AT:M 100

“I guess we’ll write it together,” Tentin said, “And figure out what’s going on underneath.”

The abandoned, damaged city blocks were eerily quiet, until somewhere unseen, a wall tumbled down in a clatter of bricks. A puff of red dust billowed into the air a few streets away.

“Well, there’s much still to do on that,” she said. “The ‘dead guy’ is Maritharp’s Treasurer, and I’ve got nurses to infiltrate.”

Tentin nodded. “So I’m going to a funeral?”

“It’s in a few days, we both will – but you won’t be a reporter,” Sirra answered, and looked for her pen, only to find it in Tentin’s fingers, unused and possibly unnoticed.

“Just as well,” said Tentin. “And must I continue to use a hotel?”

“Absolutely. Now give me my pen.”