Chapter Three
Hark! The Ancient Mariner Sings!

December 15th

"Ding dong merrily on high… in heaven the bells are ringing! Ding dong merrily, the sky is filled with angels singing!"

"Oh, come on!" Haddock mumbled, flipping over in bed and burying his head beneath his pillow. It did nothing to block out the warbling strains drifting from outside his bedroom window.

A steady rapping noise came from the door downstairs, and the Captain could hear a sickeningly familiar voice shouting out, "Happy Christmas! Open up, you old sea-dog!"

The Captain refused to get out of bed. He simply refused. After a moment, he heard the sound of someone walking down the steps, accompanied with the soft clicking of Snowy's paws on the marble. A couple moments passed, and then the door swung open.

"Well, well, well! Happy Christmas!" Wagg roared. "The wife and I were just passing by the old Hall, carolling with the fam, and we thought, 'Hey,' we thought, 'Let's drop in and see how the old Captain Nemo is doing!'"

Tintin said something that the Captain couldn't hear. All he could hear was Wagg's subsequent roar of laughter.

"Ha ha ha! Bah humbug as usual, the old Scrooge! A proper caution, he is! Well, go awaken the kraken, will you? And then you two come carolling with us! We're having a grand old time!"

Tintin's voice became a bit louder all of a sudden, as barely-concealed panic broke through his usually calm demeanour. "Oh, er, no thank you… you see, we've already planned to go later today…"

"No, no, no, I insist!" Wagg laughed. "It'll be a—"

The Captain's heart lifted as he heard Tintin's reply—"But we'll make sure to pass by your place when we go. No thank you, Mr Wagg. See you later, Mr Wagg! Joyeux Noël, Mr Wagg! Happy Christmas!"

The door closed.

I didn't know Tintin was capable of that, thought Haddock. He chuckled gleefully into his pillow. Looks like I'm finally rubbing off on him.

He listened gleefully as the sound of the carollers finally drifted away, until it was gone altogether. We're safe. I'm safe. Thank you sweet Mary! We don't have to go carolling!

There was the sound of footsteps approaching his door, and he sat up in bed, blinking blearily at the door. The handle twisted; Tintin entered, Snowy yapping excitedly at his heels.

"Good morning, Captain!" he sang, making his way to the curtains and pulling them open. Blinding light flooded the room. "It's a bright, beautiful day outside!"

"No! Blistering barnacles, you're not my personal weatherman!" The Captain dove back down into the sheets, putting the pillow back over his head. "Let me go back to sleep!"

"Do you know what time it is?"

"I don't know! Do I look like a clock?"

Snowy leapt onto the Captain's bed and snuffled around in the sheets until he found Haddock's face. When he began licking, the Captain snarled and flopped another pillow on top of his head, trying to ward the dog away.

"Ugh! No! Snowy, that's disgusting! I don't wantto know where your tongue has been!"

"I can't imagine why you would," Tintin remarked, his voice perfectly serious.

"Do something, you thundering smart-aleck! Your dog is—"

"Here, boy. Over here."

Whining softly, Snowy gave the Captain final wet, sloppy kiss and jumped off the bed, into Tintin's arms.

"Good boy!" Tintin scratched the dog's head fondly, and then leaned over, giving the Captain a little pat on the shoulder. "Well, Captain, don't sleep in too long," he advised. "You're going to have to get ready for tonight."

"Tonight?" Haddock rocketed straight up, squinting at Tintin. "What's tonight?"

"We're going carolling. Didn't you hear me tell Wagg?"

/

Carolling was certainly not one of the most rewarding Christmas activities, but everybody had suggested that the Captain go along with it anyway. Did it involve food? No. Did it involve games? No. Did it involve anything besides cold fingers and raw throats? No. But even Nestor had said that Haddock should go; and when one's butler felt so strongly about something that he would be that bold, the master should probably consider the butler's advice. Especially a butler as well-educated as Nestor (who else spent all his time reading Blaise Pastel, or whatever his name was? Certainly not Haddock!).

Yes, the Captain thought; it was probably the fact that Nestor had advised it that had been the final straw.

"Which songs are we going to sing?" Tintin asked, breaking into Haddock's thoughts.

"Er… I don't know. Which ones are your favourites?"

He put a finger to his chin, thinking for a long moment. "Huh. Well, I've always been partial to 'Ah! Quel grand mystère!'"

Haddock blinked. "What?"

"You know. Ah! Quel grand mystère!" he sang softly. "Dieu se fait enfant, il descend sur terre—"

"N—nevermind; I don't know it. Any others?"

"Um… do you know 'Aujourd'hui le Roi des Cieux?'"

Haddock was silent for a long moment, trying to wrap his mind around the long stream of sounds that had just poured from Tintin's mouth.

"Aujoor ley rah what?" he finally asked.

"Okay. Nevermind. Just… let's… okay, what did you grow up singing?"

"Ah now, let me think… well, the 'Sussex Carol' has always been a favourite."

"Sussex? Haven't heard of it."

"How 'bout 'On Christmas Night?'"

Tintin shook his head.

"The Holly and the Ivy?"

"Why do you sing about plants?"

"I don't know. It's probably pagan or something. Druidic." He paused for a second. Why did they sing about plants? "Uh, come to think of it… well, nevermind. So, er, do you know 'Good King Wenceslas?'"

The boy's eyes lit up with recognition. "I've heard of that one. How does it go?"

The Captain was silent for a long moment, debating whether or not to embarrass himself by singing aloud, or to simply tell the lyrics to Tintin and hoped he recognised it. He finally decided on the latter. "Uh, okay. It goes, 'Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen, when the—"

"The feast of Stephen?" Tintin interrupted. "How is that a Christmas song?"

The Captain frowned. He'd never thought of that before. "They… talk about snow," he said lamely.

"Ah," said Tintin. Somehow, he managed to send a very long message through that one'Ah'; it was an English-Christmas-carols-are-pathetic-and-French-ones-are-better sort of 'Ah.' Immediately defensive, the Captain wracked his brains for a good, traditional British Christmas song. Which one was his favourite?

"'The Wassail song,'" he finally said. "Come on. Don't tell me you haven't heard of the Wassail Song. You can't have Christmas without the Wassail Song."

"How does that one go?"

"You know! Wassail, Wassail, all over the town, our toast it is white and our ale it is brown…"

"Oh nooooo…" Tintin moaned quietly.

"And with a wassailing bowl, we'll drink to… hey, what's burning you up?"

"Does it really have to be about drinking?" He sounded exasperated.

"Cheeky sod. What do you take me for? A drunkard?"

Tintin gave a significant glance at the cup of whisky in the Captain's hand, but otherwise was wisely silent. He had once tried to break the Captain's alcoholism and failed miserably. Tintin was more or less assured that the man had it (mostly) under control, though; after burning their lifeboat, crashing a plane over the Sahara desert, and almost falling into a yawning canyon in the Andes, the Captain had learned the dangers of drinking first-hand. That would have to be good enough. Only one man, Tintin had decided, was capable of breaking the addiction: the Captain himself. If Haddock didn't stop his addiction, nobody would, because Tintin had pretty much surrendered on the alcoholism front.

"Er. Okay." Haddock followed Tintin's gaze to the glass in his hand. He stared at it for a long moment, and then placed it gingerly on the table. "So… what other songs? Do you know We Wish You A Merry Christmas?"

"Isn't that the one about piggy pudding, or something?"

"Ha ha! No. It's figgy pudding."

"Ah," Tintin said again.

Ignoring Tintin, Haddock explained, "It goes, 'We all want some figgy pudding, we all want some figgy pudding, we all want some figgy pudding…'"

Tintin dropped his head into his hands.

/

With Nestor's help, Tintin and the Captain had been able to compile a list of songs they both enjoyed and more importantly, knew. Unfortunately for Tintin, every one of these were in English. But he decided not to complain. After all, he had learned a lot from the experience: Englishmen were fiercely stubborn about their traditions, no matter how stupid, and that pretty much all traditional British carols had been written by drunks.

It was 4 pm by the time they'd finally gotten out of the Hall and into the village. Calculus had joined them, and so had Nestor. It seemed rude to leave the butler out, considering how much he had helped them pick out the songs, and besides; two people carolling would be just strange (two, as they didn't count Calculus; the man was along just for the walk, as he had no idea when they were supposed to be singing and when they weren't.)

Everybody was very polite, as was to be expected, but to the Captain's chagrin, they weren't offered anything but kindly smiles (and the occasional door in their faces; but Tintin was a reporter, so that didn't faze him.) No food at all— until they made their very last stop.

As promised, they wound up at Wagg's place (Hark! the ancient mariner sings! Wagg had roared, when he saw them). And when Wagg ushered them all inside— there it was. Sweet liquor of life, cradled in a shimmering crystal bowl, the delicious, ice-cold sherbet just floating tantalisingly on top. The Captain's heart lifted. He wasn't sure if the Hallelujah chorus had come on the radio, or if he could honestly hear a heavenly chorus. It only took a sip to see that it had been made just as Haddock liked it, with buckets—buckets—of vodka.

It was Christmas Punch.

It may have been the one rewarding thing about carolling, but it was worth all the trouble.

Even if I have to be in this barbecued blister's house to drink it, Haddock thought, but it didn't sour the mood.

He and Tintin of them were standing beneath a tacky garland by the punch bowl, listening amusedly to Wagg roaring with laughter as he told jokes to Calculus and Nestor; jokes that Calculus didn't hear and that Nestor was too reserved to laugh at. It's a good thing that Wagg finds himself so funny, Haddock thought; otherwise, he'd be offended. Not that I'd mind. In fact, it might have been kind of funny.

"Imagine," Tintin mused, "if Signora Castafiore was joining us carolling." Tintin, naturally, had declined any of the punch; Haddock, naturally, was on his fifth glass.

The man frowned and was silent for a moment, fully digesting the thought before breaking out into appalled laughter. "We wouldn't be able to hear ourselves."

"Which would be a shame. You have a nice voice. Too bad I've—" Tintin was interrupted by the sound of Wagg bursting out into laughter. They turned, watching the man for a second, and then Tintin looked back at the Captain and grinned charmingly. "Too bad I've never heard it before," he finished.

"Uh, thanks, lad, but I think you have." The Captain frowned again and paused for a moment, taking a sip of the spiked punch as he tried to drag up the details. "When we were in the wine cellar. In Khemed, remember? Lemme think… yeah, we were both drunk, and—"

"From the fumes," Tintin cut in swiftly. "Pure accident."

"Yes, yes, yes, from the fumes. And I was singing. Don't remember what. And… actually, so were you. Oh yeah, remember?" He swung his hands like a man conducting an orchestra. "Ta-ra-ra! Boom-de-ay! For tonight we'll—"

"Captain, we're in somebody else's house," Tintin hissed, his eyes wide with horror.

"Coming from you! You were the one who told me to go carolling!"

Tintin looked like he wanted to argue with that, but couldn't; instead, he just said, "There's no point arguing about it, anyway. I don't remember that at all. You were probably just hallucina—"

"You don't remember?" He leaned forward a little, narrowing his eyes. "Not at allllll?"

Tintin shuffled from one foot to the other, moistening his lips uncomfortably. "Uh… no, not at all. And frankly, Captain, I don't find this very funny," he added, noting the Captain's barely concealed smirk.

"All right, all right, all right. So you didn't sing." The Captain stared sullenly at the ground for a moment, kicking a sprig of holly that had somehow fallen to the floor. Then, a mischievous glint appeared in his eye. "Hey, but what about when you were in San Theodoros? I remember reading about how you drank all that aguardiente, when they tried to—"

"Look at their Christmas tree! Crumbs! It's so…er… green…" cut in Tintin, speedily changing the subject.

Sighing and rolling his eyes a little, Haddock shoved his hands in his pockets and shut up, letting Tintin ramble about the decorations in a desperate attempt to redirect the conversation. But as they said goodbye to Wagg and continued their walk, through the village and back to the Hall, the Captain couldn't resist humming, "For tonight we'll merry merry be, for tonight we'll merry merry be…"

Tintin's uncomfortable expression and subsequent silence were more rewarding than a bathtub of Christmas punch.

Author's Note: I'm going to go singing at a local nursing home today (no, they're not serving punch), so this seemed appropriate. :D Hope y'all enjoyed! And does anybody else think that a ton of Christmas songs are just somewhat... well, stupid isn't the right word, but it's definitely close.

By the way, people have asked about the timeline here. This story takes place right after The Land of Black Gold; Tintin and the Captain are good friends here, just not post-Tintin in Tibet friends :D

If this chapter was better than a bathtub of Christmas punch, leave a review! (Lol, that was lame...)