CHAPTER 9

"In which the length of miles isn't always the same."

In other circumstances, Tintin would have cheered loudly, jumped on his feet and waltzed with Calculus or Nestor to celebrate such good news.

But in this case, only a sharp clenching of his fingers on the captain's sleeve betrayed the violent emotion that was overwhelming him. Haddock's throat was clogged too. He couldn't say a word either and just put his hand on the reporter's and tapped it once or twice.

Saved. We're saved.

The radio sizzled and sputtered. Snowy got up, waving his tail at top speed, and barked happily, recognizing the voice of their young friends.

Tintin hastily grabbed the microphone.

- "Niko! Niko, it's me! We're alive! Where are you, children?"

- "Oh, Tintin, we were so worried!" cried Nouchka's pretty voice.

- "Tintin, how far from the border are you?" asked her brother determinedly. "Can you go down to the valley, to Lake Flechizaff? Are any of you wounded? There're several of us, here, mountaineers and villagers who gathered to go help you when a shepherd reported a plane crashing on the southern slope of Mount Zstopnohle. But the Bordurians keep claiming it is fake news and that the Syldavians only want to invade."

- "The Bordurians got our SOS, but we have reason to think it'd be better if they did not find us", explained the reporter. "A blizzard has forced us to take shelter in a cave for the time being. We'll be back on the road as soon as possible. We should reach the lake by tomorrow evening."

The captain grunted, as if he found the estimate time of arrival a little too optimistic, but Tintin deliberately ignored it.

- "We won't be able to enter Borduria's territorial waters, said Niko after a short moment of swishing silence, as if he was consulting someone next to him. "But if you can borrow a fishing boat in the village of Röttevis and reach the Trident, you know, these rocks where the submarine had run aground, we'll come get you with a speedboat."

Tintin wanted to keep talking, to tell Niko of the fond memories the children's voices had brought back to him ; he also wanted to study the map a bit more, but a wave of fatigue crashed on his shoulders, making him dizzy. He leaned his heavy neck against the wall behind him, closed his eyes for a moment and immediately sank into a thick torpor, too exhausted to be embarrassed by the dull pain of his broken ribs, the chills running through him, the nausea at the bottom of his stomach or the cold nibbling his legs. The microphone slipped out of his hand and he didn't feel Snowy patting his knee with his paw and whimpering softly before slumping against him, his snout on his master's thigh.

Haddock stood up painfully. He took a few steps into the cave, which was only lit by the hurricane lamp placed on the small table, checked that the others were all lying and warmly tucked in, then came back and crouched with a groan to drape a blanket over the reporter. He gently scratched the head of the yawning dog, then straightened up and, for a short moment, saw stars.

His hand clenched on the left pocket of his jacket. He staggered, blinked, struggled against the sudden sharp pain clawing into his chest. Then, ears buzzing, gasping for breath, he finally regained control and realized that he was on his knees, forehead flooded with sweat.

- "Thund-d-dering T-t-typhoons," he gasped, furious and terrified at the same time.

Someone grabbed his armpits and hoisted him up. He mumbled "thank you", then jumped when a hand opened in front of him, offering him the tablets he had casually thrown into a drawer after his last meeting with Doctor Leech.

The captain looked up and smiled sheepishly when he saw Nestor's horsey face, frozen in an air of high disapproval.

- "May Monsieur forgive me, but I have taken the liberty of packing the medicines Monsieur is supposed to take regularly."

Haddock cleared his throat, embarrassed.

- "Thank you, old chap."

- "If Monsieur would not mind watching over his health, Monsieur Tintin, Monsieur the Professor and I would have much less worries about Monsieur," added the butler in a pinched tone. "If I may say, Monsieur is no longer very young. These adventures are not ..."

- "Good night, Nestor," interrupted the captain, rolling his eyes.

But when he tried to step away, his legs betrayed him and he found himself sagging in the old servant's arms again. Nestor tisked, but he helped his master settle down for the night before going back to bed.

The radio crackled in the silence. Snowy's ears twitched, but he didn't go sniff the device that was coming to life on its own.

Outside, the wind had dropped, and the snow looked bluish in the dark. It turned pink when dawn started lining the black ridges, then gold when it was basked in the sun. It was sparkling, powdering the silky white robe of the mountain with glitter under the great blue sky when the castaways finally emerged from the cave.

- "A wonderful day to travel!" chirped Calculus, whose glasses were the only thing you could make out from the muffler they had wrapped him in.

With his green coat buttoned to the last button he looked like a fir tree mounted on two slender stalks, with a huge hedgehog on its back (Tintin's backpack, lightened as much as possible but filled with necessary things: the professor's suitcase had been abandoned in the cave). A star was missing at the top of this human Christmas tree, but the swinging pendulum, out as usual, could easily make up for other missing ornaments.

Nestor looked as gloomy as Uncle Scrooge, right next to him, in black from top hat to rain boots (which he wore with three pairs of socks) with his long, pale face and his bag hanging from his bony shoulder blades. Thomson had put his gloves inside out and Thompson was making a drama out of his bowler hat on which someone had sat. Their two cardboard suitcases, warped by humidity, were patched up and tied with roast twine (they had categorically refused to part with them and there were no backpacks to replace them anyway). The captain had his yellow scarf tied around his head in a kerchief, and was wearing his cap over it. His Tibetan knapsack on his back, he was lighting his pipe with the tranquility of a hardened mountain dweller.

Snowy came back to them, shaking his short curly hair in a cloud of snow, his stubby tail beating a delighted rhythm: he was bringing back Calculus' umbrella, lost in the blizzard the day before. Tintin returned it to the professor, then he smiled at his companions.

- "Let's go, gentlemen," he said. "Courage, this is the final stretch. Tonight, we shall sleep at Villa Sprok and our holidays will finally begin."

- "Not too soon," Haddock scoffed.

But he grinned back and followed in the footsteps of his young friend, launching with him into a lively discussion as if they were just going for a walk in Marlinspike's woods, his morale raised by the superb weather and his forces suddenly renewed at the prospect of dipping his old carcass in a hot bath by the evening and sipping a glass of whiskey before slipping into a good bed.

Allons, there were only about twenty kilometers left – thirty less than the endless night to return to Wadesdah after their plane had crashed in Khemed. It would over in a tick.

– Seven long hours later –

The captain dropped heavily on the hard, icy ground covered with a thick layer of pine needles. He leaned against the tree, closing his eyes. His features were drawn by exhaustion.

- "Let's take a break," he wheezed hoarsely.

His calves were trembling, his back was laced with throbbing pain and he didn't even want to think about his poor feet in these shoes which were not suitable for such a hike.

In the purple glow of twilight, Nestor had fallen to his knees at the mere mention of a possible break. His face was pasty and as marked as at the end of Abdallah's stay at the castle. Calculus, sprawled on the ground with his legs apart, was breathing in jerks like an asthmatic bird, his nearsighted eyes half closed. The Thompsons who hadn't said a word for hours, staggering and holding on to each other, had also collapsed, back to back, and did not even have the strength to mop their perspiring foreheads. Snowy himself had flopped on the ground, panting loudly.

- "Come on, my friends, get up", begged Tintin, running a weary hand through his hair, which briefly put back in place his famous quiff, currently pitifully slumped to the side. "We're almost there. If we make just one final effort, we'll be at the lake at the right time to" borrow "a boat while these good people will be having supper and we won't have to use our torches to go through the woods."

The two red spots were back on his cheeks, he was wheezing, an icy sweat was shining on his forehead, but he hadn't sat down. Stiffened so as not to force an abrupt movement on his ribs, he went from one to the other to encourage them to get up, coughing from time to time in the crook of his elbow.

But no one moved.

Tintin came back to Haddock and briefly squeezed his shoulder.

- "Please, captain. Get up."

- "Give us a minute, lad," muttered the old sailor. "We're exhausted. Five days since this little jig started and there's no deluding us, we're at the end of the rope! Nestor and Calculus are not used to such trials. The Thompsons are brave, but they won't last much longer. You are running a fever and only standing by sheer will. Do you think I can't see it? Gobbledygook, Tintin, I'm not blind. Chang looked better than you when we were bringing him back from Yack's Snout. As for me ... "

He didn't finish his sentence, because the last thing the young reporter needed was to add to his burden the fear that the old worn-out heart of his best friend would suddenly declare forfeit.

- "Let us take a break, son," he said with effort. "Ten minutes, a quarter of an hour at least. "The Bordurians haven't shown up, they're probably looking for us on the other side of the mountain. We're safe here."

Tintin shook his head.

- "I don't believe so, Captain. They could show up with a helicopter anytime soon and the canopy of trees will no longer protect us when we'll get closer to the lake. Not to mention that if they set dogs after us ... I'll believe we're out of the woods when we'll all be safe on the Syldavian shore. Come on, Captain. Please. Stand up and they will follow you."

He rummaged in Calculus' bag. The professor didn't notice it at all: his head was tilted back and he was dozing with his mouth ajar, his glasses crooked on his face.

- "Here, maybe I still have a bottle of..."

The captain chuckled.

- "It's old hat, lad. And I reckon you decided to gang up with Cuthbert to get me back on a mineral water diet no later than last week."

Tintin pouted sheepishly – he had indeed been caught asking the professor if his next version of the anti-alcohol pills would this time have a definitive effect.

Haddock smiled despite his exhaustion and his hand reached out to muss up the boy's hair before he changed his mind: now was not the time to soften up. It would only worry the reporter who knew very well that the captain only was sentimental when something weighed on him. Tintin was far from being stupid and unobservant. It was only because he was intensely focused on bringing them home that he hadn't noticed anything yet, but in other times it would have been close to impossible to hide from him…

- "It's your heart, isn't it? Do you want me to get your medicine? Nestor must have packed it... Hold on, Captain. Please, hold on."

Haddock froze. Tintin had grabbed his hand and was clutching it almost convulsively. The freckles on his pale face were even more marked on his fever-flushed face. His jaws clenched fiercely as if to contain the emotion his suddenly too bright eyes were betraying, he murmured:

- "I know it's very selfish of me, but I beg you ... don't let me down, Captain. One more effort, we're almost there. Then you can rest as long as you wish..."

His voice croaked, he quickly ran the back of his wrist over his face and Haddock realized that the young reporter knew, that he was preparing for the worst – and he was suddenly filled with the intense desire of strangling Dr. Leech, this unbearable fat slubberdegullion of a doctor who threw professional secrecy to the dustbin whenever he met a recalcitrant patient.

Filled with holy indignation, he got up quickly.

- "I'm not on the keel yet!" he protested. "I'm going to show you that a man my age still has a lot to spare. Come on, mates! To battle stations, all hands on deck!"

And while speaking, he hoisted the professor on trembling legs, shook the dazed Thompsons, gave a big slap on the back of Nestor who almost fell and glared reproachfully at his master.

- "Now is not the time to falter, mates!" continued the captain. "We're almost there! Let's not have these Bordurian filibusters pass us downwind. Helm to starboard and set course to Lake Flechizaff!"

He came back to Tintin, threw his arm on the boy's shoulders. The gesture and the grandiloquent reel coming with it could have seem ridiculous to anyone else, but the reporter perfectly understood the message behind the rough hug.

"You're not getting rid of me anytime soon, landlubber.

I'm here, Tintin. Don't be afraid, son."

The young man swallowed hard. Grateful, he took advantage of the others picking up their things to regain control of his emotions, then looked up at the captain.

- "The map would suggest we rather go to port, if we don't want to make a detour by Szohôd", he said mischievously.

Haddock stepped aside and pulled on his black beard to make it look pointy, in a supremely patient manner.

- "Oh really?" he said politely, with a toothy smile that perfectly complemented his imitation of Red Rackham – or was it another pirate? "Well, bring the sail, Mister Smee. And if we come across this crocodile of Sponsz on the way, remind me to put you on the board."

Everyone laughed and the captain, satisfied, enveloped his crew with a gaze filled with gruff affection.

- "Let's go, Snowy," called Tintin cheerfully.

But the dog, who was staring at something in the twilight-blushed woods, growled low instead of coming to him.

TBC