Of Crab Tins and Diamonds

Chapter 10: Of Shadows and Cabin Boy

Chapter 10: Of Shadows and Cabin Boys

My Dearest-,

Tintin looked at the paper he had written on, then shook his head and crumpled it up, beginning again.

Dear Captain-,

"No, that won't do," he muttered as the second paper joined the first on the floor.

My-,

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Tintin cried, tossing his pencil and paper into the air, "This is getting me nowhere!"

Snowy glanced up from his spot on the floor before laying back down.

Tintin put his head in his hands, grunting in frustration. For the past three days, he had been trying to write a letter to Captain Haddock, but without much success. Every time he tried, he failed within the first sentence, the lad never deciding what to tell the Captain first.

"I'm a reporter, for crying out loud! Writing an introduction should be a walk in the park, right Snowy?"

There was silence.

"Snowy?"

Tintin turned to look at Snowy, relieved that his canine companion was still there, even if he was giving Tintin an odd stare.

Sometimes, I swear that dog can talk, Tintin thought as he gathered the abandoned papers off the floor. No doubt he calls me a fool at least seven times a day!

As Tintin sat back at the desk again, he heard a noise to his right. He quickly shifted his attention to a sailor rushing into the radio room.

"Do you have a message?" Tintin asked, looking the wheezing man up and down.

"Knives," the sailor responded, in a gasp of breath.

Tintin blinked. "Sorry?"

"Knives, you idiot! Where are the knives?"

"What knives?"

The sailor groaned, banging his fist against the wall. "Ernie! That cheat!"

"What's Ernie got to do with anything?" Tintin questioned, eyebrows furrowing, "If you don't have a message, then, please -."

"No! You don't understand. He told me he'd leave Ming's knives in here with you!"

"Well, he hasn't." Tintin paused, "And, I still don't know what you're talking about!"

"YOU!"

Tintin and the sailor jumped as a new but familiar voice joined the commotion. In a flash, Ming caught up to the sailor, grabbing hold of his arm.

"Where are my knives?" Ming demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously. "What have you done with them?!"

"What knives?" The sailor asked, feigning innocence.

"'What knives?'" Ming repeated. "'What knives?!' The knives you buffoons stole for target practice from my kitchen! Where are they?"

"Oh," the sailor said weakly, "Those knives."

Ming grabbed the sailor's ear. "Yes," he whispered. "Those knives."

"Gentlemen, please!" Tintin interrupted, finally able to break from his stupor and move from his chair, "There's no need to fight in the radio room! There's a lot of equipment in here."

Ming glared at him. "OH~! You're one to talk about messing up equipment. I seem to recall a certain incident in the kitchen with your dog! I'm still cleaning mashed potatoes off of the ceiling!"