Of Crab Tins and Diamonds

Chapter 12: Of Mischief and Misunderstandings

Tintin was up before they had even reached the port.

He could see it from where he sat in his office. A sliver of land peering over the horizon with the morning sun casting it's first rays of morning light across the Karaboudjan and the sprawling city of Bagghar.

Every time another sailor would emerge from his bunk, the young man would act as busy as he could, scribbling bit of illegible nonsense into a spare piece of paper as they momentarily looked in and moved on. In all reality, however, Tintin was too eager to fully work and only did as far as he was told by the occasional sailor who actually stopped to talk or bark a command. But every spare second, he would take his time to stare, mesmerized by the welcome sight of solid ground.

He had been feigning work for the better part of an hour when he heard the gruff voice of his captain at the doorway.

"Morning, Radio Boy."

Tintin looked up from fiddling with the radio knobs and slipped off his headgear. "Good morning, Captain Allan, sir."

"Any messages?" The sea dog questioned, digging out his cigarette case from his pocket.

Tintin shook his head. "Far and few between, sir. We do, however, have permission from the docking station to port, sir."

Allan grunted, placing an unlit cigarette between his teeth. "Good. I'll need you to check us in at the dock then come back to my office immediately."

Tintin leaned back in his seat, heart sinking. "But, what about the radio? The port?"

"Don't mind the radio. There will be more messages for you to send later, after we've left Bagghar." He paused, taking a moment to light his cig, "And don't you worry about land. There'll be other chances for you to go."

"How long will we be staying?" Tintin asked, fiddling with a rather large screw resting on the table.

Allan stared at him, amber eyes narrowed. "Long enough to get a few necessary supplies and refuel. Overnight, perhaps. Then we'll be off again."

"Oh..." The screw rolled out of reach and out of sight, landing with a soft tink behind the desk. He didn't bother to fetch it. "What sort of supplies?"

"Small odds and ends. Mostly things for Ming's pantry."

"Do you need any extra men to go ashore?" Tintin asked, hope rising in his chest. "Maybe I can help since, well, since I'm not needed at the radio for a while. A-After I check us in, of course!"

Allan hesitated, continuing to stare at the boy. "Tom's got it taken care of, I'm sure." At the mention of Tom, Tintin thought he saw the Captain grimace, but the expression was gone as fast as it had come. "I think... what's his name? Ernest? No, Ernie! He's supposed to join him."

Now it was Tintin's turn to make a face, frowning at the sound of his crewmate's name. Allan took note of this and chewed lightly on his cigarette.

"What? Why the face? You got somethin' wrong with Ernie?"

Tintin looked back at the silent radio. "No. I just-."

"Don't lie to me."

At the growl, Tintin met the captain's stern gaze, offputting as it was sudden. Muttering under his breath, Allan shook his head.

"Look. I know we don't all get along. This is a tight ship, a cargo freighter with walls and spaces we all share, whether we like it or not." He rubbed his temple, "God. I'm talkin' down to you like I'm your dad or somethin'... The point is, it's none of my business what happened between you two and really, I don't care. I do, however, care about keeping this crew as together as much as I can."