Tick… tick… tick… Watching the waves crash along the coastal crag as the seconds trickled onward to high noon, Simon Seville held his breath steady. Ocean air was cold, and even through his dark fur coat he felt the savage bite whistle through his clothes, giving him goosebumps. Mother nature's sting would not deter him today. He dare not risk even a marginalized error. Inhaling the fresh, salty sea air invigorated him, but he mustn't lose focus like yesterday. It only takes one mistimed breath to screw up. Inhale. Exhale. The chipmunk matched his breathing to the sound of his pocket watch situated atop his tattered drafting table, counting away the seconds to epitome of his scientific breakthrough.
Tick… Tick… Tick… Ding! His watch signaled the exact change to midday, having been wound every morning for a month at sunrise for the perfect time. He only had 59 seconds before his opportunity was lost. What was once an eternal wait period was a quickly dwindling stick of dynamite. The trick was blowing it out before it blew. He had yet to prove successful in his theory, but today was the day!
Cool and collected like the dull brass of the rusted sextant in his hands, Simon adjusted the index bar of the aged tool with the delicacy of a scale. Finding just the right angle until the sun's solar reflection introduced itself on the horizon. Tick… Tick… 30 seconds… Careful not to tap the eyeglass against the lens of his dirty glasses in fear of making a miscalculation, he established the slightest of gaps between him and the tool like a rifleman and his weapon.
For exact precision, the chipmunk meticulously turned the drum of his micrometer, fine tuning the instrument like a violin. Factoring off a single degree could be catastrophic. And he couldn't let his hypothesis fail. Not again.
How many times was it now that he tried and failed to determine the altitude of his conservatory? He wasn't terrible at his profession by any means -in fact at one time he was considered the best in the business, but that's beside the point- no, no. He maintained that something was different about this particular position. He watched the sun rise and set for the better part of a year. Noticeably different each day, but only from the view his conservatory offered. And only in his conservatory did his compass fail to work properly.
He considered a magnetic disposition. Afterall, when he reached a certain point beyond his property, the compass regressed from its endless broken spinning and once again pointed North. Magnetics was the only logical reason. Just another theory to prove.
Stargazing in the dead of night, the incessant twirling of his compass would often become unbearable to the point of him having to hide it in the back of a drawer. That wouldn't stop the creaking of the pipes, which he'd hoped was an unrelated issue. Copper… A magnetic disposition wouldn't cause their warping, would it? Twas not uncommon for gears to show up in the morning bent to all hell. What was it that haunted his dear home?
Finding the exact positioning of the conservatory. Finding the altitude, longitude, and latitude… That was only the first step in solving this destructive mystery. He was growing impatient with each passing day, knowing he was so far from finding the root of the problem. A nagging feeling deep in his stomach developed. Similar to that of eating bad fish. A distraction he refused to let get to him. Just a few more adjustments… a few more seconds… and he'd have his measurement.
"Are you still trying to figure out the meaning behind your broken compass?" Giggled a chipette from behind, breaking Simon's concentration, "When will you learn that it's time for a new one?"
"Gah!" Simon fumbled with his contraption as the clock struck a minute past noon, "Jeanette!" He whined, knowing he had lost his chance yet again. With the sun now barely out of position, he had no choice but to wait. Looking through the telescope, the chipmunk's trained eyes found the sun off the horizon, a feature many would miss. A single minute, in this case, was an unforgiveable variable.
"I nearly had it this time," He grumbled, carefully laying the sextant on a nearby desk, ready for use another day. Among all his tools and gadgets, the sextant was the most useful, despite its use being limited to the midday. He'd never before seen a tool quite as unique as this one. It was irreplaceable.
"Oh," Jeanette said innocently. Looking over her purple-rimmed glasses, genuine guilt shone in her lilac eyes. "I'm sorry for interrupting you." With her arms held behind her back and a natural sway to her stance she exuded a naïve struggle of remorse. However, her sweet bucktooth smile was all Simon needed to forgive the disruption. She never intended any harm.
"Sorry enough to sew up my leather vest?" Simon teased, "Save me a trip to the tailor." Jeanette's tail swished happily, betraying her wily intentions.
"Promise to forgive me and I'll get you a new compass."
"I don't need a new compass. Mine's not broken."
"The Simon I know could've fixed his compass by now, if it was, in fact, fixable." She jeered.
"I just need to find out what's wrong with it before I can fix it." Simon retorted, "And to do that, I need to measure the exact position of my conservatory." Jeanette returned to her vixen-like mannerisms, reminded of the trouble she caused. Simon winked, "There's always tomorrow, I suppose. Now what brings you to my humble workshop this time of day? Won't you miss out on potential customers?"
Jeanette sighed, "Business hasn't been great lately. So few share my interest in the collection lately, I'm in the red yet again. I need something new to spice it up. Everyone wants the shiny treasures that get them whatever they desire and make them rich household names. They have yet to appreciate the beauty of the books and artifacts I've been fortunate enough to come across…"
The chipette dusted off the front of her dark ruffled skirt, a habit Simon recognized whenever she was anxiously holding back. She wanted something. She just didn't have the nerve ask outright.
"Would your lack of business happen to be related to your visit?" He prompted, knowing that his friend needed a little push. He watched her bite her lip while her messy hair and tail blow in the wind of the open conservatory. She was really a sight to behold. One that he could lose himself in for as long as the sun shone. If only he could afford the adorable scene she painted.
"Well… yes," She hesitated, pulling a weathered scroll of paper out of the breast of her low-cut peasant blouse, the lavender hues of which bounced off her chocolate-coloured fur in a captivating fashion.
"What have you there?" Stepping into the confines of the conservatory dome, Simon watched his friend flinch away as he reached for the ominous stationary, his stomach feeling ever heavier.
"I feel silly even asking this of you," She tittered, releasing her grip on the small scroll. Unrolling it, Simon blinked. He grew queasy, as the weight in his stomach hit him hard, like being shot from a cannon. Instantly, Jeanette's intentions became clear.
Etched along the face of the scroll in faded red ink was what appeared to be a child's map with only a single detailed landmark. Some sort of cave in the shape of a star, cut in the side of an island. Underneath the drawing, scrawled in a chicken-scratch writing, was the phrase 'Du crépuscule à l'aube'. And off to the side, a half-written coordinate.
"Crépuscule… Dusk," Simon breathed, "Aube… Dawn… Jeanette, what is this?"
The chipette bowed her head as shame filled her well-meaning heart, "I know how you feel about expeditions… But this could perhaps be one of the greatest discoveries of all time." Her feet fiddled with one another as the uncomfortability of the situation settled in. "Have you ever heard of the four jewels of the world?"
"Old sailor's tales." Simon insisted.
"No.. Just…" Jeanette stumbled towards the exit, "I… I should get back to the shop. Please give me a chance." She took a step down the stairway, "Tonight. Dinner at the Meyer Lemon. Let me plead my case before you go running for the hills." Without waiting around for Simon's reply, she trotted down the spiral staircase, kissing the halls of the conservatory goodbye.
Her absence was immediate, but her presence lingered, as did her raw odour of cinnamon – always a treat to Simon's nostrils. He tried to enjoy it as he normally would, and if not for the searing pain in his stomach, he might picture a fresh apple pie.
Simon tip-toed over to an old chest tucked away in the corner of his bedroom. He could open it and take a trip down memory lane if the masochist inside him decided to take over. He had been doing so well. How could Jeanette come to him with a problem like this? She had to know he wouldn't be interested. His pocket watch ticked on. Tick… Tick… Tick…
"Charting the uncharted…" He whispered to himself as the sound of the sea berating the coast stole his attention, "Finding the end of the world… La valeur de son âme."
/
"What d'you mean I can't join your crew?!" The chipette shook her fist wildly, "You stupid fool! Without me, you'll be lost in a week." A gentle push from the foot of the panda in front of her had the force of a hurricane. Flat on her butt, Eleanor scowled.
"At your size, you're hardly worth having around to scrub the deck." The panda grunted, scratching at the matted fur on his chin. "And to top it off, you're a girl. It's going to be a solid no from me. You smaller species have no right sailing the high seas." Shouting expletives at the howling panda as he climbed up the Jacobs ladder of his boat, Eleanor searched for another occupied dock.
No dice.
She'd pestered every sailor docked today and as per usual, she'd been granted no access. All she needed was a chance. One chance to show she had the makings of a top sailor. No one ever took her time travelling aboard her own vessel seriously. Size didn't matter! She still faced the tides head-to-head through raging storms. At least, that's what she told the captains of real ships…
"I hate this town," She muttered, bumbling up the stone steps of the pier that lead towards the city-centre, "Everyone's already learned to turn me away. Honestly, sailing with a female chipmunk should be considered an honour! If nothing else, a challenge! Port Leila… More like Port… Well… Whatever!" She remembered a time when the offers poured in if she agreed to be a… servant, for lack of a posher word. She was a sweet young woman. She was to be doted upon while serving the men of the sea – bring them food, keep them company. Well not this chipette!
Eleanor had heard of an increase in female piracy the last few years. And during difficult times where she felt her dreams of being a respectable sailor were crushed, she considered it. But she was no plunderer. No murderer. No pillager of the meek. And not just because she was a chipmunk. No, she had a heart. She had morals. But at least pirates had the freedom to sail the open sea without being ridiculed by their crew.
Kicking open the door to a rugged tavern, Eleanor hung her emerald green bandana and coat on the rack and pulled up a seat. The tavern wasn't bustling, considering it was shortly after midday, but it still had its set of regulars, including the town drunk, Riri, already blacked out at his standard table surrounded by shots of whiskey. The rat had no doubt consumed twice his body weight in alcohol, and boy did he smell it.
"What brings you here, love?" greeted Wilton, the bartender. For a pig, he wasn't as filthy as one might imagine. More importantly, he knew his spirits.
"Chased away again," Eleanor spat, "I don't get it. I know all there is to know about a ship. I know my way around a sword. And I can handle my liquor. What am I missing?"
"Still on about that?" The pig snorted, pouring the chipette a straight mug of ale, "You know exactly what you're missing. Nothing can change that, sadly." She knew exactly what that was. Eleanor could tell how ludicrous the pig thought her attraction to the sea was. But his friendly demeanor was more support than she'd ever had.
"UGH!" expressed Eleanor, pulling on her pigtails in frustration, "I don't get it! What's wrong with being called by the sea?"
"You were sure built different," Wilton snickered, "Why not just sail that boat of yours on your own?"
"Even that thing would need a crew for any extended voyage." Eleanor took a swig of her drink and burped under her breath. It wasn't the taste of booze she enjoyed, but rather the numbness it provided.
"No sailor's going to be captained by a female chipmunk." Riri hiccoughed in passing on his way to the latrine.
"So I've been told…" Eleanor had heard of smaller captains. Riri himself used be a captain for the royal navy during the war of the west, and he was smaller than she was! But they were far and few between. She'd never heard a female captain, however. Not a sailor anyway. Not even as a privateer. Pirates were, ironically, the only ones to see their true value…
"Gimme another." She ordered Wilton. Every sip brought her closer to a happy utopia where she could be whatever she wanted. She could captain a boat. A big boat. With a hundred crewmen or more! She and her crew could sail the seven seas for as long as they wished. Weee..! Eleanor felt herself rocking in the stool, the effects of the ale starting to take her for a ride.
"Make way for the devil's triangle…" Eleanor slurred, "The edge of the map… The eighth wonder of the world…" She suddenly shivered at the touch of Riri's slick paw brush her lower back. Instinctually, Eleanor gripped her mug high, smashing it down overtop the rat's head. She giggled as he crumpled to the ground in a drunken stupor.
"Don't you dare touch the future most respected sailor in all the land!" She laughed, quickly pouting over the loss of her drink. "Oh, Willyyyyyy!" She waved the broken mug in front of the bartender's face, "Put this one on Riri's tab. Oh and put my next one on there too!" Wilton rolled his eyes and brought Eleanor a fresh beverage. Was she seeing double or was she already counting 8? How did that happen?
"Tossss me a coatser, wouldya?" The chipette smiled.
"This might be a new record." Wilton sighed, "Rejection hit you that hard?"
"HA!" Eleanor guffawed, "Who… Who needs 'em!" Eleanor sniffed, holding back tears. "Not me! –" In the midst of what would be her next rant, the counter slipped out from under her hand, and the wannabe sailor banged her head on the solid wood, dropping to the cold floor in a stupor of her own.
/
A ship with no sails, pinned to the ocean floor by its anchor floated a few clicks off the coast of Port Leila. Two chipmunks perched high in the crow's nest as they took turns looking through the golden telescope, their pride and joy. The smell of their crew's sweat down below mixed with the surrounding water was euphoric. They had it all… Almost.
"I don't know, Alvin," Theodore said, "Can we really be sure it's here? I don't want to hurt anyone, only to come up empty handed."
"Quell your fears, brother." Alvin smirked, the telescope still glued to his eye, giving him a perfect view of the lively port. "Does the box not call to you like it does me? It's here." Theodore listened intently for the call that Alvin insisted was there.
"I… I don't hear anything."
"Then you aren't listening hard enough. The Siren's Song is here, all right. I know you don't like it, but we must… deal with anyone that gets in our way."
"But can't we – "
"Theo, Theo, Theo," Alvin brought the spyglass down from his face, revealing a scarred eye lucky enough not to have damaged vision, "Don't you want your brother to be happy again?" Theodore's gaze dropped to the ground; his tail tucked low.
"Of… Of course."
Alvin scrunched his little pink nose, "You've come a long way, little brother. I owe you my life. But if you're going to survive in this world, you need to toughen up."
"The… The world is ours," Theodore quoted a phrase his brother said often, "Let no one take it from you."
"Exactly!" Alvin stared at the tiny dot of a port from afar. "Poor souls have no idea what's coming."
"What's our plan, exactly?" Alvin wrapped his arm around the chubby chipmunk.
"My brother, we locate the Siren's Song using any and all methods at our disposal. We simply pluck it from it's resting place, bring it aboard, and presto! We're in business!" Alvin's eyes had the passion of a hundred stars. Theodore prayed it would be as simple as that. Though it never was. Alvin rarely thought of the what ifs. The things that could go wrong. Supposedly there weren't a lot of soldiers along the port. But that didn't mean the townsfolk wouldn't try to defend themselves.
Still. Alvin had proven himself a dependable munk. His plans had holes, but they were solid plans. Bridges had holes. That didn't mean you couldn't cross them. You just had to make sure you took the proper step.
"Can we restock on fruit while we're here?" Theodore squeaked.
"Of course, dear brother!" Alvin always enjoyed when Theo contributed. Even if it was only to steal food. Alvin's stomach growled. Maybe he was onto something... "I guess it's been a while since we've had anything decent."
"I hope they have apples." Theodore licked his lips, "I love apples."
"For now, eat your fill," Alvin grunted, "And be sure you're well rested. We attack at midnight."