The Adventures of Tintin

by The Adventures of Tintin- A Novel (retail) (epub)

  Captain Haddock reached for his water glass. As he raised it to his mouth, Tintin realized that Snowy had taken matters into his own hands! Somehow Snowy had found a bottle of medicinal spirits on the table and nudged it into Captain Haddock’s hand in place of the water glass, and now Captain Haddock was drinking the alcohol in one great gulp!

  “Snowy!” he said. “What have you done?”

  Captain Haddock’s eyes bulged, then closed, and he let out a huge and satisfied sigh. “Aahhhhhhhhh.”

  Tintin looked back to Lieutenant Delcourt and said, “I’d stand back if I were you.”

  Then Captain Haddock’s sigh turned into a low growl, slowly getting louder.

  Uh-oh, Tintin thought.

  “Out! Everybody out of the room!” he cried, jumping over the cot and scooping up Snowy on his way out the door after Lieutenant Delcourt and a group of curious soldiers who had gathered in the storeroom to peek in on the strangers. He slammed the door behind him, dropping Snowy, who sprawled on the storeroom floor. A moment later, a great battle cry sounded from inside the infirmary and Captain Haddock charged through the door, breaking it into a thousand splinters.

  “Show yourself, Red Rackham!” he roared, lunging as if he held a sword.

  “Who is Red Rackham?” Tintin shouted. He and Delcourt rushed to get between Captain Haddock and the rest of the soldiers, who were tumbling over themselves in an effort to stay out of his way. One of them didn’t move fast enough, and Captain Haddock swiftly disarmed him, jerking his sword away and shoving the soldier into his fellows. He was immersed once again in his historical vision.

  He waved the sword at Tintin and the lieutenant, then craned his neck to look past them at his equally imaginary adversary. “If it’s a fight you want, you’ve met your match!” he called out. He leaped up onto a table and assumed a fighting posture.

  Tintin backed away. “A fight with who?”

  “To the death, Red Rackham!” Haddock charged right off the table, and his collar caught on the wooden blade of a ceiling fan. His momentum spun the fan around before it broke. He tumbled to the floor, crashing into a barrel, and the fan landed on his head, knocking him senseless.

  Tintin sprang to his aid as Lieutenant Delcourt and the other soldiers crowded around them. “Captain?” Tintin said, kneeling next to Haddock, who was slowly sitting up. Tintin relieved him of the sword and passed it to Lieutenant Delcourt, who passed it back to the soldier it belonged to.

  Captain Haddock’s face was ashen. “The Unicorn was taken,” he said, quiet and sad. “Pirates were now the masters of the ship.”

  “The crew surrendered?” Tintin said, hoping to keep the story going.

  “Granddaddy said that Red Rackham called Sir Francis the king’s dog—a pirate hunter sent to reclaim their hard-won plunder.” A distant light shone in Captain Haddock’s eyes as he spoke, and Tintin again felt that he could almost see and hear the story that Captain Haddock told . . .

  Lashed to the Unicorn’s mast by Red Rackham’s men, Sir Francis glared at the masked pirate, who paraded across the deck in front of him, gloating over his triumph. His pirate crew was busy cutting loose the Unicorn’s tangled rigging and refitting it for their captain. Red Rackham’s ship had sunk, but he would have the Unicorn as his prize. Sir Francis’s blood boiled at the thought of his ship under the control of this villain.

  Red Rackham cut a mighty figure in his scarlet cape, boots, and tall red plume, which accented the black and red of his hat. He was the best-dressed pirate on the world’s oceans, and he knew it. He smirked at Sir Francis, thoughtfully stroking the points of his beard and mustache. “Now, Haddock,” he said.

  “Captain Sir Francis Haddock,” Haddock corrected him.

  “Oh, let us not insist on titles. You may call me simply Red Rackham, for that is my name,” Red Rackham said. “And I care not a farthing for the cargo listed on your manifest.” He held up the ship’s manifest, which listed everything the Unicorn had taken on in Barbados before sailing. Then he tore it up and let the pieces flutter away on the breeze over the railing.

  “Why would I waste my time on rum, molasses, and dates when you have a more valuable cargo on board?” He came close to Sir Francis and leaned in, face-to-face. “Where is it?”

  “You’ll have to kill me first,” Sir Francis retorted.

  An evil grin split Red Rackham’s angular face, and behind his mask an evil gleam was visible in his black eyes. “Not first, no,” he said. “I will start with your men . . .”

  “No,” Tintin said, back in the storeroom. “He didn’t!”

  Captain Haddock got up and walked around the room as if in a dream. “To save his men, Sir Francis would give up the secret cargo,” he said.

  “Where was it?” Tintin asked.

  Reaching a bookshelf, Captain Haddock slowly pulled out a book with two fingers, as if he were pulling a secret lever. “Four hundred weight of gold, jewels, and treasure,” he said. “Red Rackham got it all . . . and then he killed every man aboard the Unicorn. He made them walk the plank, one and all. The sharks had a feast that night.”

  Haddock backed away from the bookshelf, still seeing something no one else in the room could see. He bumped into a table and turned, fixing his attention on an inkwell. “Sir Francis knew he was doomed. He’d be hung from the highest yardarm at dawn, but they didn’t reckon on one thing.” Captain Haddock plucked a quill from the inkwell and pricked his finger with the point. “Sir Francis was a Haddock, and a Haddock always has a trick up his sleeve. The feather in Sir Francis’s hat wasn’t just a feather. It had a blade on the end, and he kept it always in case he would need to cut himself free from pirate ropes.”

  Suddenly, Haddock sprang away from the table as if he had just loosened the bonds holding his ancestor to the Unicorn’s mast. “He hurls himself forward!” he cried.

  With a lightning motion he swept the sword from another surprised soldier’s scabbard. “And seizes a cutlass!”

  Then, just as quickly, he stooped and caught Snowy up in one arm, upending him and shaking him. “He makes his way to the ship’s magazine, where they keep the gunpowder and the shot.” He mimicked shaking a trail of gunpowder all the way from the magazine back up the stairs to the deck, using Snowy as his imaginary barrel as he backed up the stairs from the storeroom into an office on the second floor.

  Tintin, Lieutenant Delcourt, and the soldiers followed, captivated by the story. Snowy looked to Tintin for help, but Tintin was too caught up to notice him.

  “On the deck, Red Rackham finds him. They fight!” Captain Haddock said. Tintin could almost see the events unfold himself . . .

  Swords clashed on the deck as Red Rackham and Sir Francis Haddock fought back and forth. Sir Francis defended the trail of gunpowder, Red Rackham tried to stamp it out . . . but how was Sir Francis to light it and still keep Red Rackham’s cutlass out of his chest?

  “Ha!” he cried, seeing a chance and taking it. Red Rackham was off balance for a moment and Sir Francis hit a lantern with the flat of his blade. The blow shattered it, and the burning oil fell onto the gunpowder trail. It sparked and hissed to life, adding its smoke to the confusion on the deck. They danced their way toward the stairs that led down to the gun deck, Red Rackham sweeping and stamping at the gunpowder as Sir Francis knocked down lantern after lantern, lighting the trail in a dozen different places.

  Red Rackham grew more and more desperate—and in his desperation he grew careless! Sir Francis saw an opportunity, feinting at Red Rackham’s face and then plunging his cutlass under the pirate’s guard to wound him in the side. “Aargh!” Red Rackham cried. He fell back against a mast for support.

  Sir Francis slashed at him again, nearly taking his head off, but at the last moment, Red Rackham dodged, and the blade slit the ribbon holding the pirate’s mask over his face.

  The mask fell away as the gunpowder trail burned down the stairs toward the magazine . . .

  Captain Haddock stopped. “What?” Tintin
said. “What happened next?”

  Around them, the soldiers leaned close, filling the office from wall to wall. Some of the soldiers had climbed onto Lieutenant Delcourt’s desk to get a better view. They had been stuck out at the Afghar Outpost for a long time, and any show was a good show. Also, this one had pirates, which made it better. Tintin knew that stories were always better if they included pirates.

  He also knew that Captain Haddock had been silently staring off into space for too long now for it to be just a dramatic pause. “Captain?” he said. The soldiers crowded closer, hanging on to Captain Haddock’s every word.

  “How could I be so blind?” Captain Haddock said.

  “What are you talking about?” Tintin asked.

  “This isn’t just about the scrolls or the treasure,” Captain Haddock said. “It’s me he’s after!”

  “Who?” Tintin asked. “Who’s after you?”

  But Captain Haddock wasn’t done with his story yet. The soldiers leaned in closer still; even Lieutenant Delcourt was captivated. His pipe had gone out. The last of its smoke hung over Captain Haddock, who looked as if he were back on the deck of the Unicorn himself, facing down his deadly enemy with fire and steel . . .

  “You’ll suffer a curse on you and your name, Haddock!” shrieked the unmasked Red Rackham. Fires from the broken lanterns illuminated his scarred face, with its heavy eyebrows and nose like the blade of a knife. He charged, and the two of them tumbled down to the gun deck, separating to resume their sword fight as the gunpowder burned closer and closer to the magazine.

  Sir Francis had a plan, and he executed it perfectly. Angling around between two of the Unicorn’s guns, he waited until the gunpowder trail had burned the length of the gun deck and disappeared into the short hall leading down to the magazine.

  “A curse on your name, Haddock!” Red Rackham screamed. His wound was weakening him, and Sir Francis tipped him a wink as he got closer to one of the gun portholes. “Come back and face me!”

  Smoke started to cloud the gun deck. Sir Francis knew he was out of time . . .

  “We’re out of time, Tintin!” Captain Haddock screamed. He rushed to Tintin, hoisting him up and carrying him at a run to the second-story window. They crashed through it in a shower of glass, Snowy barking after them. For a moment Tintin felt weightless. Captain Haddock was shouting something in his ear.

  They landed with a whump in a hay pile between the outbuilding and the nearby stable. Snowy scrambled up next to Tintin as he swiped hay out of his eyes and hair. For a moment Tintin thought Snowy would bite Captain Haddock, but the little dog sat at attention. His ears perked up as Captain Haddock mimed swimming, kicking up a great storm of hay. Tintin almost laughed. Snowy couldn’t wait to hear how the story came out, either . . .

  Sir Francis dove through the porthole and swam underwater as far as he could, coming up with a gasp and turning just at the moment when the Unicorn’s powder magazine exploded. The entire ship seemed to jump out of the water, then settle back in lower than before. Its stern was engulfed in flames, and it was sinking fast.

  My ship, thought Sir Francis sadly. He climbed onto a drifting mast as a single wave lifted him and let him down again. Sir Francis realized it was the giant ripple kicked up by the explosion that had sunk the Unicorn. Wreckage from the explosion was falling from the night sky into the water around him. He held up his hat to protect himself from the rain of debris. And as he floated there, one arm over the mast and the other sheltering his head, he started to hear clinking from the upturned hat.

  Sir Francis looked inside his hat when the debris had stopped falling. In the last light of the burning wreckage of the Unicorn, he saw the gleam of gold and the glint of gems . . .

  “It’s not over,” Captain Haddock said softly. “It was never over.” He cradled his hat in his hands. Tintin could almost imagine it as a great felt tricorne Sir Francis would have worn.

  “I don’t understand,” Tintin said. He picked more hay out of his hair and shook his shirt. “Who’s after your blood?”

  “Sakharine!” Captain Haddock said.

  “Sakharine!” Tintin repeated. He was shocked! But now Captain Haddock’s delirious description of Red Rackham’s face made sense. Nose like the blade of a knife, indeed. Angular face, yes.

  “He’s Red Rackham’s descendant,” Captain Haddock said. “He means to finish it.”

  “That’s why he did it,” Tintin said after a while. Lieutenant Delcourt and the soldiers came running around the side of the storeroom in a group; the soldiers began to disperse when they saw that the story was over. Delcourt waited politely for Tintin and Captain Haddock to finish their conversation.

  Haddock looked confused. Again. “Did what?”

  “Sank his own ship! Sir Francis sent that treasure to the bottom of the sea. He’d be damned before he let Red Rackham have it.”

  “And he was,” Captain Haddock said.

  “But he couldn’t let it lie,” Tintin went on.

  “No!”

  “He left a clue! Three clues wrapped in a riddle, concealing a secret. But only a true Haddock will be able to solve it. That’s why they need you.”

  Still confused, Captain Haddock said, “What secret?”

  “The location of one of the greatest sunken treasures in all of history,” Tintin said. Despite himself, he was getting more and more excited. What a story this would be! The secret of the Unicorn was proving to be an even better mystery than he could have imagined. Tintin thought this might turn out to be his best adventure yet . . . if they could manage to intercept Sakharine before he got the third model ship. They had to get to Bagghar as quickly as possible. It was even more urgent now.

  Finally Captain Haddock caught on to Tintin’s train of thought. “The wreck of the Unicorn,” he said. “He means to steal it. The third scroll. Billions of blue blistering barnacles, I swear as the last of the Haddocks that I’ll find that treasure before he does!”

  Together they leaped out of the hay pile, nearly stepping on Snowy, who barked in protest. “To Bagghar,” Tintin said.

  “To Bagghar!” Captain Haddock spat in his palm, and they shook hands.

  It was time to see if Lieutenant Delcourt could find them a couple of fast camels.

  THREE DAYS LATER, they crested a sand dune just past the fabled wells of Kefheir, where they had watered their camels—and themselves. Below them spread the ancient city of Bagghar. Its white towers and minarets gleamed in the sun. From their perspective, Tintin and Captain Haddock could see the port . . . and in the harbor, close to the piers, they could see the Karaboudjan docked.

  “He’s here,” Tintin said. “I knew it.” Snowy barked in agreement from his perch on Tintin’s camel.

  “But we’ve outsmarted you, bashi-bazouk,” Captain Haddock growled down at the ship. “You just wait.” Then he turned to Tintin. “So, what do we do?”

  The city of Bagghar was laid out between the harbor and the hills, crowded in the shadow of Sheik Omar Ben Salaad’s grand palace and the enormous dam above it. “The sheik cut off the water supply to the town when he built the dam,” Captain Haddock explained to Tintin. “Now he sells his people the water, but says he keeps taxes low.”

  “That sneak,” Tintin said. He studied the layout of Bagghar, seeing the single winding road that led from the palace down into what must have once been a riverbed. But since Ben Salaad had taken the river away, it was a dry canyon between the base of the dam and the inland edge of Bagghar proper. From there to the ocean, a canal ran away from the winding riverbed straight through the middle of town.

  The palace itself was an extraordinary piece of architecture. It was terraced right into the steep bluffs at the base of the dam and surrounded by lush gardens, in contrast to the parched redness of the hills around it. Its white stone walls gleamed fiercely in the Moroccan sun, and from the tops of its many towers flew Ben Salaad’s personal flag. A thousand people could have slept on its grounds, thought Tintin, and had room to s
tretch out and roll over. In contrast, the main part of Bagghar was a jumble and tangle of low buildings, jostling for space in the lowlands between the palace and the brilliant blue-green water of Bagghar’s excellent harbor.

  He couldn’t believe that Ben Salaad would steal water from his own people and sell it back to them. If there was any justice in the world, they would be able to do something about it—but that was another story, for another time. Tintin had to focus on the story at hand, and that was the secret of the Unicorn.

  “What’s the plan, Tintin?” Captain Haddock asked.

  Tintin shook his head. “We don’t have enough information to make a good plan yet,” he said. “We need to look around first.”

  “Then let’s get looking!”

  Tintin and Captain Haddock rode down into town quickly. They needed to get there before Sakharine could establish spies in the town to keep watch for them. As they rode through the outskirts of Bagghar, people called to them, thinking that because they had come through the desert they must be traders. Also, everyone seemed to be looking for water. Signs all over town proclaimed CONSERVE WATER in all the languages Tintin and Captain Haddock could read and in some they couldn’t. As they took in the parched surroundings, a sharp-looking man with a pointy mustache and a wad of bills in his hand stepped out from an enclosure full of camels. Over the fence was a sign printed in several languages: USED CAMELS CHEAP AND RELIABLE!

  “You sell your camel, effendi?” the camel dealer asked. He riffled the bills in his hand.

  “Make me an offer,” Captain Haddock replied. They quickly sold the tired camels in exchange for some cash.

  From there, walking through the streets, they cut toward the port looking for Sakharine or his men. Snowy sniffed for familiar scents, but everything was foreign to him. He sneezed at the dust. Many of the people in Bagghar wore scarves over their faces, which made them difficult to identify or recognize, but Tintin had lots of experience identifying people. He quickly suspected that he had seen some of the same people more than once.