I'm back! Whew, it's good be posting again. Didja miss me? ;) Because I sure missed you all! At least I can now say I survived the first semestre of the school year. WOOHOO! *victory dance* But the crazy week didn't end with my exams. All day yesterday I was at an acting competition against thespians from other schools in my region of my state - insane, yet insanely fun. The best part is that my friend and I (we did a scene together) tied with another duo for first in our category. Which means we're moving on to the Statewide competition! :D So, anyway, that's my news. Really quickly: The Inner Titan- Your review really made me smile. :) What a lovely compliment, thank you! Making Monique a Mary Sue was one of my biggest worries, so hearing that is very reassuring. And thanks for the favourite!

Anything else? Nope? Alright then, cue chapter ten!

CHAPTER TEN

PORTO DE BELEM

Half of her was numb with cold, the other half warm. It took Monique a long moment to figure that out, lying there, wherever that was, with her eyes glued shut. Her head, too; that was the second thing she felt. She let out a groan. Over all of her aching body, her head was the worst. It seemed a vessel of pain and nothing else, hanging too heavy from her neck.

Her lower half was spread out across a floor that seemed to suck the heat right out of her legs. Her upper half lay on something warm and soft, gently rising and falling, a dull rhythm thudding within. She squeezed her eyes tighter closed and snuggled into the strange pillow, hoping to fall back asleep and ignore the pain in her head.

She snapped her eyes open. It was not, in fact, a pillow, but Tintin's chest.

Gross! That was Monique's first coherent thought, as she wriggled away from him and sat up, sleep clearing quickly from her mind. She discovered her wrists were bound behind her back with thick scratchy rope. So were her ankles. Oh, marvellous.

All because I asked that 'fella for directions... The last events she could remember came back to her like a lightning bolt, snapping through her throbbing head.

She blinked and took a deep breath, then shifted to examine their surroundings. As she did, the floor rocked beneath her. This was confusing at first, until she saw that the room was small, with steel walls broken only by a single porthole on the wall to her right and a bolted door on the wall to her left. Faint morning light shone in through the porthole.

They were on a boat of some kind, but they weren't moving, which was good. At least we made it to the port, thought Monique. Then she saw that the strange lump by the door was her messenger bag, contents strewn in a wave across the floor. This was to be expected, but it made her angry all the same.

She turned and regarded the boy beside her, at once wishing he were awake. Tintin slept with his mouth open, brow slightly wrinkled, as if he were having a bad dream. He lay utterly still. Monique stared at him ferociously. Wake up, Wonder Boy, she thought.

When telepathy failed to work, Monique had to kick him. With bound ankles, however, this took more effort than she thought.

"Tintin." A second kick. "Wake up!"

He groaned, and turned on his side. His eyelids fluttered open.

"Mm... oh." He saw Monique, then blinked and sat up fast. He tried his arms and legs and, finding both to be bound just like hers, regarded the room with a cavalier expression.

"Ah." He frowned. "I knew we shouldn't have asked for directions."

"I'm sorry!" Monique didn't sound so sorry, and she knew it. "He seemed nice."

"I wonder where Snowy is. Hopefully he's alright." said Tintin. He thought for a moment, then sighed. "And now we've lost the envelope."

Monique shifted. There was definitely something in the waistband of her shorts. It was the envelope! She remembered putting it there, atop the train. The thugs must have been decent enough not to lift her shirt in their search. "No, I have it! Tucked into my shorts," she said.

"Oh. Well, that's something."

"So... what are we gonna do?"

Tintin shrugged. "Usually something comes to me. Shame the room is mostly empty. Maybe those boxes, in the corner there, have something," he said, almost to himself, as he looked around. His eyes fell upon Monique's messenger bag, and he perked up. "Ah!" He began the slow process of scooting over towards it.

Monique almost smiled at how silly he looked. "They'll have taken anything valuable," she said instead.

Tintin didn't respond, examining the scattered objects. He scooted over a bit more, to the bag itself, and angled his back to it so he could reach inside and dig around.

"Hey!" Monique frowned. "You can't just-"

She stopped when he broke into a dimpled smile. He pulled something out of the bag.

"They obviously didn't search very well." He wriggled forwards an inch to fiddle with whatever was in his hands. "Your pocketknife. It was tucked away. I knew you had one."

"Oh," Monique said, remembering now. "Yeah. That's swell."

When he had cut through their bonds, she stretched, got up and went over to her bag, shoving everything back inside. The only item she could identify as missing was the gun, of course. Her notebook and pencil, comb, twine, and jacket had survived.

She slung it back in its rightful place over her shoulder, and felt much better for it. Armed with her bag, she could take on anything.

Tintin was looking at the porthole. It was hinged, but locked. The lock seemed to be an afterthought, just a key operated box with a latch secured through two holes in the iron handle. Monique watched him dig in his pocket for a pen, which he began to take apart. She grew more curious. Part of the pen snapped off and revealed its true nature as a tiny screwdriver.

"That's nifty. How'd you find a pen like that?"

Tintin gave her a small smile. "I made it myself." He jammed the screwdriver-pen-thing into the lock, fiddling for a moment. "There!" The lock fell open. The porthole swung up, and a burst of salty wind rushed in. Tintin and Monique dragged a box over, then stood on tiptoe side by side to peer out.

All was quiet and mostly empty; from their vantage point Monique could see a sailing ship and the silhouette of another behind it. Between them and the ships, the dock stuck out into the bay, an unlikely wooden sidewalk. It rocked atop the water maybe 20 feet away from them.

Monique blinked, and saw that the shifting white shape she'd been staring at was a little terrier trotting up and down the dock.

"Snowy," Tintin called softly, grinning. The dog continued to pace. Tintin whistled, brief and high-pitched. The sound carried through the crisp air to make Snowy stop and prick his ears. He looked over at the ship and his black eyes seemed to brighten as he barked a greeting.

"No, no," Tintin said in the loudest whisper he could manage, but it was no use. "No, Snowy, sh-h-h." The dog quieted some and whined instead, pacing at the edge of the dock as if to jump in. "Stay there," Tintin said to him, then turned to Monique. "May I have the envelope?"

"Oh, sure." She pulled it out from under her shirt and handed it over.

"And your bag, as well?"

"Why? What are you doing?"

He took her bag and tucked the envelope inside, then hefted it up to porthole. "I'm going to toss it to the dock. Don't worry, I can make it."

"No!" Monique lunged forward. "My journal's-"

He gave it a mighty heave.

"...in there," she finished, despondently, watching her bag sail through the damp morning sky. It landed with a dim whump on the deck beside Snowy. She rolled her eyes.

A chorus of shouts echoed from the deck above, men shouting to each other about the bag from nowhere. Monique heard something about 'the prisoners', then commands of "Vayan, vayan!" Go, go!

She glared at Tintin. "Real smart move, buddy. What'd you do that for?"

"Because we're next." He stepped back and gestured to the porthole.

Monique stared at him. "You're kidding."

"Sorry, but there's no time for second thoughts. They'll be here any moment. Just jump. I'm right behind you."

"I'll help you up. Here." Tintin knelt and interlocked his fingers into a step. Monique put one foot up and grabbed onto the frame. It was just wide enough for her shoulders. She was going to have to slide out headfirst. She stuck her head out and made a small, embarrassing noise in her throat. It was a twenty foot drop at least, the side of the boat like a sheer cliff face. With one heave of her shoulders, Monique pulled herself halfway out of the porthole, stomach balancing on the edge of the frame.

Thumping came from the hallway beyond the door, and loud voices. "Go on!" Tintin's voice was tight with effort and urgency.

"Wait!" Monique said suddenly, but the wind seemed to suck her voice away. It felt as if her heart was going to climb up and jump by itself. "I can't-"

I can't swim, she was about to say, but her voice died in her throat, and she held back a shriek as the boat shifted. Within a fraction of a second, the delicate equilibrium between her and the porthole's frame was upset. She found herself reaching out to grab at nothing as she slipped into open air.

Half a breath.

That was all she could snatch from the burst of wind that surrounded her.

She struck the water, and all down her side the cold pulled until it swallowed her up whole. Above and below, taking each of her arms. A long moment went past before Monique realised if she didn't move, the sea would keep dragging her down. She struggled, kicking as hard as she could, arms outstretched, reaching up to the surface. It glittered like the shards of a million diamonds. Water tugged at her lungs, a fire spreading out to her eyes and throat.

Then she could feel a dull ice feeling begin to spread throughout her. Her mind seemed to slow down. She stopped struggling.

Monique felt something wrap around her waist. It was stronger and warmer than the sea. She felt it struggle with the water, fighting for her, and it wasn't until the surface broke that she realised they'd won.

She opened her mouth and let her lungs fill with blessed air, water streaming down her face. The force, still wrapped tightly around her, began to pull her back, dragging her into the shadow of the boat, and didn't stop until they were right up against the steel side.

"Where are they? Where'd they go?" A voice came from the porthole above and Monique didn't have to look up to know the speaker had stuck their head out and was searching the water for movement. Tintin struggled to pull her tighter against his chest, at the same time slowing his feet so they sank a little further down.

"Gone." The man cursed, and more conversation was lost to the wind. The porthole snapped shut.

Tintin let his arms relax their grip as he began speaking to her, low and close. "What happened? You just- you didn't-"

"Don't let go!" Her voice came fast and breathless. "Don't let go. I can't swim."

She realised she was shaking. Tintin pulled her back into him.

"That might have been a good thing to tell me before I pushed you into the ocean, don't you think? Anything else, life threatening information, you've been withholding?" His voice was none too steady either. "Mon dieu," he added in a reverent murmur.

"I'm sorry. I knew there was something about the water, but I didn't remember until it was too late," Monique kept talking, as if hearing her own voice might slow her heart. It did.

"Oh, well. What does it matter? You're not drowned. That's all that matters to me right now." Tintin's breath was laboured, warm air against the back of her neck. Monique felt his legs kicking mechanically behind her to hold both of them up. Now she understood what treading water meant. It felt like walking an invisible line between the sky and the ocean.

"They're going to be watching for us," he said. "We can't swim out into the open..." he shifted and released his grip on Monique. She kept tight hold of his arms. "Here," he said, "go behind me and put your arms around my neck."

"You can swim while dragging me along?"

"Yes, you're very light."

Monique wrapped her arms around his neck and frowned. If only I could swim, she thought. Then I wouldn't have to be such a damsel in distress.

They sliced through the water, like a blade through velvet, down along the shadow of the boat's massive steel side. She looked up to the deck, sure there were men up there watching for them, but couldn't see anything for the curve of the metal. If we can't see them, they can't see us, right? She leaned forward to whisper in Tintin's ear.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm using the shadow to our advantage. From the prow we can slip underneath the dock, and move unseen from there." His breath was heavy, but he still kept both of them up fine, swimming at a reasonable pace. "Once we're far enough away from the ship, we'll walk about on the dock and find the Captain."

Monique looked up again, searching the hull for identification. "It doesn't have a name."

"No, I imagine not," Tintin murmured, like it was obvious. He stretched his arms out and in the span of a breath crossed the space between the prow and the dock, then pulled Monique under. She felt her throat fill with water. For one terrifying moment there was no surface, and then they came up to air again in the shade of the dock above them. She spat water and heaved a breath.

"You c-could've warned me," she coughed.

"Sorry," said Tintin. Stripes of light fell on the water through the thin slats in the dock. With only a foot of space to breathe, they made slow progress down the dock. Monique had to shut her eyes, and pretend that the sky was open above them, anything rather than focus on the fact that they were trapped.

A loud bark sounded right above her head, and Monique snapped her eyes open.

"Snowy!" Tintin burst, and she could hear his grin though she couldn't see it. She looked up and could make out a paw through the slats, as well a lump of fabric that could only be her messenger bag.

"You carried the bag! Good boy." Snowy barked again. Tintin shushed him, and slowed his tread to sink in the water. Loud footsteps vibrated the boards, and they were coming closer. Monique held her breath.

"What've you got there, Snowy? Some poor sap's bag?" A voice came from above, rolling his 'r's in the grumble of an older man. Tintin laughed, which surprised Monique so much she thought for a second it had been someone else. Then he said, "Captain!"

The black boots shifted, blocking the light. "What? Who said that?" Then, cautiously, "Tintin?"

"Below you, Captain. Under the dock."

"What in the..." The man knelt down. "Billions of blue blistering barnacles! Tintin, you crazy fool! Scared me half to death. What in heaven's name're you doin' down there?"

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Good to see you too, Captain. And that's a story I'll have to save for later. For the moment, do stand back up. People might think you're communing with the mermaids." He whispered to Monique, "Duck," and pulled her under the board to emerge under the sky once again on the other side of the dock.

"Speaking of mermaids..." The man looked at Monique, raising an eyebrow. His eyes shone from under the brim of a naval cap. His mouth was hidden within a thick black beard, but Monique didn't think he was smiling. "You got a passenger there, I see."

"Er, yes," said Tintin. "Monique, meet my old friend Captain Haddock. Captain, this is Monique Fronville. My..." he paused. His neck grew hot against her forearms. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for what came next.

"...partner of sorts, on this case."

"I can't swim," she said to the Captain, by way of explaining her position. Then she thought to add, "It's nice to meet you. Finally."

"Mm. Pleasure." the Captain nodded, arms crossed over his dark blue jersey. "So this is the girl, eh?" he said to Tintin with a chuckle. "The one you've been running around with the past week? She must be something, keeping up with you."

Monique smirked and opened her mouth to answer, but Tintin spoke first.

"I'm afraid this conversation will have to wait." He swam over to the edge of the dock and motioned for Monique climb up. "There are some fellows down there," he pointed as he swung himself onto the dock, "who aren't at all happy to see us go. Where is she?"

"Down this way," said the Captain. Monique picked up her bag and hurried after them. She shook out her hair and wrung out her shirt as they walked, wishing it didn't cling so much to her skin. Tintin did the same, brushing water off his shoulders. They left a trail of dripping footprints as they went. Not good, Monique thought, and she knew Tintin was thinking the same thing. She looked over her shoulder, but couldn't see the black ship, nor anyone following them. She quickened her pace all the same.

"There she is," the Captain swung an arm out to the ship before them. Tintin came to a halt, and Monique nearly tumbled into him.

When Tintin had said 'yacht', her mind had gone to the elegant, gleaming playthings of the very rich; well-dressed men padding about on the spotless decks, snacking on caviar. She certainly never would've imagined something like this.

She knew nothing about sailing; maybe this sorry-looking hunk of metal ran as fast as anything, but somehow she doubted it. Its size did nothing to make up for the grime and barnacles clinging to its side; once some shade of white, now a sickly grey. Peeling black letters clung to the hull on a hope and a prayer, spelling out The Marlin. The cabin sticking out of the debris-strewn deck seemed to sink under its own roof, windows coated with dust. She didn't even want to think about what the inside looked like.

The Captain led them up the questionable walkway, a sort of hybrid between a ladder and stairs which led to the ship's deck. Once they were all aboard, he and Tintin spun the musty levers to pull it back up, each step collapsing into the next.

The three of them turned and surveyed the deck. The Captain beamed. "Welcome to the Marlin. My newest project. What do you think?" He looked at Tintin, and, noting his stunned expression, Monique realised he'd never seen it before either. He brought his fingers to his mouth and shook his head.

"I... I hardly know what to say, it... er..." He thought for a moment. "Bit of a fixer-upper, is she?"

"That's part of the fun of it though, isn't it?" Still smiling, the Captain led the way to the cabin-like structure. One of the creaky doors led to a glass-fronted 'control' room, with a few shelves containing many papers, maps, and nautical instruments lining the back wall. There was a tarnished gold wheel in the centre of the room, beside a wooden one.

"How much did you say you paid for it?" Tintin asked, surveying the room with his hands in his pockets, eyebrow cocked.

"I know what you're thinkin', lad," the Captain set about gathering things, flicking switches on a control panel by the stairs leading down into the belly of the ship, and pulling the lever of the gold wheel up to 'stand by'. "But you've got to think long term, think of it as an investment. Look past the dilapidation and see her potential."

"I think we're potentially not going to make it out of this port."

"Hey, I got all the way here, didn't I? Don't be such a doubting Thomas, she runs just fine."

A strange rattling noise echoed up to join the humming far below them. Then everything stopped with a loud clunk.

The Captain frowned. "I better go check on that." He gestured for them to follow him down the stairs. "Don't stand about in front of that window, you might be seen. Speaking of which, who's after you this time?"

"The hired thugs of some businessman, meddler, all-around enigma named Macarthur. We don't know hardly anything about him, nor what he's doing. But if we can get out of here quick enough, we might make it to Saudi Arabia in time to find out."

They reached the hallway of the first lower level, and another stairway the Captain was heading towards suggested it went deeper. Monique guessed the smell of pipe smoke and grease got worse the further you went, and followed them only to the top of the stairwell, where the Captain stopped on the third stair and turned around to face Tintin.

"Mebbe' this is a foolish question, but what does he want with you?"

"Well... we took something of his. A bit rude I suppose, but who knew he'd fret so much over a letter?"

"A letter, eh? How'd you come by that? Picked his pocket?"

"No, not exactly... look, all that matters this very moment is if we can start putting some distance between us and Macarthur as soon as possible."

The Captain stuck his finger up and grinned. "You just leave it all to me, lad. She'll be purring like a kitten in no time." He ambled down the stairs and disappeared, muttering to himself. Tintin rolled his eyes, and let Monique follow along as he went back up through the control room and onto the deck.

The wind had picked up, and it spat a light burst of mist in Monique's face as they picked their way through the litter to the front railing. Looking down on the dock, Monique saw a group of men in uniforms trooping along towards them, looking for someone. They had found the trail of wet footprints.

"Yep, the sooner we leave, the better," she said. Tintin nodded, and they retreated back into the yacht, away from the exposing glare of morning sunlight.

They've FINALLY reached the Captain! As I wrote this, I even felt relieved myself. So. Starting next chapter, there will be some more digging into Macarthur's plans (concerning the weird letter) and that's where the mystery really begins to unfold... I do hope you'll stick around to see what's in store. And while you're waiting, a review would be lovely! Anything you have to say is valuable and very much appreciated. Until next time - adios! :D