Nine
Sao Rico
"Sir." Johnston stood, his face impassive, and held the missive out to Hearst-Faber. The man took it, moved his cigar to the other side of his mouth, and read it through slowly. Johnston summarised it succinctly. "Captain Haddock is pushing forward for Akureyri before refuelling. He thinks it will save time."
Hearst-Faber laughed, a true belly laugh that was rare for him. "Excellent! Good for him! Take a note, Johnston: I want the Aurora kept in Akureyri for at least a few weeks."
x
Days passed without incident, and Tintin found himself spending more and more time with Captain Haddock. It was entirely accidental: the Captain was just the funniest person on the ship to hang out with. The scientists were fine, but a bit dull, and the grad students were serious and only cracked jokes about physics and molecular biology. The ship's crew were of the manly-men variety, and made Tintin nervous. Plus their stories weren't actually that funny. More… nasty than funny, with some poor soul usually ending up blind drunk and unsuspecting in a transvestite's bed, or heaved overboard during the middle of the night in his underpants (the subject was always rescued after the crew had had their laugh, though: Tintin had been very careful to make sure that he wasn't sailing with a bunch of murderous morons). After a few days, Tintin kept his underpants to himself and gave them a wide berth.
That morning he got up as usual and headed up on deck, making for the bridge. The Captain was always up at the crack of dawn, and could always be found on the bridge, even when someone else was at the wheel. True to his word, the Captain had kept to the wheel while the Aurora navigated the shipping channel, but once out into open waters the actual piloting of the ship was taken over by the Able Seaman (who for some reason was called the 'AB' by the Captain), who took the wheel during the day, and an Officer of the Watch at night.
Tintin's first thought on reaching the deck was "Oh God, it's cold." His second thought, on hitting the deck, was "Why am I sitting down? Oh God, it's cold, and my butt hurts." Snowy skated forlornly by, looking a lot like Bambi learning to walk on ice.
Professor Phostle was standing nearby. "Didn't you know it froze last night?" he asked helpfully as Tintin attempted to get back to his feet. Tintin bit down on his sarcastic retort and accepted the professor's help. The deck was frozen solid, and the steady cold that had been building with each passing day had finally come upon them with a vengeance.
"Oi!" the Captain shouted down from the bridge. "Did you have a good trip?"
"Ha ha," Tintin said politely, trying to steady his footing. His running shoes were useless: he'd have to dig out his boots or else he'd spend the rest of the journey skating from place to place.
"You ought to put on something a bit warmer," Phostle continued, ignoring the Captain. "You'll catch your death going about like that."
Tintin looked down at his blue jumper and brown corduroy jeans. The professor had a point: they were warm, but not Arctic warm. He'd also have to dig out his heavy coat and a pair of gloves. And being a short-haired dog, Snowy would need some help too. He thanked the professor for his help and headed back to his bunk.
x
Captain Haddock watched, pipe perched in his mouth, as Professor Phostle attempted to navigate the deck. The man was wearing a fur coat and a matching hat that made him look like a particularly shabby, underfed bear. "Wait for it," he murmured to Professor Cantonneau. "Wait for it… There we go!" Professor Phostle turned around too fast and fell arse over tit on the ice. "Best way to spend the morning!" the Captain said happily as Professor Cantonneau started to laugh. "You can always tell who'll fall over: they get a look about them."
"You're a rare man," Cantonneau said, shaking his head in amusement.
"What? The sort that laughs at another's misfortune? You're damned right. It's boring enough on a ship: you learn how to take your laughs quick enough. Ayup: here's Tintin again. Let's see if he falls over too."
They watched as Tintin emerged from the bowels of the ship again, but this time he stepped out onto the deck and stayed on his feet. "He's changed his shoes," the Captain said mournfully. "Oh well. Almost time for the grad students to be up and about: we'll have some more fun with them."
"Hey Captain!" Tintin shouted up. "Want to see something funny?"
"Of course!"
"Then call Snowy!"
"What?" The Captain leaned forward. "Did you say to call Snowy?"
"Yeah! Just call him."
The Captain and Professor Cantonneau exchanged glances. "Fair enough," the Captain muttered before raising his voice. "Snowy! Here boy! Hey, where is he, anyway?" Ever since the sausage stealing episode, Tintin had been taking pains to keep the dog near him at all times.
"Just wait!" Tintin shouted up. "He's coming. It's just… taking a little more time than usual. It's worth it though."
They waited. Then, something appeared in the corridor, high-stepping towards the deck. "What on earth?" the Captain asked.
Snowy came closer. He now wore a water-proof, fleece-lined jacket over his back, and a small woollen bonnet that tied under his chin, his ears poking out of the top. That in itself was enough to draw laughter from the Captain, but it was the mittens that really slayed him. Or rather, Snowy's reaction to the mittens. The dog, unused to wearing anything on his feet, was walking with exaggerated care, lifting each foot with the precision of a ballerina.
"It gets better," Tintin promised. He pulled something out of the pocket of his big, fleece-lined coat and waved it around. "Want your ball, Snowy? Look! Look! Squeaky ball!" He squeezed the ball and it squeaked loudly, and Snowy cocked his head at the ball, staring at it with interest. "Want it, Snowy? Want your ball? Go fetch!"
The Captain and Professor Cantonneau collapsed with laughter as Snowy tried to chase after the ball. Tintin hadn't thrown it very far, but the dog was still unsure of the protective booties he wore, so he trotted, stiff-legged like a poorly designed robot, after it. When he finally caught the ball, after a slow and cumbersome chase, he managed to turn around and trot back to Tintin, his tail wagging merrily. Every so often he would stop and waggle a foot in the air, hoping that the woolly booty would disappear.
"They're mad at that age," Cantonneau said through his giggles.
"Dogs are always mad," the Captain replied. They watched, still chuckling, as Tintin repeated the action and made Snowy trot woodenly after the ball again.
"I meant Tintin," Cantonneau said, wiping a tear from his eye before it froze. "My nephew's about the same age, and he's forever dreaming up new ways to amuse himself with my dog. It's comical to watch them: they're so inventive at that age."
"Oh yeah?" the Captain asked with a frown.
"Oh, yes! Their minds work a mile a minute. And then they hit about sixteen and discover boobs, and it all falls apart. Oh well, it happened to us all," he added with a sigh. "I'll talk to you later, Captain. I've had fun this morning, I must admit." He slapped the Captain on the back and took his leave from the bridge. The Captain watched Tintin and Snowy thoughtfully.
x
"… and there's this little pub – well, it was there about ten years ago," the Captain said, "and I kid you not: every day is a wet t-shirt day. No joke: the lasses walk around taking orders with their shirts soaked through."
"Why are you telling me this?" Tintin asked plaintively. It was early evening and twilight had already come. They had left the shoreline of Reykjavik long behind without putting into port – the Captain thought they could shave some time off the journey by pushing forward to Akureyri, and was now entertaining himself by telling Tintin how great Reykjavik was, and what a shame it was that Tintin wouldn't get to see it. They were leaning against the rail, watching the rocky shore as they sailed by the Icelandic coast.
"All day, every day."
"Argh! Turn the ship around!"
"You're a fan of boobs then, I take it?" the Captain asked hopefully.
"Boobs are awesome," Tintin said with a sigh. "I wish I could see more of them than I do."
"Did you ever pull that girl?"
"Which one?"
"You remember: when we were in the desert you were telling me you liked a girl. And I said you were punching above your weight because you're a ginger, and we all know that gingers don't have souls."
"Thanks, Captain. Thank you so much for that. For your information, I had her in my bed."
"And I bet you didn't know what to do with her!" Captain Haddock was starting to feel better again. Professor Cantonneau had thrown him with that sixteen-year-olds-and-boobs comment, but if Tintin had already discovered boobs then he had to be older than that. Then he caught sight of Tintin's embarrassed blush, and his heart started to sink again. "Tell me you knew what to do," he said, pained.
"Of course!" Tintin insisted. "She just…"
"Wasn't in to it?"
"Noo-oo, not that. At first, she was the one pushing for it, but…" Tintin stopped and sighed. "It was the night the meteor came, you know? She thought we were going to die, and she didn't want to die a virgin, I guess."
"Virgin? How old is she?"
"Seventeen."
"Christ, that's young. How old are you again?"
"Eighteen."
Bullshit. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he managed to stop himself from saying it. "Bu-listering barnacles," he managed weakly. "So what happened, exactly?"
"Well, we were about to do it, and then the earthquake hit," Tintin explained. "And when we weren't dead, she just sort of… left. I mean, she made excuses first, but she was embarrassed."
"Ha! Sorry, lad, but it could only happen to you." The Captain shook his head, amused. "You get it on a plate and you still can't close the deal. Well done, lad. It takes a special sort of man to mess that up."
"Oh, be quiet."
"It's probably because you're a ginger."
"Yes, yes, and I have no soul."
"Very true, Tintin. Very true."
x
By the time it was full dark the Aurora was nearing Akureyri, and the Captain was just entering the radio room. The resident comms officer – imaginatively nicknamed 'Sparky' like every other radio officer since the dawn of time – was fast asleep in his chair with his feet up on the desk and a magazine over his face. The radio was quiet and the old computer was slowly loading up a Youtube video: everyone was delighted to be back inside a WiFi zone again. Even Tintin had gone to check his emails on the laptop he'd brought to help stave off boredom.
The Captain grabbed Sparky's leg and shook the man awake. "Clear out," he ordered. "Go on: get some air for a few minutes. I'll let you know when you can come back in."
"Fair enough." Sparky yawned and stretched and picked up his packet of cigarettes. "Check the History for the good porn sites, and don't download any more viruses. That last one was a nightmare."
"As you say, sailor," the Captain replied absently as he sat down in Sparky's chair. He couldn't understand everyone else relying on the internet for porn: he had a stash of razzle mags hidden in his cabin. "I guess I'm just old school that way," he muttered as he pulled a battered, black notebook out of his pocket and started to leaf through it. "That's how it was done in the old days: get your fix and pass it along, and hope you weren't last in the queue. A-ha! Found you!" He held the page open and pulled the red, bakelite phone towards him. He dialled a number slowly – it was a Belgian phone number and it took him a few seconds to remember the country code – and chewed his lip nervously as it started to ring.
"Ah!" he said when the line picked up. "Er, Thompson or Thomson?"
"Thomson," the voice replied politely at the other end, "without a 'P', as in Timbuktu."
"Captain Haddock here."
"Ah, Captain! How are you?"
"Oh, fine, fine. Just… curious. Do you remember the conversation we had before I left port?"
"Vividly."
"Right. Good. Er, you haven't had any… developments on that, have you?"
"We have come into some information," Thomson replied carefully.
"Good or bad information?"
"That would depend on one's own disposition."
"I knew you'd say that," the Captain said sadly. "I knew you'd say that. Thundering typhoons."
"Thundering typhoons?"
"I don't like swearing around Tintin."
"That's probably a good idea."
"Shite. You'd best tell me the whole of it."
"Get yourself comfortable, Captain: this might take a few minutes. Before we start, can I be sure that you won't, er, inform certain parties? Or a certain party?"
"Believe me, mate," the Captain said, "I'm the soul of discretion."
x
Outside, Sparky lit his third cigarette from the second. He didn't mind the Captain using the computer for porn: the man always had the best videos and it was fun to watch them afterwards, when everyone else had gone to bed. In fact, Captain Haddock was famous in nautical circles on that front. His story about the Iranian prostitute was hilarious, especially when he got to the part about the size of her hands and feet. The best stories were the ones the Captain told, and they were even better when they started with; "Look, I was drunk, ok? So don't judge me, but when I was in…" and they always ended in a fantastical manner. If even half of them were true, the Captain was either the luckiest man in existence, or the clumsiest fool that ever lived.
Behind him, the door slammed open and closed and the Captain himself reappeared, his face like thunder. Something must have happened, like the internet connection being lost. "Everything all right, Captain?" Sparky asked nervously.
"What?" The Captain looked up, as though he had forgotten Sparky was there. "Yeah, everything's fine. Blistering barnacles, everything's perfect." He caught sight of the cigarette and held his hand out. "Can I have a pull on that?"
"Finish it," Sparky replied. He handed it over and tipped his hood as a salute. "I'd best get back to work."
"Yeah. That nap won't take itself." The Captain finished the cigarette quickly and tossed it overboard. "Everything's flaming marvellous, ey Archie? Not a single, man-sized problem on board. Blistering barnacles."
Author's Note: No fur for Tintin or Snowy. Don't agree with it and times have changed since the original story was written/published. Also, putting socks on dogs is hilarious.