Twelve
The seaplane had launched at 10am. By 11am almost everyone had gotten bored of waiting for Captain King and Tintin to get in radio contact and had gone about their normal business, and by 12:15pm it was only Captain Haddock, Professor Phostle and Sparky sitting around the radio. Sparky had taken out an old copy of Playboy and was ignoring the men to concentrate on the centrefold. Professor Phostle was amusing himself trying to come up with a mathematical formula that expressed the boiling of a tea-bag, while the Captain was having a snooze, the oversized headphones still attached to his ears.
"HELLO? CAPTAIN?"
The loud voice burst through the thin, almost soothing layer of static that had curled around Captain Haddock's ears. He awoke with a loud snort of fright and flung the headphones away from him. "What was that?" he asked, blinking at the other. "Blistering barnacles! What the hell was that?"
"The radio?" Professor Phostle offered politely.
"Oh. Flaming hell!"
Sparky rolled his eyes and tossed his magazine aside. He picked up the radio and established contact. "Aurora to E.S.F.R. Seaplane. Are you reading me? Over?"
"Loud and clear, Sparky. Tintin here."
"Hold on: you gave the Captain a bit of a fright but he's here." He handed the headphones back to the Captain. "Way to keep calm, Captain," he whispered.
"Shut it, you." The Captain put the headphones back on. "That you, Tintin? Yes, receiving you loud and clear." There was a short pause. "What? Can you describe it?"
In the cockpit of the seaplane, Tintin frowned and studied the horizon. "Well," said, "it's just a giant plume of smoke or some kind of white vapour. It's thin at the bottom and balloons out at the top. Like a volcano."
The Captain relayed this back to Professor Phostle. "Extraordinary!" Phostle proclaimed. "Quick, let me talk to him for a second." He took the headphones and introduced himself. "Tell me, does the cloud of vapour seem to be coming from a fixed, definite point? … Good. And are there other clouds in the sky? … No? Perfect!" He jumped up and went racing towards the door. "That's it!" he shouted. "They've found the meteorite!"
"Hang on a second," the Captain called after him. "The earphones are still" – Professor Phostle realised quite quickly what the Captain was trying to warn him of: the earphones, which were still firmly attached to the professor's head, had reached full length of wire. They caught at the top of his enormous forehead and jerked him backwards, where he landed squarely on his buttocks on the floor.
"Oh dear," he said weakly. "I appear to still have your headphones. I forgot all about them." He reached up and took them off, and handed them out to the Captain, who took them and tried to hide his grin. "Yes, Captain, that was the meteorite they saw," Phostle continued, his voice gaining strength as his excitement grew. "It's the meteorite causing that vast column of smoke. The heat emitted from the rock has warmed up the water around it. I imagine that it's already started to melt the ice nearby. Anyway, water-vapour has clearly been created and it's this that is rising up to form the cloud they have seen. Ouch." He regained his footing and rubbed his butt.
"Blistering barnacles, is that right?" The Captain pulled the mic back over. "Hello? Tintin? That's the meteorite you're looking at. Did you get that? Gimmie a big yell of delight if you did. Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaah!" He waited, but there was no sound. "No?" He asked, frowning. "Ok, give me a noncommittal grunt if you heard me. Over?" He waited for a few seconds before giving Sparky a poke. "They're not answering," he said. He pushed the button on the mic down hard. "Hello? Hello? Tintin, you there? Hello? Feck! They're not answering any more!"
Professor Phostle tapped him on the shoulder and held out two wire jacks. "Should these be plugged in anywhere?"
"Yes." Sparky took the jacks back and slotted them back into the radio. "The leads need to be plugged in if you want to use the radio…" he said slowly and carefully. "Now please, don't touch anything else."
"Tintin, can you hear me?" the Captain repeated.
"Over," Tintin replied. "Don't forget to say 'over'. Over."
"Cheeky sod. Turn around and come back. That vapour is being caused by the meteorite, I'm told."
"The meteorite?" Tintin sounded suitably excited this time. "You mean we've found it? Over."
"Yep! That's it! Come back, lads: you've completed your mission."
"Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaah!"
"That's better!"
"What?"
"Never mind. Just come back."
"Ok, we've just turned 'round now and we're on our way back. I say, there's lots of icebergs around here."
"Don't start on about them again!"
"No, I was just saying that – Hang on, what's that down there?"
The Captain instinctively looked down, and cursed under his breath when he realised he couldn't see what the plane could see. "What can you see, Tintin?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"What direction is it in?" The Captain quickly pushed the old copies of Playboy off the desk and dumped a folder of sea charts out in front of him. He rifled through them, his brain working quickly to calculate roughly where they should be. When he found the correct map he asked Tintin to repeat the seaplane's coordinates.
"Bearing west-south-west," Tintin said patiently.
"Are you heading towards it?"
"Yes, Captain King's bringing us to it now. It's like… grey smoke or something."
The Captain checked the chart over three times, in case he'd missed something the first two times. "There's nothing in those waters. Could it be a ship, do you think?"
"Maybe," Tintin said, his voice doubtful. "Is this a shipping channel?"
"No. Not around here, lad. Is it the Peary, by any chance?"
"I can't tell, but it is definitely a ship. We're just going down for a closer look."
The radio fell silent as Tintin disconnected from his end. The Captain, Professor Phostle and Sparky found themselves leaning in closer to the radio mic. After about five minutes or so they saw the Captain jumping as the radio crackled back to life and Tintin's voice sounded in his ears. "Well?" the Captain asked anxiously.
"It's the Peary," Tintin said, his voice tight. "They're headed straight for the meteorite and we're coming back – fast!"
x
On the Peary, they're own radio operator (also nicknamed 'Sparky' because, as noted before, sailors aren't very inventive and if a nickname works, what's the point in changing it?) sent a message out to the headquarters of the Hearst-Faber organisation in Sao Rico. It was simple and succinct:
"R.S. Peary, 12°23' W; 76°40'N. to Hearst-Faber, Sao Rico. Have been spotted by E.S.F.R. aircraft. Presume Aurora in vicinity. We are putting on steam."
x
The Aurora, meanwhile, was some miles behind in the middle of an ice field. It hadn't looked so bad when the plane was taking off, but now that the plane was on its way back to them, the Captain was wondering if Tintin was right to worry about the icebergs. "I don't think it's possible," he confided to Phostle. "King's good, but to be honest the only reason we call him 'King of the Sky' is because his name's King and he's a pilot. If he was a plumber he'd probably be called King of the Turds."
"What exactly is the problem, Captain?" Phostle asked.
"You know the way a plane needs a runway to land? Well, they're still going to need a clear stretch of water to come down in. Otherwise, they'll just smash to bits on one of them confounded icebergs. Bloody Tintin," he added sourly, "he's cursed us with all his talk of icebergs."
"Rationally speaking, Captain, sailors' superstitions can be explained by simply understanding the human brain. You see, humans need to put a cause on random, chaotic events. Our brains can't cope with the possibility that nature is completely outside our realm of control. For example, say someone whistles on the ship and a few hours later a storm comes."
"Who whistled on the ship?" The Captain looked shocked at the suggestion. "Did you see someone whistling? Who was it? I'll have 'em clapped in irons!"
"No, no, nobody whistled. I'm simply saying that it's easier to say that someone whistled up a storm rather than accepting that nature is a series of random, chaotic events" –
"Look," the Captain said flatly, "I don't know much about brains or minds or whatever. All I know is that it's bad luck to whistle on a ship. You don't whistle on a ship."
"But Captain, if I whistle now" –
"I'll break your lips."
"I'm not going to whistle! All I'm saying is, if we're fated to meet a storm we'll meet it regardless of whether or not I whistle!"
"Don't tempt fate," the Captain said darkly.
"Again! Fate! Even I said it: 'fated to meet a storm'. It isn't 'fate' or a curse called up by whistling. We're just in the path of a random, chaotic act of nature. Do you understand?" Professor Phostle stared hopefully at the Captain. "Like, the seaplane is going to crash into an iceberg, regardless of whether or not Tintin has been talking about icebergs."
"It's going to crash?" The Captain seized the scientist by the shoulders and shook him. "Tell me the truth! Did you do some maths or something to figure that out? Do they have any chance at all?"
"What? No! No, that's not what I meant! I'm just saying that if the plane hits an iceberg" –
"Too late!" the Captain cried. He pointed into the sky. "They're back. They're preparing to land. By thunder, it'll be a miracle if they don't hit one of them icebergs… Tell me, Professor, was the maths certain about that? Is there even the slightest possibility that they'll survive?"
The professor rolled his eyes and took his brain down a notch. "The only way they have a chance is if the wind is blowing in a certain direction." He licked his finger and held it up. "And wouldn't you know it, it's just changed this minute. They have a chance, Captain."
"Praise be!" The Captain threw his hands up joyfully. "They have a chance, lads! The science guy says so!"
Professor Phostle shrugged and followed the Captain back to the rail of the ship, where most of the crew were gathered to watch the seaplane attempt to land. The plane came down tentatively before wheeling and rising again. This happened twice more as Captain King tried to decide which channel between the hulking, jagged ice blocks was the safest. Finally, he chose his route and tried again.
As he came down he managed to clip one of the wings against a berg. He swore as a shower of ice fell to the water below, and pulled the plane back up. It was too narrow: they would have to aim for the middle and try to skate the rest of the way. But he misjudged the descent and barely missed crashing the struts into the tip of another berg. Inside the cockpit, Tintin held Snowy a little tighter while Captain King gritted his teeth and tried again.
On the ship, they watched as the plane went down again.
"By God, it's close," the Captain muttered. "It's too close. He's going to hit it… He's going to hit it!"
They waited with bated breath as the plane roared down, its wings barely missing the sides of two huge icebergs. Then, as the plane disappeared behind the ice the engine cut out. There was a loud splash, and then nothing. Everyone on the Aurora leaned forward, waiting, their eyes trained on where the plane had disappeared…
Which was why it took them by surprise when it skated out from behind the icebergs at their back. "Ahoy!" Tintin shouted as the cockpit slid back. Grinning widely, Captain King brought the plane as close to the ship as he could manage, still using the speed from their descent to power them forward. The crowd cheered, only slightly disappointed that they hadn't seen a terrible disaster, but still happy that they saw a decent show.
"Thank God you weren't flying, eh?" Captain Haddock called. He leaned out to help as Tintin and Snowy scrambled onto the wing and made their way to the ship. "That was a much better landing than the last time!"
Tintin accepted the Captain's hand and hopped down onto the deck, lifting Snowy down after him. "There isn't a moment to lose, Captain," he said urgently, his excitement clear to see. "The Peary is two hundred and fifty kilometres ahead of us. We must overtake her!"
"Two hundred and fifty kilometres…" the Captain repeated slowly. Behind him, they started to attach the seaplane to cables, to winch it out of the ocean and back on its perch on the upper deck of the prow. "Well that's it then," the Captain continued with a shrug. "It's all over: we don't stand a chance."
"No, Captain, we're not finished yet. Come one, let's have another look at the chart." Tintin quickly pulled the Captain away from the deck, aiming for his cabin where a copy of the charts had been laid out and where there was a good store of whisky. It had worked once already (twice if you counted the time in the pub before they'd even left Belgium) so there was no reason it wouldn't work now.
It was time to Get Captain Haddock Drunk.
Author's Note: 'feck' and 'turd' don't count as swearing. 'Feck' is just another word for 'frick', and we all know what turds are.