"Now that's more like it; a cool breeze at last."

Tintin smiled; they had only stepped off the plan an hour ago but the Captain was already in considerably lighter spirits. It was the impeccably-kept grounds Marlinspike Hall that stretched before them, the boy-reporter decided. The primly trimmed grass that adorned the exquisite old manor could not be more contrasting with their bustling, energetic village in the Orient.

"It certainly was nice to see Chang again, wasn't it Captain?"

"Lovely," Captain Haddock grumbled. "But next time, let's just make it a day-trip; I'm flustered at the thought of having to spend another month in that wretched village. Personally, I can't wait to have my feet up with a nice, cool glass of whiskey." He seemed to increase pace on that note, briskly making his way down the long path to the mansion's front door, no doubt eager to unload his heavy suitcase upon Nester, the housekeeper, as soon as possible.

There was indeed a relief to be home though, Tintin thought, as his made to follow his companion. Their holiday to China had too-soon become a month-long adventure, full of the unexpected dangers and hijinx he had come to expect from his trips abroad. But now, with another ancient treasure found, another fortune returned to its owner, and another unscrupulous Turkish businessman duly thwarted, there would be considerable pleasure in joining the Captain in becoming reacquainted with the simple delights of home—though perhaps with a glass of water, only.

"Are you coming, Snowy?"

The Scottish-terrier reluctantly conceded his duel with a small mouse he had discovered amongst the shrubbery, and merrily trotted aside him.

"Master Haddock!" The housekeeper threw his arms around the Captain the second the door opened. "Thank goodness you're safe!"

"Calm down, Nester," Haddock tried awkwardly to free himself from the affectionate vice. "I'm happy to be home, but for goodness' sake, you're not my wife."

Nester quickly restrained himself and returned to his usual dignified demeanour. "Forgive me, sir." He offered, reliving the pair of their luggage. "It's just very pleasing to see you alive and well."

Haddock acknowledged the greeting with a lofty wave of his hand and headed in the general direction of the liquor cabinet, but the comment struck a chord with Tintin.

"Nester, what did you mean, 'alive and well'?"

"Please forgive the dramatics, Mr Tintin, but with everything that's been happening overseas, it wasn't unforeseeable that something—" He shuddered. "—Undesirable could happen to you."

"Recently we've been a little bit... out of the loop." The reporter admitted with a trace of shame.

Nester gasped. "You mean you haven't been following the crisis in Syldavia?" He swiped a copy of the morning's newspaper from the table and thrust it upon the boy. Tintin could hardly believe his eyes; WAR OVER KRAPOVECH IMMINENT; BORDURIA BRACES FOR ATTACK AS SYLDAVIAN DISARMENT TALKS FAIL.

"It's dreadful, just dreadful." Nester bemoaned as he continued to read. "I know, of course, Borduria has always been the traditional enemy, but with the unexpected death—I know, of course, he must have been very old, I suppose we all just thought he would live forever—but with the death of Kurvi-Tasch, they're saying Borduria is going to be destroyed by this... Slobodan Dokovic character. Just dreadful."

A gruff voice came from the smoking room, "Nester! Have you seen the key to the—"

"Captain, I think you should come in here." He tried to keep his tone calm, having been shaken to the very core by another headline nearer the bottom of the page; COLONEL SPONSZ OF SECRET POLICE DEEMED LIKELY SUCESSOR TO BORDURIAN DICTATORSHIP.

Sure enough, the perpetually unhappy face of his nemesis stared back at him from the grainy, black-and-white accompanying picture. The simple delights of home would have to wait.