wall with a fresh paper map laid out, carefully marked dear Lewerk with simple ink. The lines and circles stand for the paths that the abandoned naval mines must have taken after being launched in the English and Mediterranean channels. With how currents are, they might be spread across the Atlantic. But, according to Lewerks at the dock before sunrise, if Mickey succeeds here, a whole new post-war “waste removal” business will start up with him at the ground floor. A trailblazer and a servant to the seas. Minnie, being a young woman of character and finer taste, couldn’t hate someone like that for long!
Mickey steers towards the latitude and longitude that the biggest mine would arrive at, appropriately marked by the thickest ink line. Along the way, he hums a soothing little tune and admires the craft Lewerks left for him. While on the smaller side of mid-sized, it stood in the water with a confidence the mouse could not help but respect. The wheelhouse, while a squat and square arrangement, was well-equipped. Whenever he could sneak into the one on Captain Pete’s boat, Mickey admired the space available but now saw it as unneeded extravagance, with Pete being such a fat cat. The close walls made map-reading easier and the most important navigational instruments, from the compass to the engine reader, were driven into a flat wooden desk nailed around the steering wheel, which held a tight grip on the connected rudder blade propellers. “This is your boat,” Lewerks said to the mouse. “It is ready to work as hard as you. All it needs now is for you to name it.”
“And how,” Mickey whispers to himself, happily acquainted with his new partner, Dear Willie, under the southern noon sun.
Measuring the charts, he finds himself in the correct area and pulls a large metal switch under the desk to shut down the engine, sputtering like a dragonfly approaching its final rest. The first part of this job is travel, and then there is the fun part. Mickey descends down the stairs towards the main deck and makes his way aft-wards. Mounted on the gunwale at the boat’s rear end, were various hunting tools, finely crafted for their steel-shelled prey. The main arsenal piece was a big metal gun, which fired those special harpoon-bullets in rapid fire. Welded on top of it is a circular glass scope with a sturdy metal frame for aiming, able to give a closer look at the targeted area and allow the gunner to sort out the details even in the stormiest waters. On each side is a singular barrel, which hooks up to the gun’s main chamber, automatically detaching once it’s emptied and changing to the second one raring to go. Several similar barrels lay to the off the port quarter, secured by a reedy net, for reloading.
Mickey pulls out a stool and lays it under the gunner station. Next, he goes to the forward bow to grab a hammer, lots of nails and another stool. He then nails down the first stool into the wooden deck floor, now unmovable. He then nails the legs of the second stool into the flat surface of the first until it is also unmovable. Only then does he become tall enough to man the gunner station, climbing up the stools like a step-ladder, which unfortunately are not built for mice of his stature.
Hands secured at the holdings with fingers hovering above the triggers, he searches for his first naval man. Lewerks described the ones made and launched by the Axis as simple balls with a crown of nodes around the top. Easy to see when they’re above the surface. Meanwhile, the ones launched by the alleys are more like octopi. Oblong shapes once chained to the ocean floor until their bonds rusted and broke off from their bottom anchors. Those ones are brown and half-way submerged with rusted links trailing behind like seaweed.
Mickey’s first target, the biggest of his first day, once belonged to the Allies. Under the foam, he sees uneven bumps across the visible surface, looking as wrinkled and wasted as a giant nut. His scope centered and trigger fingers curled inward, he sets about cracking it open.
His boat roars at a fever high pitch. Sharp geysers sprout the surface and edge closer to the target. Mickey tries his best to smile with the work, but the most he can muster is chattering of open-lipped teeth, a pearly bag of marbles easily overpowered by the staccato of gunfire and the bubbling of pierced ocean spray. Not wanting to lose his grip, Mickey locks his knuckles and leans in. Then, in the deepest, smallest part of his big round ears, Mickey hears the tiniest *ting* before the sea itself explodes. A mountain of white and blue erupts and cascades, knocking the boat forward and flooding the deck.
Mickey, of course, is knocked back by the wave’s force, but his fall is cushioned by a nest of life vests and unused ropes, strategically placed if such a fall ever occurred. Soaking wet, Mickey’s heart swells and the sun seems to take a brand new shine, as if a new day just blossomed. If only he had an umbrella so he could sing in this rain.
The sea back at rest and the boat returned to its regular rhythm, the mouse stood back up and returned to the gunner station. Before setting off, Lewerks gave him one last piece of advice and that was to make sure no other mine or chunk of sensitive metal accompanied the destroyed explosive. “Currents can be like cursed magnets,” he said, “Always bringing pieces of waste together.” Putting his eye towards the scope, Mickey expected to see nothing.
Instead, he saw something strange.
On the horizon, distant from the turmoil of the blasted mine, a patch of ocean rises like a swelling hill, and from its apex erupts a vertical column of sharp, serrated green… metal plates? It certainly looked like metal, Mickey thought, so maybe it is best to tear it apart with bullets. Might be another mine to destroy, or debris somehow attracted to the destruction, as if driven by magnetism with the way those tall metal plates start to move forward. The mouse should have wondered why the things didn’t sink or just lie flat on their sides, in accordance with gravity and its laws, but this was a new job in a strange new world. He can’t waste time asking questions in the solitary sea. So, he disengages from the scope and stands back up on the stool with his hands on the guns, this time with a stronger grip.
Mickey gazes into the sights and takes, pondering the music he’ll make with lead against green-rusted metal spires. However, the change in view reveals something even stranger. Those metal plates rise higher, no longer treading the flat but roiling blue waves. They stand on a brand new hill, a craggy outward curve that looks like an avalanche of coal in the stark sun. The mouse’s eyes furrow, thinking it a trick of the light, only for the hill to rise higher. His hands shake within his cushioned gloves. Maybe he just needs a drink of fresh water and an early lunch. Yeah! That would prevent him from seeing things. Things that just aren’t right for the town of Timeless. Still facing forward he takes a step back, only to hear a call to shake an entire world.
Much more powerful than the mine he disposed of, it lasts for a full minute. It’s a low but devastating rumble that takes hold of the entire boat and makes all the wood and equipment clatter together, in harmony with Mickey’s teeth and very bones. The mouse shudders. A submarine with the voice of a lion, he thinks, rationalizing the terror around him. In his worry, he imagines the worst that can happen would be getting sunk. By who? Who cares? He needs to start the boat and get out of here!
Before he can though, Mickey cannot help but turn over his shoulder, taking one last look at what might be the most exciting thing to come to all of Timeless, and “thing” is certainly the word for it, much to his horror. The hill, crowned with what must now be called dorsal spikes, is no less than a dozen nautical miles away, and, at its foot rises a cylindrical head framed by two great red orbs. They seethe with hateful malice so powerful that, even from such a wide but gradually shortening distance, the mouse’s very spirit feels fatally pierced. A man would say it is like looking into the face of the devil, but for a mouse it is like facing down Old Man Dutch, Captain Pete and every other grown animal to ever demean and berate him. Mickey Mouse was scared of all of them at first…
But then came time to stand and take action. This is his first day on the job, and he wants to be a worker so he immediately breaks into a sprint towards the wheelhouse. On the way, he slides to the sideward walls and grabs his hammer and nails, a hemp rope, and a thin metal pipe knocked down to the floor by the impact, carrying it all under his left arm. Veins pumping with a newfound energy, he bounds up the stairs and reorients himself in the enclosed space. The naval map to his side, the navigation instruments before him and a wide plan of open blue sea through the window in front of him. The Timeless docks are to the east. Mickey quickly turns the wooden wheel as far to the right as he can. His hands still shake, but all he can focus now on is his right hand’s grip on the engine switch, waiting at an invisible starting line. Mickey pushes down with utmost force and the Dear Willie launches out to starboard in a jet-stream of thick white bubbles. He takes one last look over his shoulder, and sees the monster’s head fully above the water, its mouth gritted with rows of pearly, diamond-shaped teeth. He can barely hear its next roar within the din of the engine. Suddenly he’s back in a childhood chase. The first rule of such action: Always move forward, no matter what.
Lewerk Wreck Recon’s first ever boat takes the sharpest turn in its young life and holds on through the stress. It now makes its way to the open ocean, and the monster follows behind.
While the boat maintains a brisk speed, Mickey’s mind trawls through fevered recesses, painting a picture of his latest bully, hailing from deep and unknown nature. The most pithy description he develops is an “oversize alligator,” and he’s met alligators before. They said they’re from Florida, staying in a warehouse as movers and then heading to a riverside club as shakers. Even if he had a horn, a wood or even a single maraca, Mickey doubts that the one behind him knows any rhythm. Obviously, the thing was brought up from the Allied naval mine he blasted with gunfire. The big bang might as well have been a giant church bell for any big creatures underneath, but that didn’t mean he had to go and be a rude terror to such a little mouse. Being such a small fry, Mickey is the obvious victim here with Big Gator just instigating. What a way to start the worker’s life, but there just might be a way to swat that big lizard away from his stream. A quick glance behind confirms that the monster still follows the Dear Willie, not breaking from its path.
Keeping the boat forward in a very steady line, Mickey drops the spear under his shoulder into his left hand. As long as the engine switch remains down, the boat’s engine will keep on chugging, driving this poor little life to the end of the earth. Mickey leads the spear under the gap of the engine switch and thrusts forward so the tip is impaled on the wooden wall, keeping it and the switch in place, stuck at the same top speed. Making sure that none of it shifts too hard with the rocking of the boat, Mickey then ties the rope around the spear and hammers nails into its dangling ends and secure them into the sides of the wooden post that the engine switch sits on. Now, nothing is gonna budge at that there stake, so Mickey bounds down the wheelhouse stairs to the aft deck, aiming right for the gunner station.
There is a closer distance between the Dear Willie and the pursuing monster now, but the speed of the boat makes the two of them equidistant over time. That does not stop Mickey from reloading the gun with two fresh and filled barrels, avoiding eye contact with the beast. In a place with blue all around, the red of its eyes are a vortex of fear and attention, things a mouse in trouble can’t afford to waste. He refuses to even look at them when he settles on the stool and looks through the big gun’s sights, instead aiming right at its nose, nostrils flaring open and shut with sea water spray. Alligators gotta have weak noses, no matter how big, he silently mutters to himself.
But before Mickey actually brings the courage to fire, he stops to think of the consequences should this gambit fail.
Maybe the bullets will just bounce off the sea lizard’s skin like marbles on asphalt, only making the monster angrier and driving it to swim faster. Or maybe they’ll tear his scaled flesh apart into big, coal-like chunks for the sharks and bottom-feeders to feast on. Either way, nothing is gonna be gained by just driving to the edge of the world. So, Mickey leans forward, grits his teeth, and pulls the triggers tight, standing strong amid the roar of gunfire. To hell with it.
As it ought to be in nature, reptile scales can’t be stronger than metal, but they sure put up one hell of a fight when they’re as big and wide as bricks. Hundreds of bullets erupt from the barrel as winged angels of white-hot light. Most of their shine glints off the creature’s body, falling to the side-waters with dull thuds, but some make their way into the thing’s cavernous nostrils. Lost to the strange darkness, their effect is immediate. In a frustrated grumble, the creature bucks its head up, its most open and its eyes closed like it’s holding in a sneeze. The action reveals the soft underside of its neck.
Fingers still on the twin triggers, Mickey holds fast and the bullets pierce into the softer flesh. The quick barrage even drew blood if Mickey could distinguish the difference between the white sea foam and the dark open waters from whatever pitch liquid started seeping from the sea lizard’s rough skin-folds. In one mighty swing, the monster smashes its head down back into the surf, creating a continuous wave of colossal ripples that reach as far as the boat’s trail. The giant ripples force the Dear Willie to bob up and down, making it lose its previous acceleration and close the distance between it and the monster. Feeling every inch of the boat’s movements, Mickey quickly recognized the slackened pace and scrambled for a solution. The spear that held the engine switch in place still had it at the fullest throttle, but with the delay caused by the waves it will take time for the Dear Willie to reach top speed again. That will give the sea beast scant minutes to catch up and take its first bite out of Mickey’s person.
Time for another turn, literally.
Leaving the gunner station, Mickey scrambles back up to the wheelhouse. The sea beast is close enough for him to hear its labored breathing. It sounds like the crashing of waves. Before it can reach the crest and release a devastating blow, Mickey gets hold of the wheel and pulls it down to the left. Soon, wood and metal shrieks in pain behind him and a deep, monstrous bellow turns a mouse’s skin inside and out. The force of it all brings Mickey down to the floor, where he shuts his eyes, bracing for the end. However, he still hears the sputtering on an unsullied engine. The beast grumbles but it’s more like a faded murmur than impending doom. The hard turn saved him again. The closest a mouse has been to hell and all Mickey can feel in his little body is wet and sore. He opens his eyes and is greeted by the wheelhouse’s rightward wall, on which hangs a revelation. A possible end to this terrible trouble.
Finding the strength to stand again, Mickey looks closer at the map and its markings. Sites of interest, Lewerks called them. Places to find the wrecked items for proper destruction and ocean burial. He remembers the first explosion and how far he came from it during the chase. With darting eyes and maritime memory he measures the distance between Dear Willie’s position and the closest marked area. A tight smirk crawls along his face. Time to get cheeky with it, like all the other bullies. If only the big lizard behind him knew about Timeless mice, he thinks. Racing back down to the gunner station, he aims again for the creator and its nostrils, paying no mind to the splintered spikes that used to be the gunner station on the furthermost stern corner. At least the boat has lost some weight. Now it’s lighter and very much faster, with a hide-and-iron piercing gun still intact!
As the Dear Willie rocketed forward, Mickey only focused on the roar of the engine and the screams of the surf, driven by the impossible belief that it was louder than the warm, salty breaths of the monster behind him. Speaking of, there’s gotta be a more demeaning way to describe it than “oversized alligator,” thinks the mouse. In childhood days, whenever he faced a bully, he could always fire back with alliterative adjectives fitting with their name, since people like that always put proud credits to their dirty work. The… thing behind him doesn’t seem like a talkative type, but boy does it sure like to bite at the poor boat and its captain. Wait! Bite to eat. To engorge. GORGO! Gorgin’ on tools and commodities for its fat stomach, no doubt obscured by the surf and its front crawling strokes.
Mickey finally fills the sea with his own voice. “Well, Gorgo, my big cold-blooded pal, I ain’t so sure where you hail from, so let me say that I can’t wait to give a proper Mickey Mouse welcome to Timeless. You’re gonna love it, hahaha!” Throughout the entire greeting, he had the widest smile. Looking at the map again, he was only less than five minutes to the closest site of interest. Please let old WIllie here hold, he prays.
Too bad Gorgo can’t appreciate its classification or welcoming. It just powers on forward, chomping at air for one more bite. All alone in the world, could it feel the same things a mouse can? The same pangs? The same heartbreak? Surely it does not know how to live for anything except for whatever sits in front of it with the way it keeps surging on, its loud echoes roiling the waves and the deep currents underneath. Dive into the water and swim underneath the beast, all the way down to the ocean floor itself, and you’ll find nothing but a barren abyss. No parasites or barnacles hang to its skin or scales, No schools of fish to follow behind for support. Not even any bottom feeders waiting for scraps or bits of rotten, carrion flesh to sink down below. Wherever this Gorgo goes, it always goes alone. No wonder it seems so goddamn hungry.
Through the wheelhouse window, Mickey can finally see the speck of rusted steel gray and dark brown bobbing up and down the waves. What follows will require some tricky maneuvering, and Mickey thinks back to what Minnie said last night, right before she slapped him. “After all we’ve done to move to Timeless and get this house, Mickey Mouse, you really think you can pull a trick on me…,” she muttered, shuffling up close. “Worse than that, you goddamn want to!”
The sting on his cheek returns, much more intense than before. His smile transforms into grit, into a resolve to return to shore and apologize. Holding the wheel firm, he feels the boat’s speed and flight across the endless violent blue. He remembers how naval mines operate, chained in a metal-link that leads straight down to the ocean floor. He makes a soft, subtle swivel, and Dear Willie curves right around the thing. A maneuver so subtle that not even a predator like Gorgo notices. Anything a boat like Mickey’s will do is equivalent to the thrashings of an ant upon the dirt, and whoever pays attention to ants? If the first mine worked as a loud dinner bell, Mickey thinks, then let this one be a big punch to face. Tuning his ears to hear what must be the last growls of an ancient beast, the mouse shuts his eyes tight, waiting for that freeing KABOOM.
However, he still remained trapped in the grim tide of the present, still oppressed by the engine and Gorgo’s violent grumbles. Mickey takes a swift look back, only to be struck by the dumb luck of it all. Gorgo certainly hit the naval mine, alright, but somehow, its horrid, craggy face collided with the dangling chain underneath the big ball. Now, like a wayward noodle, the chain hangs from one of the sea lizard’s bottom teeth, with a big fat meatball taken along for the ride. It still bobs up down near Gorge’s neck, but not close enough to touch it.
In such a fumble, Mickey would fret about with plans and other options for escape, but in truth there is only one thing to do.
First-time wreck reconnoiter Michael Theodorus “Mickey” Mouse will need to do the job he’s paid for, with the best and only tool at hand. Thank the maker that the gun’s still there, but by golly will a mouse curse ‘em if he don’t live to see land again. The end of life is bad, surely, but not getting to tell the Timeless folks, specifically the fat, laughing cats at The Barrel, about his proud struggle and harrowing tale against a mysterious and no-doubt mythical sea monster? Why… that would be downright cruel!
After securing the spear and its hold against the engine switch, Mickey steps down the stairs to the deck one last time. He imagined himself as a soldier, making one last dive into the fray, but then the engine screeched and started to stutter. He could see smoke rising from the hull. In his feet, he could feel the Dear Willie slowing down. Dumb luck, he thinks, as that dark, barren face, framed by flaming red eyes, approaches. By instinct, Mickey straight jumps onto the stools and leans fully into the fun, his body almost merging with it, fully numb with that deadly mix of bravery and outright terror. Without thinking, his tail wraps around the bottom stools legs, tighter than a boa snake. His fingers pull in, and he offers a prayer, thinking of his precious girl’s smile. “Thank you Minnie. For everything.”
Mickey and his Dear Willie unleashes a final, hellish roar. A shout among the sea and all who call it home: Small, but deserving to be heard. Then… There is a BOOM.
After that, utterly still blackness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lewerks waits on the pier, creating staccato with his fine right shoe on the fresh wooden boards. He’d look at his pocket watch, cast from splendid gold, but he knows it won’t make him any more patient or time go any faster. He saw the mouse’s courage and excitement for the job. He saw the shine in his eyes when saw the boat and named it. Dear Willie sounds like something with a private history, but he couldn’t hear it in the mouse’s voice. He heard all the whistling as he started the engine and went off towards the blue horizon, watching the waves churn and the steam rise. What he did not see and could not actually believe was a Tardy Tom, as his mom used to say way back when. He told Mickey to be back at the docks by 1800, Navy time, with a map of obliterated naval mines by but now it is 1900 and it’s only getting darker. Did he make the wrong call? Did the mouse really just cut and run with a fresh new boat, aiming for the other side of the world? Or did the worst happen, and a naval mine went off, either too close, too late and too early for the boat? Will he go out on a charter tomorrow morning and see chunks of wood and Willie’s steel hull spread across the waves? Heaven forbid! The only thing worse would be finding wooden chunks and hull markings in the shape of diamond teeth…
He shudders but quickly blames it on the wind. Then, far off in the water, he hears a horn and silently jumps on his heels. That sterling sound is the wheelhouse horn, shrill as a shrike bird. Right then, he knew he met a good mouse, but that goodness when he could see the shape of Dear Willie’s shadow against the dimming sky. Like a half-done jigsaw puzzle, missing a whole corner, its turret gun and the sweet sound of its special engine, coughing up thick, oily lungs just to make it another yard. Lewerk’s mouth hangs open in shock, made from startled surprise and fear more than unbridled joy. However, a slight, breathless chuckle escapes from his throat. He hopes Mickey doesn’t see it, or else he might ask some questions.
Mickey arrives at the empty harbor, half-an-hour ’til sunrise. Even through the dark, the mouse could see his boss’s shock and sunken eyes across the waters. He rolls his eyes, the boat fully paralleled with the dock, and almost slides down the wheelhouse stairs. Then, shoulders hunched over, he walked to the broken edge of the deck wall and jumped it with a piece of rope in hand, already wrapped around a cleat or the only makeshift piece of wrecked metal that could serve as one. Just like he did under Captain Pete, kneeled at the iron stump and tied the mooring line into the strongest nautical knot he knew: The Double Fisherman. He could hear Lewerk stepping up to meet him, panting, with a paw slicking back his flustered hair. The boss cat started rambling on about lateness and worry about the boat, responsibility and how many abandoned weapons he was able to destroy before Dear Willie’s so-called “self-destruction.”
“I understand that a wayward explosion could have disabled a lot of the tools you had, but surely you still had the emergency flares. You could have drowned and sunk everything you and I worked for in just one afternoon. It’s unfortunate an accident occurred on your first day, but can you imagine what you did to your first paycheck?”
Among the noise, now more droning static than the inspiring speech when they first met, the mouse just tied his knot.
Finished and standing, all Mickey does is raise his white-gloved hand, palm open, signaling Lewerks to shut his mewling trap, because, of course, he’s come to his boss with nothing but questions. “Hehe, did you know that there are more than naval mines out there,” he asks, voice tinged with a dark but exhausted humor at the job and all the luck he used to get it. The change from joyful curiosity to cold “This mouse would say they are monsters about. Giant lizards with red eyes that can eat a whale whole and do the butterfly stroke. This mouse had to find that out the hard way, but at least he thought himself to have a most unique experience. Sadly though, while trawling through what’s left of the Dear Willie, looking for supplies and parts to drag everything back home, he found a small thing that… shook that belief.” From his pocket, the mouse brings up a golden coin with six sides and a proud eagle atop a sideways anchor carved in it. Chained to the coin’s top is a three-colored ribbon, blue, gold and blood-red, stained with a faded copper taste.
Mickey asks, “Do you know what this is, Lewerks?”
Returning to the demeanor he held yesterday, Lewerks says, “It appears to be a metal of some kind. Most likely.
Mickey waves him off. “Nah, I’d say it’s a clue that you are more than just a businessman. I think the Dear Willie here is more than just a special boat you had built for wreck recon. I think it is just your boat, ‘cause no other boat got secret compartments and old knife-carved messages in wood, painted over with fresh coating that can get washed away from any old maritime disaster.
“I’m struggling to remember what they said… Oh wait! They said ‘MONSTER KILLERS’ and ‘SECRET NAVY BOYS’ and ‘LONG LIVE THE CAPTAIN.’ Seeing how young you are, I don’t think that captain lived very long nor did the Navy boys or monster killers you no doubt knew. So, options dry, with the war and a whole lot else, thinking you were dead, you had to pawn your last mission to someone else. Someone not necessarily low but eager enough to take to the high seas. Experience wouldn’t hurt ‘em either, considering the boats you had are a whole lot more… simpler than what I’ve worked with.
“Probably couldn’t handle a sea monster like Gorgo by your lonesome, being a cat and all, but a single mouse could meet the demand. We’re already hard workers after all, capable of manning five tasks for little pay because well… we’re mice! When it comes to facing a hard day or strangeness, we know just what to do, even when it’s a bit inconvenient. We mice also like to talk. Not gossip, but talk, especially about big, big things. Don’t worry about all your secrets though. I don’t care if you work for the government, the navy, or some classified baloney. Gorgo’s dead, and I deserve my right compensation for it. Unless Lewerk Wreck Recon’s salary was just another sleight of hand…”
Flustered but amused by his little employee, Lewerks stutters, “Please understand, Mister Mouse—” only to meet a desperate haymaker in reply. Mickey saved all his remaining energy for the jump putting them at equal levels and the following punch. The impact may have been less explosive than the mines, but it remained much more satisfying. Running on final fumes, he fumbles through the prone Lewerks’ pockets and suit, finding a leather wallet filled with greenbacks and some change. Enough to last for the rest of his and his girlfriend’s life? Who knows!? Counting will have to wait tomorrow, he thinks, starting the long walk home. He still keeps the gold medal, no doubt worthy to a smelter or a play-actor who likes authenticities in their props.
Speaking of props, he stops and turns to the cat one last time. “Oh, sorry, but I also quit, Mr. Lewerks. I blew up some mines, but a giant like Gorgo ought to be put in a contract. The big black cat Captain Pete was more honest and he even brought me more luck, haha!” That will have to do for a goodbye. The town of Timeless accepts him with open arms, quiet but warmer than before. A subdued embrace, which he gladly accepts.
Coming in from the ocean, Mickey already knew what he had to do and what he’d tell dear Minnie about today. The boat, the boss, the monster, and more importantly his quick, one-day resignation. Won’t matter how much he got paid, quitting a brand new job so soon never looks good in a girlfriend’s eyes. He’ll deserve everything he’ll get from her. Good and bad. At least he’ll be honest and brave. He used up all his tricks with Gorgo, and he was just a wild animal!
Stunned with a bloody nose, Lewerks says to the empty sea breeze, “Who in the nine-life hell is Gorgo?”
