Author's Note: Here's chapter 2. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

My dear friends Tintin and Captain Haddock,

May I have the pleasure of – how shall I say? – inviting myself to your little country cottage for the holidays? Alas, I hate to abandon my adoring fans in New York, Paris, and Milan, but even an opera star has to get away every once in a while! As you can understand, I immediately thought of you. The fresh country air and… rustic atmosphere, I am sure, will do me good. I plan to arrive on the twenty-second of December.

I look forward to the immense pleasure of meeting the two of you (and dear, dear Cuthbert Calculus) very soon, in person!

Yours sincerely,

Bianca Castafiore

Captain Haddock read the letter over and over again, still desperately willing its contents not to be true. Why me? He wondered. Why does all of this have to happen to me? As if a completely snow-less Christmas wasn't bad enough, now that- that woman was invading their house and their privacy! It was an outrage: a complete and utter outrage.

Standing up from his position at the dining room table, he walked over to Tintin, who was reading a book on the sofa. Reading a book? How can he read a book when that Antediluvian bulldozer was about to invade their house?

"Blistering barnacles, Tintin, how can you stand it?" he exclaimed, plopping down wearily in the couch opposite Tintin.

Tintin calmly flipped the page of his book, dog-eared it, and placed it neatly on an end table. "It's not that bad, Captain! In fact, I'm rather looking forward to meeting our old friend. It'll be a nice way to celebrate the holidays, don't you think?"

"A… a nice way to celebrate the holidays?" repeated Haddock, stunned. "Nice? More like torture, I'd say! With that horrible accompanist of hers, and that annoying, sniveling maid? Singing- no, screaming our ears off for days?" Then he thought of something. "Speaking of which, how long is she staying?"

"I don't know. A week, perhaps."

"Well- when will she be here? Didn't she say in the letter?"

"She said. The twenty-second of December, apparently."

Captain Haddock felt his face go white. "The… twenty-second… but- that's today!" he spluttered.

Tintin laughed. "It's eerily like her last visit, isn't it? No, I mean the one before that. With the emerald."

"I'll say! And just as unwelcome, too!"

"That was an adventure I'll never forget," recalled Tintin fondly. "I'll admit, the film crews and such were in our way sometimes, but… it was fun. Actually, I'm rather looking forward to this visit," he added with a smile.

Captain Haddock rolled his eyes.

/

He found Calculus in the greenhouse, an attractive glass structure tucked away behind Marlinspike's main compound.

Blistering barnacles, I know it's only Calculus, but I have to talk to somebody about this!

As he opened the glass-paneled doors, a burst of warm, moist steam covered his face and body. It felt like a tropical jungle. He made his way past drooping green arboreas and birds of paradise, heavy orange and pink blossoms just beginning to open. It felt strange, being so hot in the middle of December. Huge ventilation fans loomed overhead, whirring loudly.

Tugging at his woolen sweater and feeling pinpricks of sweat on the back of his neck, the Captain scanned the inside of the greenhouse for Calculus. Probably in one of the other sections, he decided, noting that the greenhouse expanded in several directions, each one with a particular climate for growing different plants.

As he made his way through the endless rows of moist green trees and brightly colored flowers, he was pleased to notice that Calculus was doing a good job maintaining the place. When Calculus had come to Haddock with requests for money to build new wings to the small greenhouse several years ago, he'd given it without hesitation. But until now, he hadn't bothered to see what was inside. Everything lush and green, earthen flowerpots in neat rows along the floor. Sprinklers and hoses overhead for watering. In the summer, Calculus brought teams of gardeners and landscapers to Marlinspike, and they'd all go and design that year's garden, emptying the greenhouse. It really was beautiful when they were done. Formal gardens, natural gardens, and circles of neatly raked gravel around fountains… it was more like a botanic garden than a private residence. And since money wasn't an object for the Captain, he'd given Calculus a lot of freedom with gardening.

It was strange, really, how little time he'd spent here in this greenhouse. It would be a nice place to relax in a lounge chair and sip a cold Loch Lomond. With the newspaper, perhaps, or a book. I really should do it sometime. But not now, of course, when Castafiore's on her way.

He located a door and pushed through it. Fortunately, he had come to the right section of the greenhouse. This one was filled with Cuthbert Calculus' passion: roses. Red roses, green roses, yellow roses, pink roses. He found Calculus in the middle of the room, bent over a large potted white rose, brandishing a pair of silver pruning shears.

"Cuthbert!" he called. "You'll never believe who's about to arrive!" Spotting a rag on a nearby table, he picked it up and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. He noticed it was slightly wet and tasted bitter, but he wasn't unduly concerned. It was probably dirty water.

Calculus looked up, and seeing Haddock, dropped the pruning shears. "My dear Captain!" he exclaimed. "How wonderful of you to come!" He stepped forward and shook the Captain's hand jovially. "As you can see, I'm just pruning the roses. Won't you come in?"

Haddock wasn't particularly surprised that Calculus was pruning the roses: after all, he seemed to live in the greenhouse ninety percent of the time taking care of those plants- when he wasn't eating or sleeping, of course. But that conversation could wait; right now, he was too distracted by the latest turn of events to bother. "Have you heard the news?" he asked.

Calculus removed his spectacles and started pulling off his gardening gloves. "Enthused, you say? About the roses?" He smiled indulgently at Haddock. "That's wonderful of you, Captain! Except the roses aren't for you. They're a new variety I developed. I named them in honor not of Bianca Castafiore; although she is a charming lady and a talented artist, they're not for her. These roses are named in honor of your dog Snowy! I'm calling them 'Milou'. How do you like it?"

"Well, that's exactly who I came in to talk about," Haddock explained, and then caught himself. "No, not Snowy. I came to talk to you about Castafiore! Did you hear-"

"Yes, I heard," replied Calculus calmly, pulling the gloves back on.

The Captain was momentarily stunned that Calculus had actually understood his question, much less read the letter himself, when Calculus continued, "Yes, I heard about the Christmas market! Did Tintin have fun? I hear the shops are quite nice this time of year," he added warmly.

"Yes, he went to the Christmas market," the Captain replied, irritated. "But I'm talking about that interplanetary goat, Bianca Castafiore! She's coming, Cuthbert, she's coming!" He leaned forward and shook Calculus' shoulders. "Do you understand? She's coming, here, to this house! Today!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" said Calculus, looking genuinely disappointed. "I had hoped so that Tintin would buy you that model ship you wanted at the market. It's really too bad."

"I'm not talking about the model ship! Yes, I do want it! But I'm talking about Castafiore!"

Suddenly, Calculus' eyes grew wide with realization. "Castafiore?" he breathed.

"You actually know what I'm talking about?" Haddock asked, astonished. "Do you understand?"

"How wonderful of her! How too wonderful!" Calculus exulted, blushing. "What a dear, sweet angel of a woman!"

"What do you mean, 'dear, sweet angel'?"

"How wonderful of her, to send you the model ship herself! Did she buy it at the market? My dear Captain, I'm overjoyed! Is she here, in the village?"

It wasn't quite what the Captain had hoped for, but he took it. "Yes, she's here in the village. In a way, that is."

"What do you mean, 'gone away'?" Calculus asked, his expression suddenly turning desperate. "You mean we won't see her? But… you said she was here just now, at the Christmas market!"

"No! No, that is not what I said! I said that she's coming to this house!"

Calculus looked down, and suddenly noticed the slightly wet rag in Haddock's hand. "You do know that there's plant fertilizer on that rag, don't you?"

Haddock stopped and looked slowly down at Calculus. "What do you mean, 'plant fertilizer'?"

"It's something I use to keep the roses blooming," Calculus explained. "It's lucky for you that it didn't get on your face or mouth, otherwise you would've been sick for days."

/

As he stumbled back into the house, feeling slightly dazed and with a roaring headache, Captain Haddock decided that he was officially having a bad day. First, a Christmas without snow. Then, Bianca Castafiore. Then, death by plant fertilizer. Could it possibly get any worse?

He made his way to the front room and dialed up his doctor.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Doctor!" said Haddock into the telephone. Not sure how to continue, he blurted out, "Do you know of any side effects from eating fertilizer?"

There was a silence on the other end for about ten seconds. Then, "You ate what?"

"Plant fertilizer! Will it- I don't know, make me sick?"

"How long ago did you consume the fertilizer? How much? How are you feeling right now?"

"About five minutes ago. I wiped a rag soaked in liquid fertilizer over my mouth. I didn't exactly drink it, but, blistering barnacles, I'm worried all right! I've already got a splitting headache!"

"Do you know what you should do?"

"What?"

"I would suggest trying to make yourself throw up. Later on, you may develop a stomachache and you would certainly vomit then, but it would be more effective to do it now. Get a friend or family member to help you do it. It will clear out most of the fertilizer from your system."

"Thundering typhoons! Make myself throw up? Never!"

"If you don't do it now, it may get much, much worse, and you may have to be hospitalized. I would highly suggest vomiting. About ten minutes after that, phone me and let me know how you're doing."

"I'm not going to do it," replied Haddock. "I'd rather have the headache."

"It's your choice. If you decide to do it, let me know."

"Goodbye, Doctor."

"Goodbye."

He let the phone down with a click. Make myself vomit? The very idea was disgusting. "Never," he said to himself, walking towards the kitchen. Maybe there would be some bread he could eat to wash down the fertilizer. Maybe that would help. On the other hand, it might not, but it was worth a try.

He opened the fridge, scanning its contents for bread. Nothing there. Slamming the fridge doors, he looked at the counter. Yes! There it was, a warm, crusty loaf of French bread just out of the oven.

Forgetting the idea of a knife completely, he grabbed part of the warm loaf and tore it off. He was just about to put it in his mouth when he felt a surge of pain sear through his head. Momentarily stunned, he blacked out, lost his balance, and fell to the floor. It didn't help that his stomach was also beginning to feel sour: clearly, the fertilizer was spreading.

I'm going to have to throw up, he decided grimly. I'm going to do it.

Dazed and picking himself up from the tile floor, he rushed to the main foyer. His head spun; too panicked to be logical and consider the bathroom sink, he grabbed a large Oriental vase from and end table, placed it in the middle of the room, and bent over.

He was just putting his finger in the back of his throat, and beginning to gag, when the front doors opened and he heard a scream.

A loud, operatic, shrill scream.

As the Captain looked up, confused, he saw three figures in the doorway.

Between her entourage, which was comprised of her maid Irma and accompanist Wagner, Bianca Castafiore herself stood in the doorway, resplendent in a mink fur coat, white pillbox hat, and perhaps half a ton of diamond jewelry.

"My poor Captain!" she screeched, gloved hands cupped around her face. "My poor, poor Captain Birkenstock! Whatever are you doing?"

Author's Note: And now, for better or for worse, Tintin and Captain Haddock are headed for A Very Castafiore Christmas.

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