Ten
Tintin and Snowy were waiting for the Captain the next morning. They stood at the rail near the gangplank, watching the comings and goings of Akureyri port. "Morning, shipmate," the Captain said as he approached. He was buttoning up the huge collar of his black winter coat.
"Morning, Captain," Tintin replied pleasantly. He followed the Captain down the plank and they strolled along the docks. "Are we going to be here long?"
"Oh, no, not at all." The Captain waved his hand absently. "Just long enough to get more fuel. Then we'll be heading to Greenland. Why? Was there anything you wanted to see here?"
"What is there to see?" Tintin asked.
The Captain shrugged. "Dunno. Any time I was ever here we just used to hit the pubs and get pi – er, drunk. After that, we weren't really in the right frame of mind to do sightseeing. There's a grand pub down that way though," he added, pointing off ahead of them. "Mind, it's a fair walk and I'm only going over there." He pointed to a building a few yards away. The sign over the door read; Golden Oil. "There's a market just down that alley," the Captain continued. "It sells souvenirs and tourist-y tat. You can always have a look around it."
"I don't really like tourist-y tat," Tintin said, crestfallen.
They reached the office for Golden Oil. "I'll only be a few minutes," the Captain said. "If you want, afterwards, we can go and get a spot of lunch? It might be a while before we can set sail again: there might be time to see a few of the local sights."
"Great!" Tintin's face brightened and he smiled happily. "I'll wait here for you then."
The Captain found himself smiling too. Tintin was infectious like that, he realised, like a bad rash. His optimism and sunny outlook spread like wildfire. This morning, the Captain had no intention of doing anything more than getting oil and getting the hell out of Akureyri as soon as possible: now he was actually looking forward to seeing more of the city. Whistling, he entered the Golden Oil office. There was a plump man with glasses sitting behind the high desk, a ledger in front of him and a sleek computer beside that, at an angle. The Captain leaned on the desk and stuck his pipe in his mouth.
"All right, pal? I need some fuel oil, if'n you please."
"Excellent. Very good. What's the name of the ship?" The man pushed the ledger aside and wiggled the computer's mouse to make the monitor turn back on. He tapped at a few keys and opened a computer program.
"Polar research ship Aurora," the Captain said. "And the captain is A. Haddock. No jokes, please: I've heard them all before." He waited for a few seconds as the man typed the name of the ship into the program.
Seconds turned into a minute, which threatened to stretch into eternity. The Captain felt his good mood slipping a little. "Got a problem?" he asked at last.
"Er," said the man. "Did you say the Aurora?"
"Aye, that's right."
"I, um, I'm terribly sorry, sir, but we're completely out of fuel. We haven't got a single drop in stock."
The Captain blinked as he processed the words. "What?" he said at last. "What on earth are you talking about? No fuel oil? That's absurd!"
"I'm sorry, Captain, but there's nothing I can" –
"Rubbish! You mean to tell me that there isn't a single drop of fuel oil in a port the size of this?" The Captain could feel his blood rising. "I've got to have oil, d'you hear?"
"Sir, I simply cannot… I mean, there isn't any!"
The Captain's mouth opened and closed as his rage took over and made formulating words slightly difficult. Everything wanted to be prefaced by a certain four-lettered word. "This is cock!" he managed to say. "This is absolute cock! How the hell do you have no fuel oil? That isn't possible!"
"I assure you, it is."
"No it flaming isn't! Do you know how long I've been at sea, young man? I have never come across this before! You always have fuel oil. What the bloody hell is the point of selling fuel oil in a huge port if you don't flaming have any!"
"Captain, please. I" –
"Close this flaming office down! You have a sign outside saying you sell fuel oil: you don't Close it down because that's false advertising! I can sue you for this!"
"There's nothing I can do" –
"It's a disgrace! You're the problem with the world today, you little toad! It's people like you, coming in and taking people's money, offering them a service and then not delivering… It's a flaming disgrace!" The Captain stormed to the door and wrenched it open before delivering a final tirade over his shoulder. "You're a parasitic, subtropical ruminant! On your own head be it, pal!" He slammed the door behind him in a very satisfying way. Unfortunately, the tremor that shook the building loosened the old Golden Oil sign more, and the whole thing dropped, landing on his head. He collapsed under it, more stunned than hurt, and let Tintin help him to his feet.
He stormed along the dock, cap in hand, rubbing his sore head. Tintin hurried along beside him, trying to keep up.
"What happened?" the boy asked, confused. "It sounded like an argument."
"They don't have any flaming fuel oil," the Captain spat. He jammed his hat back onto his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked angry – angrier than Tintin had ever seen him, and he'd seen the Captain face barbours in the desert armed only with a rifle stock.
"So what?" Tintin asked, still confused. "We'll just go somewhere else, right?"
"Somewhere else?" the Captain said loudly. "Lad, Golden Oil have a monopoly on oil in this country: there is no-one else."
"But… But that means…" Tintin stopped and grabbed the Captain's arm, forcing the man to stop and face him. "But that means we're stuck here!"
"Exactly," the Captain said, frustrated. "Finally! Light dawns! We're stuck here, and meanwhile the Peary continues her voyage!" He swung his arm out to indicate the sea, and managed to slap a passing stranger in the face.
"Careful!" Tintin warned.
"You moron!" the injured stranger shouted in a strong Scottish accent. "Can't you look what you're doing, you seismic semaphore!"
The Captain stiffened at the insult. "Me?" he asked. He started to turn around slowly, as though he was on a mechanical pivot. "A semaphore? You're nothing but a – Oh!" He had turned completely and looked into the face of the stranger, taking in the captain's hat and the bushy red moustache that covered the man's top lip. Tintin watched as both men leaned forward menacingly, until their noses were pressed together.
"Fidgey!" they roared. "Fidgey! Fidgey!"
They drew back and glared at each other. Then, in unison, they began to expertly pat their heads whilst rubbing their bellies. "Boodle-boodle-boodle!" they shouted.
Next, they started to circle each other like prize fighters sizing up an opponent, before linking elbows and shouting; "Aye! Aye! Aye-ey-eee!"
Tintin stood back and waited for someone to throw a punch. Or a custard pie: neither would have surprised him.
"My dear old Chester!" the Captain said, his face changing from anger to genuine delight. "Still the same as ever!"
"Oh, Archie my old friend! You haven't changed a bit!" The stranger shook hands with the Captain and they slapped each other on the back.
"Tintin," said the Captain, "let me introduce an old friend of mine: this is Captain Chester. He was a ship-mate of mine for years, back in the day."
"Thank God for that!" Tintin exclaimed, shaking the hand Chester had offered. "I thought you two were going to kill each other!"
"What has you here?" Chester asked once the introductions were over. "Waiting to refuel before setting off again?"
"You said it," the Captain replied, his face turning angry again. "What a country, eh? Not a flaming drop of oil on the whole of this one-horse island."
"What are you talking about?" Chester said, frowning in puzzlement. "There's plenty over in Golden Oil. I was just there this morning: they're filling up my trawler, the Sirius, first thing tomorrow."
"What?" The Captain's face fell as he realised he'd been lied to. "Someone's been having me on, because they turned me away only a couple of minutes ago. Ten thousand thundering typhoons!" He shook his fist menacingly. "I'll teach 'em to play fast and loose with Captain Haddock!" He turned and started storming back to the Golden Oil office.
"No, wait!" Tintin cried, grabbing a hold of the Captain's jacket.
"That gang of thieves! Black marketeers! Monpolizers! Turncoats! Ophicleides! Colocynths!"
"Haddock!" Chester shouted. He seized his friend around the waist and he and Tintin hung on as the Captain's anger propelled them all forward as a tussling mass of limbs and shouting heads.
"Don't stop me!" the Captain roared. "I'm going to exterminate those ruddy crooks! The pack of twisters!"
"Calm down, Captain!"
"Stop, Haddock, and listen to me!" Chester implored. "Listen to me, you're wasting your time. Stop!"
The Captain finally came to a halt and glared at Chester. "You have five seconds. Convince me otherwise!"
"Grand. You're wasting your time going back there. Do you know who financed the Peary's expedition? No? It was announced on the telly this morning: the Hearst-Faber corperation and bank."
"So?" the Captain demanded. "What the hell is that to do with me? Blistering barnacles, I need fuel, man! Not a flaming loan!" He made to push by Chester, but the other man held him back again.
"Listen to me! D'you know who owns Golden Oil? No? It's the Hearst-Faber corperation and bank. D'you get it now? Do I need to draw you a picture?"
The Captain thought about it for a couple of seconds. "I'm going to kill them," he declared at last. "I'll flaming kill 'em!" He started to storm off again, so Tintin and Chester clung on and held him back. "Let me go! I'm going to tear those caterpillars into little pieces!"
"Hang on, Captain," Tintin said. "Wait: I think I have an idea." With Chester's help they managed to turn the Captain around again and face him away from the Golden Oil office.
"You have an idea about how to get fuel oil?" the Captain scoffed.
"Yes."
"Come on," Chester said soothingly. "We'll talk about it over a nice glass of whisky, yes?"
"Aye," said Haddock, slightly mollified. "Fine. Whisky. But if this idea is crap, I get to go back and tear those offices apart."
x
The pub was warm and cosy, and they managed to find a secluded table in the back. A young man dressed in a white shirt and black trousers seated them and handed them the lunch menu. "Can I get you any drinks?" he asked, his pencil poised above his notepad.
"Yeah, a bottle of whisky and three glasses," Chester replied.
"Actually, I'll just have a Coke," Tintin said quickly.
"Eh? Oh, right. Whisky and a Coke. Och! I am sorry, Archie, I forgot you were sober these days."
"Me?" Captain Haddock looked surprised.
"Aye: you're the new president of the Society for Sober Sailors, aren't ye?"
"Oh. Oh, right." The Captain's face fell. "Yeah, that's me."
"So that's two Cokes and a bottle of whisky," Tintin said, flashing a grin at the waiter. "Thank you!"
Their order came, and the Captain stared at his glass of Coke. It hissed and fizzed and had ice in it. He was not a happy camper. "Er," he said suddenly, perking up a little, "y'know, it's been ages since we've seen each other, Chester. Maybe I will have a bit of whisky. Just out of friendship's sake. To, er, to please you." He poured most of his Coke into Tintin's glass. "Give us a small drop."
"Fair enough," said Chester, who had known the Captain for years and didn't begrudge an old drinking buddy a glass of whisky. "Say 'when'." He started to pour. When the Coke was properly diluted and the whisky was almost overflowing from the top of the tall glass, the Captain said 'when'. "Here's to you, Haddock you old phoney!"
"Back at you, bum-bandit!" The two men knocked back their drinks in one go. "Eeeeeeee!" the Captain said happily. "I know they say Coke differs in taste from country to country, but there's nowt as good as Iceland's Coke! Does you a power of good!"
"Now," said Chester, slamming his glass back onto the table before refilling his and the Captain's, "tell us about your idea."
"Ok." Tintin took a deep breath. "First of all, where is your ship parked?"
"Moored," the Captain interrupted. "You park a car, you dozy git." He hiccupped and helped himself to another glass of whisky. "Where is she moored, the Sisi… I mean, the Sirius?"
"Just astern of the Aurora," Captain Chester replied. Tintin looked at the Captain for translation.
"Right side of us," the Captain hiccupped.
"Great! And you're refuelling tomorrow morning? That's perfect."
"We'd best listen closely," the Captain said, leaning forward and hugging the whisky bottle. "This little kid has some ex-x-x-x. Er. Excellent ideas."
x
Dawn may have come late, but Golden Oil came right on time. Captain Chester, his overcoat thrown on over his pyjamas – they'd had a wild night last night, he and Haddock. He was sure that half the things they'd done were illegal for Tintin to witness – leaned against the rail of the Sirius and smoked his first cigarette of the day. The smoke curled up and mixed with the steam from the black coffee he held in his other hand. He watched, bleary eyed, as the Golden Oil tanker worked to fill the Sirius with fuel oil.
Eventually, a harried-looking docker came over and hailed him. "Captain, there must be something wrong with your tanks. There's a leak or something: we just can't fill her up."
"Yeah?" Chester said with a wide yawn. "Tha's ok. She's got big tanks, tha's all. Just keep pumping, shipmate."
The docker shrugged and went back to the pipe, and stared at the meter. The pipe ran from the fuel tanks and up the side of the Sirius, through a port hole and into her fuel tank. In theory. In reality, the hose had been fed through a porthole at the back of the ship, down the side, and up through a third porthole on the far side of the Aurora. Captain Haddock waited, watching his own needle rise, as his tanks were gradually filled.
"That's it," he said, once the needle hit a certain point. "We are completely full: couldn't hold another drop if we tried. Knock it off now!" The order was relayed back to Chester, who finally ordered the Golden Oil tanker to stop trying.
"We'll give it another shot later," he said through another wide yawn. "I'm going back to bed." He staggered off back to his cabin and his warm, inviting bunk.
x
In the offices of Golden Oil, an email was being sent. It said that the Aurora was being detained until further orders. Lansing, the man that ran the office, chewed his lip. He didn't like this sort of thing: it wasn't honest and his granny had always told him to be honest or else the trolls would eat him. Mind you, she also talked to the kettle, thinking it was a cat. Dementia was a terrible thing. He heard the tooting of a ship as it pulled away from the dock. He couldn't word this message right so he sighed heavily and stood up, moving to the door to watch the Sirius depart. He liked watching the ships: it was peaceful and ships didn't lie or do bad things. They were good that way.
The Aurora was pulling away. He watched, uncertain of what he was seeing, as Captain Haddock pulled off his cap and waved to him.
"Cheerio!" the Captain shouted. "Terribly sorry to be leaving you! Have a super-great day!" Beside him, Tintin grinned and waved too.
"Oh brilliant," Lansing said sarcastically as he watched them go. "That's just perfect. I'm now up shit-creek, and they've got all my fuel oil. Brilliant."