The Adventures of Tintin
Contents
About the Book
Three brothers joined.
Three Unicorns in company,
sailing in the noonday sun will speak.
For ’tis from the light that light will dawn,
and then shine forth the Eagle’s Cross.
After buying a model of the
Unicorn
, young reporter Tintin discovers a secret message hidden inside the mast of the ship. But what does it mean? Who are the three brothers, and why does it mention three Unicorns when there was only one vessel with that name? The clues start to pile up as Tintin and his faithful dog, Snowy, find themselves sailing, flying and riding camels around the globe on an epic adventure!
Hot on the trail of the story, Tintin meets the hearty seadog Captain Haddock. The captain’s ancestor Sir Francis Haddock sailed the
Unicorn
and fought valiantly against the nasty pirate Red Peckham. Did Sir Francis leave behind these clues? Is the secret of the
Unicorn
the location of Haddock’s treasure?
Tintin, Snowy and Captain Haddock aren’t the only ones seeking the truth – there are enemies and great danger at every turn. Can the adventurers solve the mystery before the secret lands in the wrong hands?
A novel by
ALEX IRVINE
Based on the screenplay by
STEVEN MOFFAT AND
EDGAR WRIGHT & JOE CORNISH
Based on The Adventures of Tintin series by
HERGÉ
TINTIN WAS GETTING
his picture painted in the Old Street Market with his dog, Snowy, lying at his feet. Around them swirled the typical activity of the market on a bright sunny day. People sold everything from fruit to art to T-shirts for tourists. The cobblestones of the town square were bustling with families out enjoying the pleasant weather—unusual for Europe at this time of year.
Members of a brass band wearing red jackets were playing some kind of oompah number on a gazebo bandstand near a small Ferris wheel full of giggling children. Tintin bobbed his head to the rhythm of the music and then stopped when he remembered that he was posing for a picture.
“Very nearly there,” the artist said. “I have to say, your face is familiar. Have I drawn you before?”
“Occasionally,” Tintin said. His boyish face had a smattering of freckles, and his reddish-blond hair flipped up at the front in an irrepressible quiff.
“Of course, I’ve seen you in the newspapers. You’re a reporter?”
Snowy whined at Tintin’s feet. The wire fox terrier’s stub of a tail twitched, and he sat up to scratch behind one of his ears. Snowy’s name came from his white wiry coat. He was very smart. Sometimes Tintin thought Snowy was as smart as most people he knew. Snowy was still a terrier, though: curious, headstrong, and easily bored. It was hard to keep him sitting down long enough for Tintin to do something like get a picture painted.
“I’m a journalist,” Tintin corrected him. Reporters ran around yelling for quotes. Journalists hunted down stories and unraveled clues to uncover the truth. Tintin thought this was an important distinction. “Be patient, Snowy. Not much longer.”
Snowy looked up at Tintin, wanting to see the part of the market where the food vendors gathered. There were always fine snacks to be had there. He looked around at the people, seeing mostly feet and legs and swinging bags full of market goods. Then he saw something interesting: A man was moving smoothly through the crowd, picking the pockets of the market patrons as he went.
A crime!
Snowy thought. He trotted after the pickpocket, watching as the man relieved another distracted pedestrian of his wallet.
Tintin did not notice that Snowy had left. He was concentrating too hard on sitting still, posing for his picture.
“There,” the artist said at last. “I believe I’ve captured something of your likeness.”
He showed Tintin the picture, and Tintin admired it. The artist had done a good job, he thought. Tintin looked at himself on the paper and saw his hair with the flip at the front that no amount of combing or wetting could flatten. He was wearing his tan spring overcoat over a blue sweater and a white shirt. In the picture he was looking off to the side as if he had just seen something very interesting. He looked like he was about to go off in search of mystery and adventure.
He liked it. “Not bad,” he said. “Snowy, what do you think?”
Tintin looked down. Snowy was nowhere to be seen.
“Snowy . . .?” He looked around, wondering where his adventurous little dog had run off to. The artist cleared his throat, and Tintin handed him money for the portrait. Then he strolled through the market, keeping an eye out for Snowy, the portrait rolled up and stuck in his pocket.
He did not see that others were keeping an eye on him from a bench not far from the bandstand. Through two newspapers, each with two holes cut out of the page, two pairs of eyes tracked Tintin’s progress.
Tintin heard Snowy bark from somewhere in the crowd. He stopped and called out, “Snowy!”
A stall full of mirrors for sale reflected his image in a most confusing way. He saw himself from a dozen different angles, with a dozen different backgrounds. For a moment he looked around, puzzling over which reflection to look at. Then he got his bearings. “Snowy!” he called again, turning away from the mirrors and passing a stall where an array of antiques were on display.
The salesman was one of the market’s fixtures, a pipe-smoking older gentleman by the name of Crabtree. Most of what he had spread out in the stall was cheap junk, labeled as
antiques
to fool tourists. But placed in the center of the display, as if Crabtree had known it was better than the rest of his wares, was a magnificent model of a sailing ship. Snowy appeared from the crowd as Tintin bent down to get a better look at the model.
“Snowy,” he said, “look at this!”
Snowy plopped down next to Tintin and tilted his head to consider the ship.
“Triple-masted, double decks, fifty guns,” Tintin said. “Isn’t she a beauty?”
Snowy thumped his stubby tail on the ground.
“That’s a very unique specimen, that is,” Crabtree said. “From an old sea captain’s estate.”
Tintin read the tiny lettering on its stern. “The
Unicorn
. . .”
“Yes, the
Unicorn
,” Crabtree said. “Man-of-war sailing ship. It’s very old, that is. Sixteenth century!”
Tintin could tell at a glance that the
Unicorn
was not that old. The lines were all wrong, not to mention the guns. “Seventeenth, I should think,” he argued.
“Reign of Charles the First!” proclaimed Crabtree, whose descriptions of his wares were rarely based on facts.
Again, Tintin felt it necessary to correct him. “Charles the Second,” he said. Charles the First had been gone long before ships of this type were built.
“That’s what I said. Charles the Second,” the vendor went on smoothly. Tintin had to admire his persistence. “As fine a ship as ever sailed the seven seas. You won’t find another one of these, mate.”
Mate?
Tintin thought. Crabtree was turning into an old sea captain himself.
“And it’s only two quid,” Crabtree said.
Ah
, Tintin thought.
Now we get to the point
. He looked down at Snowy, whose tail had stopped wagging. “I’ll give you a pound,” he said.
“Done!” Crabtree looked satisfied. Tintin wondered if he would have taken even less.
Ah, well, too late
.
Tintin gave him the pound note and took the wonderful model as Crabtree lifted it out of its display case and handed it over. “Easy does it,” Crabtree said, being careful of the tiny rigging and masts.
“Excuse me!” a voice called out from the crowd. An American, Tintin guessed by the sound of him. As Tintin glanced over in the direction of the voice, the
Unicorn
slipped a bit in his grasp.
“Here you go, careful!” Crabtree cautioned, putting a hand out to steady it.
The source of the loud American voice proved to indeed be a loud American with a black mustache, wearing a blue suit and a fedora. He shoved his way through the crowd and arrived with one hand already reaching for his pocket. “Hey, bud,” he said to Crabtree, nodding at the
Unicorn
. “How much for the boat?”
“I’m sorry,” Crabtree said, “but I’ve just sold it to this young gent.”
“Oh, yeah?” the American asked. He spun and leaned in toward Tintin, crowding him aggressively. “Tell me what you paid and I’ll give you double.”
“Double?” Crabtree echoed, shocked. Tintin thought the vendor was pretending to be shocked at the American’s poor manners, but he was actually shocked that he had missed out on a chance to make more money.
