You don’t have to read the Hiccup books in order.

But if you want to, this is the right order:

ABOUT HICCUP

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third was

an awesome swordfighter, a dragon-whisperer,

and the greatest Viking Hero that ever lived.

But Hiccup’s memoirs look back to when

he was a very ordinary boy, and finding

it hard to be a Hero.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,

locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Text and illustrations copyright © 2008 by Cressida Cowell

Cover design by Kristina Iulo

Cover © 2010 Hachette Book Group, Inc.

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning,

uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the

publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would

like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written

permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com.

Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

Little, Brown and Company

Hachette Book Group

237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

lb-kids.com

Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by

the publisher.

First ebook edition: August 2014

ISBN 978-0-316-37746-1

E3

~ CONTENTS ~

1. A Proper Viking Swimming Race...................... 17

2. May The Fattest (and Least Stupid) Man

(or Woman) Win................................................. 29

3. Isn’t That Snotlout a Lovely Guy?...................... 50

4. A Really, Really Bad Situation.......................... 60

5. An Unpleasant Old Acquaintance...................... 74

6. The Axe of Doom Decides.................................. 86

7. The Quest to Discover America......................... 94

8. The Slavemark................................................... 107

9. The Land of the Polar-Serpents......................... 121

10. Toothless’s Adventure in the Cooking Tent.... 131

11. The Escape from the American Dream 2....... 136

12. R-R-R-RUUUUNNNNNN!!!!!!.............................. 142

13. They were in Its Territory Now…..................... 159

14. What Happened Back in the Murderous

Mountains........................................................ 168

15. It’s a Long Way to America............................ 177

16. Land Ahoy!!!!!!.................................................... 183

17. The Leviathorgan Strikes................................ 193

18. Up the Mast of the American Dream 2........... 206

19. Keep Kicking, It’s a Long Swim Home............ 223

20. The Ticking-Thing Starts to Tick Louder......... 236

21. The End of the Swimming Race...................... 241

THE CURSE OF BEARCUB’S

GRANDMOTHER

A long time ago, a small boy was dreaming.

He was dreaming of running through the

beautiful white wilderness that was his childhood

home, running and running through snow so perfect

you could hardly bear to touch it. But suddenly his legs

grew tired and so heavy he could hardly move them…

something was pulling him back… what was it?

And then he awoke and opened his eyes, and

he was about as far from home as he could possibly

be, lying in the darkness below the decks of a

great ship.

The boy was called Bearcub. He

belonged to a people called the Northern

Wanderers, and he had not always been a slave.

Only two weeks before, he had had miles and miles of

glorious icy desert to play in, as free as the polar bears

and seals that his people harpooned to eat and keep

them warm.

But then the Vikings came.

They had surprised the Wanderers by attacking

while they were asleep, dragging them aboard

their Viking ships and taking them away from their

13

homeland. Since that time, Bearcub had not had a

proper meal, and worse still for a boy full of fidgets and

used to running, he hadn’t taken more than a couple of

steps.

Bearcub’s father had been out on a hunting party

when the Vikings struck so he had not been captured.

‘Please father,’ Bearcub whispered into the

blackness. ‘Save me, father…’

‘HA!’ rasped the doom-filled furious voice of

Bearcub’s scary Grandmother, who was lying chained

beside him. ‘Your father cannot rescue you, for he

does not know where you are. And the gods must have

forgotten us, to let this happen. Vikings are vermin,

every single one of them,’ she spat into the darkness.

‘I never met a good one. Murderous, wicked, evil

people… oh, if I had one here I would do such things.

I could eat their livers I really could. I am Cursing this

voyage and everyone aboard this ship…’

‘WE are aboard this ship,’ Bearcub pointed out.

‘Do not Curse this voyage or you may be Dooming

us, too.’

‘YOU do not contradict your elders and betters,’

cried his Grandmother sternly (it is not pleasant to

be chained to a cursing Grandmother). ‘We are

DOOMED already… No, the only thing left for us

14

now is to Hate, and to Curse…’

And so Bearcub’s Grandmother had ALL of the

Wanderers Hating, and Cursing, and wanting to eat

people’s livers, baying out their fury in the rocking

darkness below the decks of the ship.

‘YOU BETTER WATCH YOUR STEP UP THERE!’

screamed Bearcub’s Grandmother, howling up at the

ceiling like a wolf. ‘IF ONE OF YOU MISSES YOUR

FOOTING AND FALLS DOWN THAT HATCH, I’M

TELLING YOU, WE’LL TEAR YOU APART!’

Only Bearcub was quiet, and in the blackness no

one could see the tears slowly rolling down his cheeks,

which was lucky, because Wanderers have the hearts

of polar bears and they do not cry.

And inside his head he repeated over and over

again, ‘Please, father,

please, help me… please,

gods, please, please, help

me… please… anybody…

if you’re listening…

help me… help me…

help me…’

1. A PROPER VIKING

SWIMMING RACE

One chilly spring day in the Barbaric Archipelago,

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, the Hope and

Heir to the Tribe of the Hairy Hooligans, was standing

miserably on the West Beach of the Murderous

Mountains with absolutely nothing on but his helmet,

his sword, his waistcoat, and a teeny weeny pair of

hairy swimming trunks.

The Murderous Mountains were not the kind

of place you wanted to visit at the best of times. They

gave Hiccup the shivers. Tall, cruel-looking, dizzyingly

high peaks that were home to some unspeakably

dangerous dragons and mutant wolves, not to mention

the Murderous Tribe, the fiercest and most ruthless

Vikings in the uncivilised world.

The Murderous Tribe did not often receive

visitors. Perhaps it was their uncomfortable habit of

sacrificing unwelcome intruders to the Sky Dragons at

the point of Mount Murderous that kept people at bay.

But on this occasion, Madguts the Murderous

had taken it into his head to be hospitable, and to

invite two of the other Tribes, the Hooligans and the

Bog-Burglars, over to his island for a jolly little

17

Inter-Tribal Friendly Swimming Race.

It was a traditional Viking Swimming Race,

and the Vikings were a little bit crazy, so they were

going swimming with their weapons on: swords, axes,

daggers, that sort of thing.

It did not seem to have occurred to them that

this would make them less floaty.

So there they were, the entire Warrior

populations of the Murderous, Hooligan and

Bog-Burglar Tribes, hopping up and down on the

uncomfortable shingle beach, trying to pretend they

weren’t freezing their horns off, with the mutant

wolves howling cheeringly up in the mountains above.

There was a strong easterly wind that brought

goose-bumps to Hiccup’s skinny, freckled arms, and

whisked off helmets, cloaks and swords, and sent

them bowling briskly down the beach. Hiccup’s tiny

hunting-dragon, Toothless, was having difficulty

flying without being blown away.

Toothless

was a particularly

small Common-

or-Garden dragon

with large,

innocent greengage eyes.

‘Toothless w-w-wouldn’t go swimming today if

Toothless was you,’ he advised Hiccup. ‘Is very ch-ch-

chilly in there, Toothless has been in already and it

nearly froze Toothless’s wings off.’

‘Yes, thank you, Toothless,’ said Hiccup. (Hiccup

was one of the very few Vikings, before or since, who

could speak Dragonese, the language in which the

dragons speak to each other.) ‘Very helpful, I’ll bear

that in mind.’

Gobber the Belch, the teacher in charge of the

Pirate Training Programme on Berk, had stripped

down to his smalls, and was breathing in

the gale as if it were the loveliest

of summer breezes. ‘Lovely

swimming weather!’ he roared

delightedly, beating his chest

with his fist like a great

red-headed gorilla. ‘Gather

round and stand to attention, boys,

and I’ll explain the Rules of the

Race…’

The twelve boys stood

before their teacher in a

shivering line.

‘Now boys!’ boomed

Gobber. ‘A Proper Viking Swimming

Race is not like those pathetic little competitions

they carry out on the mainland. It is a test of your

ENDURANCE, your STRENGTH and your

SUICIDAL BRAVERY…’

‘Oh brother,’ moaned Hiccup’s best friend

Fishlegs, who was the only boy on the Programme who

was even worse than Hiccup at all the Viking activities.

He had legs as limp as two strings of spaghetti, and he

couldn’t swim. ‘I don’t like the sound of this…’

‘In a proper Viking Swimming Race,’ continued

Gobber, ‘the winner is the person who is LAST.’

There were gasps of surprise, and ‘oh sir, please

sir, that can’t be right, sir,’ from the line of boys.

‘In which case,’ sneered Snotface Snotlout,

a great bullying brute of a boy whose muscly arms

were covered entirely in skeleton tattoos, ‘Hiccup the

Useless will win, no problem. He’s always the last

at everything…’

21

Hiccup stood on one leg, tried to smile, and fell

over in the sand.

‘Aha,’ grinned Gobber, his beard bristling with

keenness. He laid one finger to his nose. ‘But think

carefully about this, boys… we all set out from the

beach and start swimming, and from then on it’s a

game of Chicken. Who can swim out the furthest,

the longest, into the deepest ocean, and still return?

Many are the Warriors over the centuries who in their

pride have misjudged the swim BACK, and who have

drowned as a consequence…’

‘Oh yippee…’ moaned Fishlegs.

‘But on the plus side, anyone who drowns in

the course of a Swimming Race will automatically go

straight to Valhalla,’ smiled Gobber, in the manner

of someone giving everybody a great big

birthday present.

‘Ooooooooooooh,’

exclaimed the boys in a

pleased way.

‘MAD,’ groaned Fishlegs,

swaying in the wind like a

small skinny tree about to

snap. ‘We are the only

sane people in a Tribe

of total LOONIES.’

‘Any questions?’ roared Gobber.

Hiccup put up his hand. ‘A small point, sir.

Won’t we freeze to death in about five minutes?’

‘Don’t be a softy!’ roared Gobber. ‘The

Blubberwing fat you have rubbed all over you

SHOULD keep you warm enough to prevent actual

DEATH… but it’s all part of the game, of course.

Can you use your skill and judgement to stay out long

enough to win the Race… but not SO LONG that you

freeze to death?’

Gobber walked up and down the line of boys

inspecting them before they went out to join the

competition. ‘Very smart, Snotlout… Chin up, Tufnutt

Junior… Haven’t you forgotten something, Clueless?’

‘I’ve got my sword, sir,’ said Clueless.

‘You do have your sword,’ admitted Gobber, ‘but

you DO NOT have your swimming costume. Put it on

quick, boy… I don’t think that Thor will be welcoming

you into Valhalla in the altogether. It really doesn’t

bear thinking about…’

He moved along the line until he stopped dead

in front of Fishlegs. ‘WHAT,’ roared Gobber in an

awful voice, ‘WHAT in Thor’s name are THESE?’

‘Armbands, sir,’ replied Fishlegs, looking

straight ahead.

24

‘Fishlegs can’t swim, sir,’ offered Hiccup in

defence of his best friend. ‘So we made him these out

of a couple of pig bladders. Otherwise he sinks like

a stone.’

‘Like a stone,’ repeated Fishlegs helpfully.

‘Oh for Woden’s sake,’ blustered Gobber, ‘what

are the Murderous Tribe going to think if they catch

sight of THOSE? I’ll lend you my cloak, Fishlegs, and

you can drape it over them, and let’s just hope nobody

notices. Thor give me strength…

‘Now, has everybody got their hunting-dragon?’

bellowed Gobber.

The boys had brought their hunting-dragons.

They were huddled on the beach, their wings over

their heads, shielding themselves from the rain.

‘Your hunting-dragon can fly over your head as

you swim. It makes you easier to spot from the beach,

and they can maybe fight off any predators… sharks,

Darkbreathers, that sort of thing… OK, you can fall

out now and get ready, and I’ll see you at the start line

in about five minutes.’

The boys began their last-minute preparations,

chattering excitedly.

‘Hi there, LOSERS,’ sneered Snotlout, a tall,

mean boy with nostrils so large you could stick a

cucumber up them (Toothless had actually DONE this

once) and the repellent beginnings of a moustache

sprouting on his upper lip like a little hairy caterpillar.

‘I hope ickle baby Hiccup has been practising his

doggy-paddle then…’

He gave Hiccup a big shove that sent him

sprawling in the sand.

‘Her her her…’ snorted Dogsbreath the

Duhbrain, Snotlout’s equally unpleasant sidekick.

Dogsbreath looked rather like a gorilla in goggles who

26

had been over-doing it with the doughnuts.

‘Very funny, Snotlout,’ replied Hiccup, spitting

sand out of his mouth.

‘You guys are normally so good at coming in

last…’ sneered Snotlout. ‘In fact this may be your only

opportunity ever to come in FIRST, for once… Just

try and at least go out of your depth, won’t you, before

you crawl back to the beach like the pathetic cowardly

little plankton you are? You don’t want to embarrass us

PROPER Hooligans more than you actually have to…

Nice armbands, Fishlegs, by the way…’

And Dogsbreath took the pot of slimy green

Blubberwing goo Fishlegs was holding in his hands and

poured it over Fishlegs’s head, before strolling off with

Snotlout, who had a rather basic sense of humour,

and was laughing so hard he could barely walk.

‘I hope a

Darkbreather gets him,’

said Fishlegs gloomily,

taking off

his glasses

and trying

to rub

off the

Blubberwing fat

with the edge of his swimmers, but only succeeding

in smearing it all over the glass so that they were

impossible to see through.

‘It would just spit him out again,’ replied Hiccup

even more gloomily, trying to rub the sand off himself,

but completely failing because the Blubberwing fat was

so sticky. ‘I bet he tastes horrible.’

PAAAAA-AARAAAP!

A musician from the Murderous Tribe sounded

the horn to summon the competitors to gather for the

beginning of the Swimming Race…

2. MAY THE FATTEST

(AND LEAST STUPID) MAN

(OR WOMAN) WIN

Hiccup’s father and grandfather came over to the boys

to wish them luck.

Hiccup’s father, Stoick the Vast, O Hear His

Name and Tremble, Ugh, Ugh, was the Chief of the

Hairy Hooligan Tribe. He was built in the traditional

Viking mould, six-and-a-half-feet high, belly like a

battleship, eyebrows blowing in the breeze like a

couple of large hamsters doing cartwheels. He was

horribly hearty, and full of the joys of spring.

‘Fabulous day for a Swimming Race!’ he roared

happily.

‘I’m not sure I agree with you,’ wheezed Old

Wrinkly, Hiccup’s grandfather, who was one of the

Judges in the competition. He was a wrinkled old

oyster of a man, whose ancient back had been blown

into a hoop by ninety years of Archipelago gales. His

long tangly white beard trailed behind him, picking up

shells and seaweed as it dragged in the sand.

Old Wrinkly had been trying to persuade Stoick

not to take part in the Race.

29

‘I have been looking into the Future and the

Omens are not good,’ whispered the old man.

‘NONSENSE!’ pooh-poohed Stoick the Vast.

‘Everyone knows you’re hopeless at looking into the

Future, Old Wrinkly. Now, I’m obviously going to win

this Race,’ said Stoick, who didn’t do modesty, ‘but,

Hiccup, I would like YOU to beat Snotface Snotlout

and that sort of thing…’

Snotface Snotlout was Hiccup’s cousin. He was

a good foot-and-a-half taller than Hiccup, incredibly

muscly and tough, and better at Hiccup at practically

everything. Hiccup had no chance of beating him in a

Swimming Race.

But Stoick often didn’t notice things like that.

Stoick gave Hiccup a kindly biff on the shoulder.

‘I KNOW you can do it, son!’ he said enthusiastically.

‘You may be small, but you’re wiry! And your legs

might be just a trifle on the skinny side, but you’ve got

the old Horrendous Haddock fight in those knobbly

knees! All you have to remember, lad,’ said Stoick,

taking Hiccup by the shoulders and looking into his

eyes, ‘is one thing. Repeat after me: KEEP KICKING!’

‘Keep kicking,’ said Hiccup slowly.

‘LOUDER!’ bellowed Stoick, punching the air.

‘KEEP KICKING!’ shouted Hiccup, punching

the air too.

30

‘That’s the spirit!’ beamed Stoick. ‘I know you’ll

make me proud, so don’t let me down, now!’ And he

marched off, beaming happily.

Both Old Wrinkly and Hiccup sighed as they

watched Stoick bustling off.

‘He’s a good lad Stoick, really,’ wheezed Old

Wrinkly, ‘but he never EVER listens.’

‘No,’ agreed Hiccup sadly, ‘he doesn’t. I haven’t

got a HOPE of beating Snotlout.’

Old Wrinkly turned his bright, razor-shell-sharp

eyes on his grandson. ‘We’ll see,’ said Old Wrinkly.

‘Now, this is very important, Hiccup. Have you got your

ticking-thing?’

‘Yes,’ answered Hiccup, surprised.

The ticking-thing was a strange round object,

with a front that was hard and transparent, like

ice. Behind it were all these rune numbers set

in different circles, and at least seven arrows, all

different colours.

Hiccup had discovered many uses for the

ticking-thing. One arrow seemed to tell the

time. Another always pointed north, which was

extremely useful if you were lost. And since it

was quite a changeable day, with the prospect

of this strong easterly wind blowing you off

course, Hiccup thought it might be handy on this

occasion. The ticking-thing was waterproof, too.

Hiccup’s only worry was that he was going to

LOSE it, so he had attached it to his wrist with a

long piece of rope, and then tucked it into his

waistcoat pocket.

‘Excellent!’ said Old Wrinkly. ‘Hand it to

me, for a moment…’

Hiccup took the ticking-thing out from his

pocket. Old Wrinkly opened the back of it and

began to fiddle with some of the little buttons

inside.

‘Now, Hiccup,’ said Old Wrinkly, ‘I haven’t

got time to explain, but you have to return to this

beach within THREE MONTHS, FIVE DAYS

AND SIX HOURS, do you understand me?’

‘THREE MONTHS, FIVE DAYS, AND

SIX HOURS?’ gasped Hiccup. ‘What ARE you

talking about? I’m not going to last more than

fifteen minutes out there!’

‘I’ve set the alarm for you,’ said Old

Wrinkly, putting the ticking-thing back into Hiccup’s

waistcoat pocket. ‘When you have less than six hours

left, it will start to tick louder. And if the alarm goes

off, well, then you will know you are too late… DON’T

BE LATE now, Hiccup, will you? I’m counting on you,

boy…’

And Old Wrinkly hurried off to the Judges’

Table, with Hiccup staring after him with his mouth

open. ‘Mad as a banana,’ said Hiccup.

All the competitors were crowded at the

start line drawn in the sand twenty metres

from the sea, chatting with each other.

Big-Boobied Bertha, the Chief of

the Bog-Burglar Tribe, was slapping

Blubberwing fat on to her arms, her gigantic

boobies flapping so buoyantly and joyously

in the wind that it looked as if any second they

might carry her up into the sky like a couple of hot air

balloons.

Bertha had a foghorn voice with the kind of

carrying quality that could be heard several islands

away. She was telling everyone within a two-mile radius

that SHE was Bertha the Unsinkable, the Archipelago

Swimming Champion, and that everybody else might as

well go home right now.

34

The Murderous Tribe were passing their swords

and axes and spears and hammers from hand to

hand in a thoughtful fashion. They reminded Hiccup

uncomfortably of a load of hairy cannibals waiting for

their dinner.

Madguts the Murderous, the head of the

Murderous Tribe, stood with his arm muscles rippling

menacingly. Even with a brisk wind blowing, he was

reeking like a three-week-old seal corpse. He was a

stinking seven-foot giant with unattractive blue-black

skull tattoos covering his cheek-bones.

One of the most terrifying things about Madguts

was that he never spoke. Nobody quite knew why.

Some say he lost his tongue wrestling a Stormdragon

with his bare hands. Others said that it was merely a

nasty cold caught when a small baby. Who knew the

reason, but he had never been known to do more than

grunt. His repulsive assistant Gumboil, an unpleasant

little pimple of a man, did all the speaking for him.

There were three Judges, one of whom was

Hiccup’s grandfather, Old Wrinkly, whose job was to

mark the timing of the race.

The Chief Judge, a sad, unbelievably wrinkly

little Bashem-Oik, cleared his throat and announced in

a high quivery voice:

36

‘O Hear Ye, Vikings of the Tribes of the Archipelago!

He who is the last to return back to this beach from

the moment I blow this trumpet shall be declared the

Last Man Back. He must be able to Swear, according

to ancient tradition, that he “did not seek aid by Float

or Boat”. And as a prize for this contest he may make

a single demand of the other two Chieftains. Do you

Chieftains swear that you will agree to this demand?’

37

‘We swear,’ swore Bertha, Stoick and Madguts

the Murderous.

Camicazi, Big-Boobied Bertha’s tiny tangle-

haired daughter, trotted over to wish Hiccup luck.

One of the best Burglars in the Archipelago, Camicazi

wasn’t afraid of anything or anybody.

‘Lovely day for a swim, isn’t it?’ she said cheerily.

‘I can’t wait to get in the water.’

Around Camicazi’s legs curled a beautiful

Mood-dragon called the Stormfly. A Mood-

dragon, as its name suggests, is a chameleon

that changes colour according to its

mood, and this particular Mood-

dragon was unusual

because it not only

spoke Dragonese, but

also NORSE, the

language of the

humans.

‘Hello, Toothless,’ drawled

the Stormfly, batting her beautiful

long eyelashes at him.

Toothless turned bright red.

He had a bit of a crush on

the Stormfly and immediately

he began to show off, turning

cartwheels in the air and blowing

complicated smoke rings that

went down the wrong way and

gave him a coughing fit.

As they were standing

there, Snotlout sneaked up behind them and whisked

Gobber’s cloak from off poor Fishlegs’s shoulders,

revealing the armbands for everybody to see.

‘Whoops!’ grinned Snotlout. ‘Silly me!’

‘HA HA HA HA HA!’ roared the crowd,

pointing at Fishlegs and jumping up and down in joy.

‘THERE’S A HOOLIGAN OVER HERE WHO’S

WEARING ARMBANDS!’

‘These aren’t armbands!’ shouted Hiccup,

desperately trying to save the situation. ‘They’re

weapons! Inflatable shoulder armour! Very strange and

deadly!’

Stoick the Vast blushed purple and swelled up

with anger and irritation. That ridiculous fish-legged

boy was bringing dishonour on to the Hooligan Tribe.

‘Isn’t that your SON, Stoick, standing next to the

little loser?’ grinned Gumboil.

Hiccup was quite a funny sight himself. Covered

in shingly sand from head to toe, he resembled nothing

so much as a skinny little breadcrumbed kipper ready

for the pan.

Stoick tried to stop himself from thinking, Why

does Hiccup always have to make such a spectacle of

himself? Why can’t he be friends with somebody suitably

violent and normal? And why is he covered head to foot

in sand? before yelling loudly and loyally: ‘My son is

right! The weird little Warrior is wearing the latest in

inflatable defence-wear!’

But he was shouted down by the crowd,

who were chanting: ‘THE HOOLIGANS WEAR

ARMBANDS! THE HOOLIGANS WEAR

ARMBANDS!’

And then to Stoick’s intense relief:

40

PPPPPPPAAAAAAAAARRRRRP! went the

horn to announce the start of the race, and the Viking

Warriors forgot about teasing the Hooligans, and the

crowd went wild as the Viking Warriors stampeded

through the wind and into the water like a herd of

runaway buffalo, plaits flying, bellies wobbling.

‘GO, BOG-BURGLARS GO!’

‘UP THE MURDEROUS!’

‘HOOLIGANS HURRAH!’

Snotlout sprinted through the shallows, flexing

his muscles and waving to the crowd, before making a

fancy swallow dive into the slightly deeper water and

setting off in a horribly efficient crawl.

Stoick tried hard to control his temper, and keep

the disappointment out of his voice as he walked over

to Hiccup and reproved his son sternly, ‘You are a

Warrior-in-Training now, Hiccup, and this is NOT the

moment to be playing in the sand.’

‘But I’m not!’ protested

Hiccup. ‘I’m just covered

in sand because…

because…’

… but Stoick

had already stalked

off.

‘Oh, jumping jellyfish!’ exclaimed

Fishlegs, in a wriggle of anxiety. ‘I can’t see a THING

through these glasses now!’

The Blubberwing goo Snotlout had poured over

Fishlegs’s head had so attached itself

to the glass that it was indeed like

trying to peer through a dense pea-

green fog. Poor Fishlegs staggered

forward, in completely the

OPPOSITE direction to the ocean.

‘Hang on,’ grinned Camicazi,

‘isn’t the sea the other way?’

‘Fishlegs!’ hissed Hiccup

anxiously. ‘You’re going

the wrong way!’

The

crowd was

divided

between cheering on the

Warriors and laughing at the

sight of the only three who hadn’t set

off yet, which were Hiccup, Fishlegs and Camicazi.

Fishlegs was running increasingly fast in

completely the opposite direction to the ocean,

42

with his hands

out in front of him moaning:

‘I can’t see, I can’t see!’ and Hiccup

and Camicazi were running after him, saying:

‘It’s this way, Fishlegs, this way!’

So: ‘HA HA HA HA HA!’ yelled the watching

crowd, parting to let poor blind Fishlegs blunder on up

the beach.

Eventually Hiccup caught up with Fishlegs, who

tripped over somebody’s discarded trousers, and with

the help of Camicazi he managed to steer his friend

back in the direction of the ocean.

And such

was Hiccup’s

embarrassment at the

whole situation, that he was

almost RELIEVED to enter

the breath-quenching,

chest-burning chill of

the water.

Hiccup was so busy with

the humiliation of this

moment that

he did not

realise what

had happened to

his father and Big-

Boobied Bertha.

What had happened

was this. Stoick the Vast,

Big-Boobied Bertha and Madguts the Murderous

swaggered out into the surf in a more leisurely way.

All three of them were certain they would win. Stoick

forgot about his disappointment with his son as he

remembered something amusing.

‘Tell you what, Bertha,’ whispered Stoick, giving

Bertha a friendly poke on the shoulder, ‘let’s agree,

whichever of us wins, we teach that Madguts a lesson.

We’ll get him to row across the Sullen Sea in a

bathtub, with his underpants on his head!’

Big-Boobied Bertha roared with laughter until

the tears ran down her hairy cheeks. ‘For once in your

life, Stoick, you old warthog,’ she bellowed, ‘you’ve

had a good idea! It’s a plan, then…’

When they were just entering the water, Madguts

44

grunted at Gumboil, his eye alight with sneakiness,

and Gumboil said craftily, ‘Madguts can’t help

but notice that you’re wearing that old-fashioned

BLUBBERWING FAT… it doesn’t keep out the

cold half as well as the Deepest Purple Fleshfang Oil

that Madguts is wearing… you put this on and you’re

never cold again. Lasts until next winter.’

‘Oh Toenail Clippings of Thor!’ exclaimed

Bertha, staring down at her luminous green body

in disappointment. ‘I thought I’d got the very latest

thing!’

Stoick gazed at Madguts’s glowing violet chest in

admiration and envy. Madguts was so warm under his

coating of Deepest Purple Fleshfang Oil that a light

steam was rising off his tattooed chest and blowing

away in the wind.

‘Madguts wants this to be a fair fight,’ smiled

Gumboil silkily. ‘Why don’t you try some of his stuff,

to make it all equal? We’ve left the pot just behind you

at the edge of the water… we didn’t need it any more,

because just the one application is sufficient…’

‘Well that’s mighty kind of you, Madguts!’

beamed Stoick. ‘But hang on, can we go back there?

Hasn’t the Race already started?’

Gumboil waved the thought away with one airy

hand. ‘Oh no…’ he reassured the Chieftains cheerily,

‘no, the Race doesn’t start until you actually start

swimming… didn’t you know that?’

Stoick and Big-Boobied Bertha said, ‘Ah, yes, of

course,’ and nodded wisely as if they had really known

that all along, and turned back and waded out of the

sea to pick up the little black pot of Fleshfang Oil that

was sitting just a couple of feet beyond the water’s

edge…

‘That trickster Madguts!’ said Stoick, tut-tutting

in mild disgust. ‘Fair fight indeed! Look! There’s

46

absolutely nothing left!’

Nor there was, just the merest little purple smear

at the very bottom, hardly enough to cover Stoick’s

big toe.

It turned out that that wasn’t the only thing

Madguts had been tricky about.

Stoick looked up as he realised that all around

him the crowd was gasping in astonishment and

disappointment. The Hooligans, in particular, were

wrenching their beards in dismay. And standing right

in front of Stoick and Big-Boobied Bertha was the

Chief Judge, looking more depressed than ever, his

spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

‘Commiserations,’ said the Chief Judge, gloomily

scratching their names down on the parchment in front

of him. ‘YOU are the First Man (and Woman) back. A

dead heat. How do you spell Bertha?’

Stoick laughed and patted the Chief Judge on

the head. ‘Oh no! Oh no, my good little Oik, I think

you do not understand the rules. The Race doesn’t

start until you actually start swimming…’

‘Of course I understand the rules,’ said the Chief

Judge calmly. ‘I am the Judge. If you get out of the

water, you’ve ended the race.’

‘But… but… but… of course we’re going back

47

IN again!’ spluttered Big-Boobied Bertha in horror.

‘Oh, no, you’re not,’ said the Chief Judge. ‘My

decision is final.’

Stoick and Big-Boobied Bertha looked like they

were going to explode.

‘Old Wrinkly!’ gasped Stoick. ‘Tell him! We can’t

possibly have LOST the Race!’

Old Wrinkly surveyed the twenty sand-timers in

front of him. ‘I’m afraid you have,’ he said sadly. ‘And

in three minutes twenty-two seconds exactly. A new

Competition Record.’

‘But I’m the Archipelago Swimming Champion!’

shouted Big-Boobied Bertha, raising her great fist in

the air. ‘Bertha the Unsinkable!’

‘AND MADGUTS THE MURDEROUS SAID

IT WOULD BE FINE!’ yelled Stoick. Even as he

said the words, it finally dawned on Stoick and Big-

Boobied Bertha (who were not the brightest Chieftains

on the block) that they had been taken for a ride.

Two minutes before, Bertha and Stoick had been

strutting on the sand, all proud and puffed up like a

couple of fat cockerels, so certain had they been of

victory.

Now they deflated like the air leaking out of

a couple of large and handsome balloons. Bertha’s

48

boobies drooped, Stoick’s magnificent biceps sagged.

‘That rotten, low-down, cheating, Murderous

stink-pot!’ said Stoick from between gritted teeth.

‘He’s only gone and tricked us into losing the race!’

3. ISN’T THAT SNOTLOUT A

LOVELY GUY?

Hiccup and Fishlegs and Camicazi didn’t see what was

happening behind them.

They had some problems of their own.

Hiccup had set off as fast as he possibly could,

still hot with embarrassment at the scene on the beach.

‘Wait up,’ begged Fishlegs, sploshing after

Hiccup and Camicazi in a clumsy dog-paddle,

‘it’s really tricky trying to swim in these beastly

armbands. We don’t have to go too far you know,

we’re not Warriors, we’re only in this competition for

the fun of it… always supposing your idea of fun is

freezing your horns off in Sharkworm-infested waters,

of course…’

As soon as Hiccup got out of his depth, the

weight of his helmet and his sword made him drop

abruptly, and it was only by kicking madly that he was

able to keep his chin out of the water.

Even Camicazi was finding that swimming fully

armed took a lot of concentration. Her sword and

daggers weighed her down so far to the right that she

had a tendency to swim round in circles.

‘Oh BOTHER!’ complained Hiccup. ‘How am I

possibly going to beat Snotlout at this rate?’

They were so busy trying to keep afloat that they

hadn’t noticed Snotlout and Dogsbreath the Duhbrain

swimming up behind them. (Which shows how

distracted they were – Dogsbreath’s splashy crawl was

as noisy as a hippo in a bathtub.)

The two bullies overheard the last bit of the

conversation, and Snotlout was

laughing so hard he was in danger

of drowning. ‘You said it, Hiccup,

you loser!’ crowed Snotlout.

‘One of you three? Beat me?

I’ve never heard anything so

funny in my life!’

‘Her Her Her,’ grunted

Dogsbreath, snorting seawater

out of his nose.

‘The thing is, Hiccup,’ sneered Snotlout, ‘you

heard everybody laughing on the beach… you guys are

just an embarrassment to the Tribe.’

Snotlout’s eyes were alight with real murderous

malice. He looked over his shoulder to check that

nobody could see what he was doing. ‘I am now going

to give you, Hiccup, a lesson in being a Viking Hero,

and you, Fishlegs, a lesson in how to swim without your

armbands on…’

52

‘No!’

shrieked Fishlegs,

trying to swim away.

But he hadn’t a hope of escaping.

Both Snotlout and Dogsbreath were

big, burly adolescents and they caught him easily,

ducking Hiccup and Camicazi along the way. Snotlout

popped the right armband with his dagger and

Dogsbreath removed the left.

‘Now, Hiccup,’ purred Snotlout. ‘You can just

about make it back to shore on your own, but if

you try to do it holding Fishlegs, I don’t fancy your

chances. So… what do you do? I suggest you do us all

a favour, and ditch the LOSER, but it’s up to you,

of course.’

And the two bullies swam

away, laughing.

Hiccup

resurfaced,

gasping, and

thrashed through

the water towards poor

Fishlegs, who was going

under for the second time. With

the help of Toothless, Stormfly and Fishlegs’s hunting-

dragon Horrorcow, he got the boy upright with his head

out of the water, but Fishlegs was so terrified he was

struggling and in danger of dragging Hiccup under with

him.

‘STOP PANICKING AND RELAX!’ shouted

Hiccup sharply.

‘RELAX!’ shrieked Fishlegs. ‘HOW CAN I

RELAX? I’M DROWNING! DROWNING ISN’T VERY

RELAXING!’

But he stopped struggling, and forced himself to

go limp, and floated on to the surface with Hiccup and

Camicazi holding him by the shoulders.

‘OK,’ said Hiccup, in his I’m-trying-to-stay-calm-

but-really-I-want-to-run-around-in-circles-screaming voice,

54

‘now

I think

we might

have a bit of a

problem…’

As Hiccup bobbed upwards on the waves, he

could see the shoreline, and suddenly it seemed very

distant. Hiccup wasn’t sure that he could make that

swim back carrying Fishlegs all the way, even with

Camicazi helping.

This is the trouble with a Proper Viking

Swimming Race. It’s a game of judgment as well as

endurance. You have to be very careful that you

don’t go out so far that you run out of energy to make

it back.

‘We’d better get Fishlegs back to the shore,

then,’ Hiccup said with a confidence he was far

from feeling.

55

‘Carrot, anyone?’ smiled Horrorcow, sensing a

crisis and swooping down from above in a motherly

way. ‘It will help keep your strength up for the swim…’

‘Not now, Horrorcow,’ said Hiccup, and then

(trying to sound extra casual), ‘Horrorcow, maybe you

should just flap back to the shore and tell them to send

out some Rescue Dragons for us…’

‘Righti-ho,’ replied Horrorcow cheerily, and she

flapped off. ‘Keep kicking…’

‘Keep kicking… keep kicking… keep kicking…’

Hiccup lost count of the amount of times he said

this in the next half hour.

For a strange thing was happening. The more

they kicked, the FURTHER they seemed to be

getting from the beach. During the confrontation with

Snotlout and Dogsbreath, they had drifted into a tide

that was carrying them out to sea.

They could no longer hear the friendly shouts

of other Vikings. Apart from the sound of their own

splashing, they were alone. Alone in a stone-cold sea

that stretched out for miles around them.

‘I’m getting tired,’ said Camicazi, who was never

tired.

It is a little difficult to see how their situation

could get any worse.

56

But that, as anybody who has read Hiccup’s

memoirs before will know, is often a sign that things

are going to get REALLY, REALLY bad.

Suddenly Toothless, who had been fishing

for mackerel, shot shrieking out of the sea only

centimetres from Hiccup’s ear.

‘What is it, Toothless?’ gasped Hiccup, as the

little dragon hovered above him.

‘S-s-s-something n-n-nasty…’ stammered

Toothless, spiralling upwards on shaking wings,

‘something nasty down there!’

‘What sort of nasty?’ swallowed Hiccup.

‘Toothless not know…’ replied Toothless.

‘NASTY sort of n-n nasty… didn’t wait and see…

something b-b-black…’

‘What’s wrong?’

shivered Fishlegs.

‘What’s he saying?’

‘Oh,

nothing,’ lied

Hiccup carelessly.

‘You know Toothless,

he’s easily spooked… Keep

kicking, keep kicking,’ whispered Hiccup, looking all

around him, ‘but kick softly…’

‘Why softly?’ squeaked Fishlegs, beginning to

panic and sinking as a result. ‘There is something,

isn’t there? What is it? DARKBREATHERS?

SHARKWORMS? TERRORFANGS????’

‘It’s nothing,’ whispered Hiccup soothingly, ‘you

just concentrate on floating, Fishlegs…’

Then, suddenly Camicazi let out a

piercing scream.

‘AAAAGHHHH!’

She thrashed around

in the water for a second,

and then she was

dragged underneath by

some unknown force.

‘Camicazi!’ shrieked Hiccup, trying to hold up

Fishlegs and look underneath the water at the same

time. ‘Camicazi! Camicazi!!!!’

But she was gone.

4. A REALLY, REALLY BAD

SITUATION

‘Oh

for Thor’s

sake, oh for Thor’s sake…’

cried Hiccup, looking desperately around him. But

there was no sign of Camicazi.

Just the silent mists, and below them… why,

below them, there could be ANYTHING down there in

the water. It could be Darkbreathers, that liked to drag

their victims underneath the water and suck out their

blood. It could be Sharkworms, that killed with their

foot-long fangs, or grabbed a take-away of a dangling

limb, and swam on.

‘Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?’ Fishlegs

kept repeating, as if Hiccup knew the answer.

One terrified minute passed.

And then Fishlegs, too, screamed, and was

dragged under, out of Hiccup’s arms.

60

‘Fishlegs!’ yelled Hiccup.

Hiccup was alone in the cold grey ocean.

Never had his poor flapping feet felt so

vulnerable.

There was nothing he could do. He could not

run, or fly away (although Toothless was valiantly

trying to haul him out of the water by the back of his

waistcoat).

And then he felt the first searching nibble on

his ankle…

Hiccup screamed, and tried, clumsily, to splash

forward.

But whatever-it-was took a firm grip on his leg

and pulled him underwater.

Hiccup just had time to take a big lungful of air.

The water around him turned swiftly from green to

grey to black as he was dragged down into the sea.

So this is it… thought Hiccup… as he went

deeper still… This is what it is like to die…

Just as his lungs were about to burst, he was

pulled back the other way up, the water turned from

black to grey to green to white again, and he was

hauled out of the sea and into the sky.

Hiccup was being carried upside-down through

the air by a gigantic dragon, with a wingspan of about

seven metres.

61

All around him,

with great rasping shrieks, a

whole pack of the creatures

was leaping out of the sea,

shooting upwards as if they

were arrows being shot

out of Neptune’s bow.

The dragon holding Hiccup

was flying so low that Hiccup’s

fingers were scraping the surface of

the water. It swung him upwards as if

he were a piece of mackerel and let

him go, sending Hiccup

cartwheeling through the

air, and as he was JUST

about to hit the sea, another

dragon dived and caught him, this

time by the arms.

Out of the corner of his eye,

Hiccup could see Fishlegs and Camicazi

being carried by other dragons in the pack

in a similar fashion.

He tipped his head upwards to try and see what had

captured them. It was Raptortongues.

62

Raptortongues are

most peculiar.

They look like perfectly normal

dragons that have been accidentally

stepped on by a giant, and squashed

flat as a pancake. They are often used

by Vikings to spy on enemy Tribes,

because they can fly low and swift and

silent over enemy territory without anyone

realising they are there.

63

~ STATISTICS ~

COLOURS: Raptortongues are chameleons

ARMED WITH: The usual fangs and

talons.

FEAR FACTOR:...............................7

ATTACK:.......................................7

SPEED:..........................................7

SIZE:........................................7

DISOBEDIENCE:.........................5

Raptortongues live hidden in the deep

crevasses of the Murderous Mountains

or the Gorge of the Thunderbolt of Thor.

They have an extraordinary ability to flatten

themselves, which means they can squeeze

through surprisingly small spaces. They

make excellent spy dragons.

The pack was about fifty

strong, and they were carrying the

three young Vikings out into the

Open Ocean.

This was surprising, for

Hiccup knew that Raptortongues

were Archipelago dragons, not Ocean creatures

at all. WHERE, for Thor’s sake, were they taking

them? The Raptortongues flew on and on. Every now

and then, when Hiccup’s arms were aching so hard

he thought they would pull out of their sockets, the

Raptortongues would fling him upside-down again.

Hiccup attempted to talk to the Raptortongue

who was carrying him, but it merely adjusted

its grip, and snapped, ‘You say one more word, and I

will remove your head.’

Hiccup was an intelligent boy, and he judged

that it might be wiser to shut up.

Eventually a smudge appeared on the horizon,

gradually growing bigger and bigger as they drew

nearer. At first Hiccup thought it was an island with a

volcano on it, for it was belching out a thick grey-green

smoke. But as they grew nearer and nearer

Hiccup realised it wasn’t an island at all,

but a boat.

And what a boat it was.

Hiccup had never seen anything like it before,

and Hiccup had seen plenty of boats in his life.

Hooligan raiding ships, Bog-Burglar sneak-boats,

Roman Dragon-Rustling Galleons, Uglithug Slaving

Craft… you name it, Hiccup had seen it.

But this was something completely different.

It was truly immense. It was about six times the

size and depth of an ordinary Viking ship. It had not

one, but two masts. And planted right at the back

of the deck was a strange gigantic tube like a bent

chimney, out of which the smoke was curling.

Perhaps this was a ghost ship, or Hiccup had

stumbled into sleep and this was all merely some weird

nightmare.

The Raptortongues approached it through the

great drifts of smoke, and circled the gigantic vessel

twice before they landed, swooping low over the prow

of the ship.

UH-OH-UH-OH-UH-OH, thought Hiccup in an

agony of coughing as the Raptortongue folded back his

wings, preparing to land on deck. UH-OH-UH-OH-UH-

OH-UH-OH…

The ship’s deck was thronged with a particularly

unpleasant load of barbarians, who let out a cheer as

the Raptortongue let Hiccup go, and laughed wildly as

70

he sprawled on the deck, with Camicazi and Fishlegs

being dropped beside him.

‘COME BACK AND FIGHT LIKE VIKINGS,

YOU COWARDLY BATS!’ shrieked Camicazi, in a

twist of fury at being kidnapped by the Raptortongues,

and their new captors only laughed the more.

The young Vikings were wound around with ropes

as securely as chickens trussed up for slaughter and tied

upside-down to the central mast of the ship.

Even Toothless and the Stormfly had been

captured, and tied up next to their Masters.

So the mood of the three young Heroes was

gloomy, anxious, even terrified. They didn’t know what

their captors were going to do to them.

What was a VERY bad sign, however, was that

the entire crew was chanting, ‘KILL, KILL, KILL,

KILL, KILL! KILL THE CHILDREN, KILL,

KILL, KILL!’

Even Camicazi, who liked to look on the bright

side, could tell that this didn’t look promising.

‘Do you think they’re talking about US?’

whimpered Fishlegs.

‘Well, we’re the only children here, aren’t we?’

Hiccup pointed out, teeth chattering together like

crabs’ claws.

71

‘We should probably be planning our escape,’

chirped Camicazi, cheerily listening to the cruel

laughter and jeering of the brutes, who were now

merrily lobbing fish at the poor captives.

‘You’re right, Camicazi,’ admitted Hiccup, ‘but

it looks like there are at least two hundred of them…

They’re heavily armed… and I don’t know about you,

but at the moment I am dripping wet, unarmed, and

tied securely upside-down to a mast. I’m not sure how

we’re going to escape from this position. I guess we

could try reasoning with them, but they don’t look all

that reasonable to me.’

... shouted Camacazi.

The growling and chanting increased to double

the volume, and the air rained down with fish thrown

in their direction.

Shouts of, ‘You and whose army, blondie?’

‘Nice reasoning, Camicazi,’ said Hiccup.

One of the barbarians strolled over to a tent

built in the centre of the ship and shouted, ‘Bo-o-o-o-

ossss! They’re he-e-ere!’

‘It appears,’ said Hiccup grimly, ‘that we’re

expected. That’s not a good sign.’

‘NONE of this is a good sign!’ shivered Fishlegs.

‘Who do you think has kidnapped us?’

Hiccup wracked his brains. Who hadn’t been at

the Friendly Inter-Tribe Swimming Race? Bashem-

Oiks? Uglithugs?

‘I do hope it’s not Uglithugs,’ whimpered

Fishlegs.

But it was much worse than Uglithugs. For the

barbarian shipmates drew back the curtains on the

tent in the middle of the ship, and there, sitting having

a little light supper together, were three men who

were three strokes of Very Bad Luck Indeed.

Reading from left to right, they were Madguts

the Murderous, Norbert the Nutjob, Chief of the

Hysteric Tribe, and Gumboil, Madguts’s lovely

assistant.

73

5. AN UNPLEASANT OLD

ACQUAINTANCE

They were sharing a deer between them, and Norbert

and Madguts made a disgusting sight, sitting there

with their hands dipped scarlet in blood as they tore

the poor thing limb from limb.

Gumboil was a little more delicate in his

manners, and he was nibbling daintily

at a piece of deer liver on the

end of a long pointed black

fork.

Norbert the Nutjob

swallowed the last bits of

wine that he was drinking

out of a skull, chucked some

fleshy bits of deer over

his shoulder, and rubbed

his bloody hands on his

shirtfront.

‘Oh well done,

Madguts old chap,’ said

Norbert enthusiastically,

‘your Raptortongues have

brought us the victims.

Hiccup didn’t like the sound of the word

‘victim’. ‘What’s going on?’ he stammered.

‘Why have you brought us here? We need to get back

to our Swimming Race… And why

is Madguts here? He’s supposed

to be in the Swimming Race

too…’

Norbert got up and thrust his face

into Hiccup’s face. One mad eyeball stared

straight at Hiccup, red veins bulging all

over it like lines on a lunatic map, a violent

tic sending the pupil quivering and

trembling in a wild dance of rage.

‘Your race is over,’ said Norbert

with satisfaction. ‘Madguts and I have

made a little agreement. Madguts

has brought me YOU, and I, in

return, have put him up on my

ship here for a couple of hours.

He will then swim back to

shore well after the others,

making sure that HE is

the Last Man Back…’

‘But that’s cheating!’

protested Hiccup. ‘You’re not

supposed to seek aid by Float

or Boat!’

‘Of course it’s cheating!’

laughed Norbert. ‘You think

your ancestor, Grimbeard the

Ghastly, didn’t cheat long ago

in that famous Swimming

Race when he became King

of the Archipelago? It

isn’t physically possible

to carry on swimming

for THREE WHOLE

MONTHS…’

‘That is a long time,’ grinned Gumboil. ‘I’m sorry

to interrupt, but we’ll be off now, since you’ve got what

you wanted, Norbert. Madguts has rested enough, and

he has a race to come last in.’

Madguts the Murderous grunted and wiped his

bloody palms on the front of his waistcoat. He shook

Norbert the Nutjob by the hand, and did a few leg

stretches, before swallow-diving off the edge of the boat,

followed by the repulsive Gumboil, holding his nose and

doing a bomb. The Raptortongues unfolded their bat-like

wings and followed them.

‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t the weird little red-haired

boy,’ smiled Norbert the Nutjob. ‘When last we met,

I seem to remember that you stole my ticking-thing,

burned down my Great Hall, chewed off my moustaches,

and fed Papa to the Squealers.’*

‘That was an accident!’ protested Hiccup. ‘An

unfortunate SERIES of accidents which we deeply

regret, don’t we guys?’

‘Mmff,’ snorted Norbert. ‘Didn’t I warn you that

the next time we bumped into each other I would

KILL you?’

‘Well, lovely as it is to see you again,’ said Hiccup

tactfully (you should always be polite to madmen carrying

axes),‘I didn’t exactly PLAN this meeting…’

* See How to Cheat a Dragon’s Curse.

‘My Chopper has been aching to bite your

head off ever since…’ Norbert lovingly stroked

the double-headed axe that he carried with

him everywhere. One side of the axe was bright

and shining gold, the other a blackened twisted

mass of rotting metal. ‘And you guys too, of

course.’ He generously included Camicazi and

Fishlegs, in case they were feeling left out. ‘But I

can’t quite decide whether to kill you right now,

or take you on our little expedition and THEN

kill you… dear oh dear… life is full of tough

decisions…’

‘KILL THEM NOW! KILL THEM

NOW!’ shouted the watching

Hysterical crew gleefully.

‘Expedition?’ said Hiccup, his

heart sinking lower still. ‘What do

you mean expedition? Where are

you going?’

‘Oh… not far…’ Norbert the Nutjob gave a

peculiarly nasty grin. ‘Just a little light sailing, to try

out my new boat… I thought we might drop in on

AMERICA, you know…’

‘But there’s no such place as America!’ objected

Fishlegs. ‘The world is as flat as a pancake and if you

sail too far to the west you fall off the end of it!’

‘SHUDDUPPPPP!!!’ roared Norbert, a fanatical

gleam in his mad eye. ‘The world is round as an orange,

and I know there’s such a place as America because

I’ve BEEN THERE! I shall return in GLORY, with

WARRIORS and MIGHT, and I shall found a great

EMPIRE! Just picture me, Norbert the Great, Emperor

of the New World!’

Hiccup was picturing it. It was a horrible thought.

‘I shall call this new country Nutjob-Land,’ said

Norbert with satisfaction, making a grand gesture with

his axe. ‘But in order to get to America in the first

place,’ Norbert continued, ‘I need that ticking-thing

that you stole from me the last time we met. Only that

can show us the way. So… which of you has it?’

He jabbed his axe at them, one at a time.

‘Is it the funny-looking kid with the red hair and

the freckles… the little blonde lunatic… or the boy with

a face like a fish?’

81

‘It’s me, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the

Third,’ said Hiccup, ‘and you’re standing on it right

now.’

Hiccup was hanging upside-down, so the ticking-

thing had fallen out of his pocket, and it was now lying

on the deck with Norbert’s great big maniac foot on it.

‘My ticking-thing!’ cried Norbert delightedly,

untying it from Hiccup’s wrist and clasping it to his

chest.

‘And now, Hiccup,’ smiled Norbert, reminding

Hiccup that he had more important things to be

thinking of by pressing the blackened edge of his two-

headed axe against Hiccup’s throat, ‘as I said, I can’t

quite decide whether to kill you now, or once we get to

America… understand?’

‘Perfectly…’ gulped Hiccup.

‘The Axe of DOO-OO-OOM will decide!’ roared

Norbert, throwing wide his arms. (Wild cheers and

stampings of feet from the bloodthirsty crowd.) ‘I shall

throw it up in the air, and if it lands gold side down,

you come with us to America. But if it lands black side

down… why, if it lands black side down you die on

the spot!’ yelled Norbert the Nutjob. ‘How lucky are

you feeling today, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the

Third?’

83

‘Well I’ve been thinking about that,’ muttered

Hiccup, ‘and so far I reckon this has been just about

the unluckiest day I’ve had in years.’

‘Oh goodee,’ grinned Norbert the Nutjob, ‘I

HATE waiting for my treats.’

‘THROW THE AXE! THROW THE AXE!

THROW THE AXE!’ yelled the Hysterics joyously.

‘DEATH OR AMERICA!’ shouted Norbert

the Nutjob.

‘DEATH OR AMERICA!’ screamed the

Hysterics back at him.

‘Death or America,’ groaned Hiccup, Fishlegs

and Camicazi.

Hiccup closed his eyes as with a manic scream

Norbert the Nutjob threw the great axe high, high in

the air.

The Hysterics scattered in all directions.

The axe swooped upwards, turning over and

over, first the gold side up, then the black… up and up

it soared…

And then it seemed to hover for a moment

before it began the plunge downward towards the

deck. Was it the gold side down or was it the black?

Hiccup squinted anxiously through his salty

strands of hair, trying to see.

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‘It’s the black! It’s the black!’ shouted Norbert

the Nutjob with mad glee. ‘Prepare to die!’

And with horror Hiccup realised it WAS the

black side plunging towards the deck. And there was

absolutely NOTHING he could do about it.

85

6. THE AXE OF DOOM

DECIDES

Hiccup’s mind raced desperately.

He couldn’t move, but inspiration suddenly

struck…

‘CAN YOU READ THE TICKING-THING,

NORBERT?’ screamed Hiccup.

Norbert looked at the ticking-thing… Curses!…

He couldn’t…

… but the axe

was steaming towards

the deck of the ship, and the Axe of Doom was never

allowed to be wrong… So Norbert the Nutjob gave

Verociously Violent a big shove so that Verociously

got in between the axe and the deck, getting a nasty

scratch on his arm in the process.

‘NOW LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME

DO!’ roared Norbert the Nutjob. ‘OK, untie the

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wretched little burglars!’

Muttering with disappointed bloodlust,

the Hysterics unwound the ropes tying Hiccup,

Fishlegs and Camicazi, who fell on to the deck, deeply

relieved to be the right way up again, but very dizzy.

‘Follow me,’ barked Norbert the Nutjob.

Hiccup followed Norbert to the central tent in

the middle of the deck.

This tent was Norbert’s cabin. Now, Vikings

normally travelled very light on board ship. And they

didn’t generally have cabins at all, just maybe a couple

of upturned landing-boats to shield them from the

wildness of the wind.

But Norbert was intending to sail to America

FOR EVER, so he had packed this ship with every

possible thing that a Future Emperor might need over

there in a New World. Tables, chairs, chessboards,

smashsticks-on-ice sticks, bashyballs, skis.

The walls of this tent-cabin of his were covered

with crazy drawings of Norbert’s latest inventions,

and also with maps. Norbert jabbed a fat finger at

one particular map with some little squiggly numbers

drawn on it.

‘THIS was the Map my father Bigjob used to go

to America,’ said Norbert.

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‘He read those

funny little numbers,

and he checked the ticking-thing, and

that would tell him which way to go.’

Norbert handed Hiccup the map and the ticking-

thing. There were nine arrows on the dial.

The two little ordinary arrows told the time much

88

more

accurately than Old Wrinkly’s complicated

candlesticks. The little fat arrow always

pointed to the north, like the North Star.

The one with the round circle on the end was

a lie detector. Hiccup didn’t yet know what

the one shaped like a question mark did, or the

funny little jagged one like a piece of lightning.

But the remaining two told him how far to go

upwards, and how far to go westwards.*

He sat there staring back and forth from the

ticking-thing to the Map for such a long time that

Norbert grew impatient, and roared:

‘HURRY UP BOY, HURRY UP! We haven’t

got all DAY!’

‘The quickest way to America, if such a place

really exists, is in that direction.’ Hiccup pointed over

towards some distant storm-clouds to the north. ‘But

we’d have to go through the Ice Islands and there are

some really unpleasant Ice-Dragons we could meet

that way—’

* This suggests that the ticking-thing contains a device for calculating

LONGTITUDE (what Hiccup describes as ‘going westwards’). It was

previously thought that the first device for predicting longtitude was the

chronometer created in 1773, but Hiccup’s memoirs show otherwise.

‘WA-HOOOO!!!!!’

yelled Norbert the

Nutjob, grabbing the map

off Hiccup and running excitedly on to the deck. ‘Man

the main masts! Stoke up the steam-dragons! Put on your

winter woollies and set the course the way the little weirdo

is pointing! AMERICA, HERE WE COME!’

All around the three small dripping Vikings, great

burly Hysterics burst into rousing cheers, and began

to pull on ropes and climb masts and grab steering

wheels.

Great belches of smoke poured out of the

chimney tube, and filled the deck in a dense pea-

green fog, as slowly, slowly, the enormous ship

turned around like some great cumbersome whale

or wooden sea ceature. It set its nose towards the

north, and began to puff and breast the waves out

of the Archipelago and into the Icy Seas.

7. THE QUEST TO DISCOVER

AMERICA

So this was how Hiccup, Camicazi and Fishlegs got

themselves kidnapped by Norbert the Nutjob, and

found themselves in a boat that was sailing out of the

Archipelago, never to return.

Of course, Hiccup, Camicazi and Fishlegs did

not want to go to America. Besides which, there was

the tiny problem of crossing the Great West Ocean

which, Hiccup knew, was full of Sea-Dragons so large

and fearsome that they could swallow the ship they

were standing on in one gulp.

‘So… what do we do now then, Hiccup?’ asked

Fishlegs slowly.

‘Well,’ said Hiccup, through chattering teeth.

‘Let’s dry our wet things, first of all.’

The chimney at the back of the deck out of

which the smoke was pouring was hot to the touch, so

they leant against it for a couple of hours, letting the

lovely warmth penetrate their frozen bodies. The green

streaky remains of the Fleshfang oil on their cheeks

and arms made them look like three cold-blooded little

lizards baking in the sunshine. Their salty clothes were

stiff as cardboard, but at least they were dry.

94

When they had finally stopped shivering, they

began to explore their floating prison.

Hysterics are a Tribe of dreamers, lunatics and

inventors, so the American Dream 2 was not your

ordinary Viking ship.

The steam pouring out of the chimney was a

distinctive grey-green, so Hiccup suspected it was

dragon-smoke, probably coming from dragons hidden

within the belly of the ship. Hiccup would have loved

to see by what mechanism this steam powered the

boat.*

The dragons weren’t the only mad thing about

this vessel. There was a weird thing with wings

sprouting out of the side that a Hysteric called Red

Ronald told them was Norbert’s attempt at a Flying

Machine. Unfortunately it didn’t really work yet.

Several times during the day, Norbert ordered

three unfortunate members of his crew to try it out,

hauling the Machine all the way up to the top of the

Mast on ropes, and then launching it from the crow’s

nest.

It only stayed up in the sky for a couple of

minutes, before crashing spectacularly into the Ocean,

*Hiccup’s memoirs seem to suggest that Norbert had built a steam-ship,

many, many centuries before steam was used to power marine craft.

Similarly, the artist Leonardo da Vinci drew designs for a helicopter, a

trench-digging machine, a deep-sea diving suit, a revolving bridge, a

calculator, a hang-glider and a tank, four hundred years before any of

these things were ‘invented’.

and the crew members had to be rescued, and the

Machine mended again.

And then there was an extraordinary Machine

with a wheel that the crew took in turns to pedal with

their feet, which was attached to a large trumpet-like

funnel. It was very difficult to work out what the

purpose of this Machine was. At the moment it was

Verociously Violent’s turn on the Machine, because his

arm was still recovering from the gash he had received

from the Axe of Doom incident, so he wasn’t much good

at pulling on ropes and other tasks around the boat at

the moment.

Hiccup was so curious about what the Machine

did that he approached Verociously to ask what he was

doing.

‘Oh, this is the Keep-the-Boat-From-Sinking-

and-Scare-Away-the-Big-Sea-Creatures Machine,’

explained Verociously Violent, stopping pedalling for a

second to answer Hiccup’s question. ‘It stops the boat

from sinking and it also scares away the Sea-Monsters,

Great Terrorwings, Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus,

that sort of thing.’*

‘KEEP PEDALLING! KEEP PEDALLING!’

screamed Norbert the Nutjob, marching up, and the

Hysteric hurriedly resumed, so fast his feet were a blur.

* Some of Norbert’s inventions were more practical than others, because

the line between genius and total loopiness is quite a fine one.

‘And YOU,’ Norbert turned to Hiccup, ‘STOP

DISTRACTING THE CREW! If this man here stops

turning this wheel for even one

second, the boat will sink,

and we could be attacked

by one of the Ocean

Dragon-Mammoths.’

‘Fascinating,’

said Hiccup, very

politely, thinking,

nutty as an absolute

fruitcake.

‘Is there any

chance,’ gulped Fishlegs hopefully as

they walked away, ‘that that thing could

work?’

‘Yeah, right,’ replied Hiccup. ‘Like

a revolving tube with a funnel attached

is really going to stop a boat from

sinking…’

At the end of the first day of The

Quest to Discover America, the sun

sank in a glorious technicolour display

of pink and gold streaked with red. The

three young Vikings sat and worried…

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and worried… and worried. (Actually, two of them

worried; Camicazi just played with Toothless.)

They worried until it was late at night, and the

Hysterics had built a fire on deck, and were singing

songs to the rising moon. The songs were about the

life of a Viking. You have to imagine Norbert the

Nutjob adding the HO!s, while banging his axe on

the bottom of an iron

bucket.

‘We could be safe at

hearth and home

Around a fire with loved ones near

Instead we brave the cold dark wave

The salty kiss of a Hero’s grave

Looking for a land we saw…

Once before… long ago…

HO!’

Norbert the Nutjob was sitting, a twisted shadow

watching the singers, his cabin shrouded close around

him. Only his eyes gleamed in the firelight, as he

watched and smoked from a long thin pipe that sent

a crooked plume of smoke up into the sail billowing

above him and on into the night sky.

‘We could take the easy way

Stay at home with loved ones dear

But here we are on rocking waves

Sails spread out like dragons’ wings…

Lost out in a hurricane…

Looking for a land we saw…

Once before… long ago…

HO!’

As the Hysterics sang on in the warm night,

Hiccup’s eyes began to close.

But they opened again with a start when the

deck beneath Hiccup’s feet began to vibrate with a

new noise. Strange voices were beginning their own

song. Weird voices, singing in a language that Hiccup

did not understand, the sound of something so Other

and unfamiliar that they were as alien as the music of

whales or dolphins calling to each other.

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Voices coming from deep within the belly of the

ship.

‘What is that?’ whispered Fishlegs to Hiccup,

with round, scared eyes.

Hiccup’s heart plummeted.

He suddenly realised what it might be.

‘I wonder,’ replied Hiccup slowly, ‘if this ship is

carrying slaves on it?’

The Hysterics stopped to listen too. And as

they listened the song changed, to something much

more sinister. A shiver went slipping down Hiccup’s

spine like a cold drop of water. You did not have to

understand the language the slaves were speaking to

understand what they were saying.

Toothless let out a whine of fear, as if he were a

spaniel, and covered his ears with his paws.

They were laying a Curse on the ship. A Curse

on the voyage. A Curse on every single Viking man,

woman or child who was keeping them there, under

those decks…

The hairs stood up on the back of Hiccup’s neck.

They went right on singing, that fierce terrible

Curse, until Norbert strode to the centre of the deck,

and struck it with his axe three times, and shouted:

And then it was quiet again.

Hiccup lay in the darkness, his heart beating

quick. Oh how he longed to be Home…

It was very late when he fell asleep again, the

Hysterics still singing:

‘Glory comes not to the weak

A treasure land shines out so strong

We see it clear from far away

O Great and Brave and Mighty Thor

I hope that that was land I saw

Once before… long ago…

HO!’

The ship sailed on through the moonlit night.

Apart from four crewmen (one steering the boat,

one looking after the Steam-Dragons, one keeping

lookout, and one laboriously turning Norbert’s mad

Monster-Scaring Machine), all the human beings

aboard the American Dream 2 had fallen asleep now:

Hysterics, Hooligans, friends and foes, all.

What none of these little sleeping human beings

knew was how tiny they were compared to the vastness

of the world they were about to enter. Nothing seemed

to have changed on the quiet and peaceful surface of

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the water… but in fact they had moved out of the safe,

shallow seas of the Archipelago, they had crossed an

invisible line in the ocean, and they were now sailing

over very deep waters indeed.

Waters fathoms and fathoms deep, a sunless,

black and watery desert.

But could it be that something was about to stir

down in the darkness? The unimaginable enormity

of the Open Ocean holds such strange and terrible

things, things which we cannot even dream of.

If you were a fanciful person, you could imagine

that something dreadful was about to happen. Some

dragon-giant of the abyss, sleeping all coiled up like

an unwoken tornado, was about to gain consciousness

and would move inexorably on the little ship puffing

its way across the water.

But we are not fanciful people, so we know that

cannot be true.

LEARNING TO SPEAK DRAGONESE

TOOTHLESS WANTS A PET

Nee-ah, Toothless, ta NA aca

un sweetie ickle tootsienipper

par un fluff-squees.

No, Toothless, you CANNOT

have a dear little rat for a pet.

Parsk me pappa na likeit.

Because my dad won’t be pleased.

Na un moonhowler, oo un deathscuttler plus DOUBLY

DOUBLY na un fangboggle-limb-scrumcher.

Nor a wolf, or a scorpion,

and DEFINITELY

DEFINITELY not a

shark.

Yow is a snakenipper

Yellfatter, plus

yow squeezeblood

ist conja da

sniffersludge.

You are a very mean

Master, and your

heart is made out

of bogeys.

8. THE SLAVEMARK

Hiccup was right, the ship was carrying slaves.

Hiccup asked Red Ronald about it the next

morning, and Ronald said there were one hundred

and nineteen slaves being kept in the hold, all of them

Northern Wanderers. Wanderers were very fierce and

wild, and they detested Vikings.

It made Hiccup shiver to hear the noise of their

Cursing, floating up out of a heavily barred Hatch in

the centre of the back deck, all day and all night.

Two days passed.

Each morning Hiccup would read the ticking-

thing for Norbert in his cabin, and then the three

young Heroes spent the rest of the time dreaming

of escape as the ship chugged steadily north and the

weather grew colder and colder.

There is no more exciting place for a lively young

dragon than a ship in full sail.

The two little dragons were now having a lovely

time, flying through the rigging, getting tangled up

in ropes, sliding down the sails, trying to nick things

from the Cooking Cabin without getting caught by

the Cook, dashing after mice in the hold, chewing

the arms off Norbert’s shirts and the bottoms out of

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his shoes, and in the Stormfly’s case, flirting with the

hunting-dragons who were lined up, very dignified on

the mast-head.

But both dragons avoided the Slave Hatch.

Every time Toothless passed it, his hackles rose, and

he hissed with fear and alarm.

The three young Heroes had had time to think,

and so they were now quite optimistic about their

chances of escaping.

It was just a question of agreeing on a plan.

‘OK,’ said Camicazi breezily. ‘I’ve thought of

several ways to escape. I might dress up as a Hysteric

and trick one of those idiot guards into launching

one of those little landing-boats by saying we’d hit an

iceberg.’

‘That Hysteric guard isn’t going to think you’re

another Hysteric!’ scoffed Fishlegs. ‘However stupid

they are they’re not actually blind! You’re only four

foot tall, Camicazi, you’re blonde, you’re female, you

have no facial hair…’

‘Aha,’ said Camicazi, laying a finger against her

nose and looking very cunning, ‘but if I wear a very

long coat, and stand on your shoulders, and I’ll stick

one of Norbert’s bearskin knee-pads on to my chin as

a beard–’

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‘There’s no way in a million years that that is

going to work,’ argued Fishlegs.

‘OK, so what’s YOUR idea, then, Mr Clever

Clogs?’ said Camicazi crossly. ‘I’m telling you,

I’ve escaped from more Uglithug Dungeons and

Murderous Cage-Mazes than you’ve had hot

dinners…’

Meanwhile, in the background, Norbert was

watching the crew feeding the Wanderer Slaves by

opening up the Slave Hatch and throwing food down

below.

‘Not TOO much of that bread,’ Norbert roared

greedily. ‘They’re refusing to row, and slaves that are

on strike should not be fed.’

Unbeknownst to Norbert, Toothless was showing

off his excellent hunting skills to Stormfly.

He had been chasing a fly through the rigging

for the past five minutes. He was now hovering about

a metre above Norbert’s head, only his wings and his

narrowed eyes moving as he watched the fly.

‘Bzzz… bzzzzz… bzzzzzz…’ buzzed the fly,

zig-zagging drunkenly around Norbert’s head.

Toothless crept ever so softly down in the air as

his muscles poised, ready to pounce.

The fly made a few more aimless buzzes…

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… and settled on the end of one of Norbert’s

sticking-up hairs.

‘W-W-Wrrrewwwowwwwrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!’

With the smothered yowl of a kung-fu kitten,

Toothless launched himself, claws out, on to Norbert’s

head.

Norbert was not a relaxed personality. In fact,

you could describe him as ‘tightly wound’. So his

reaction when a dragon suddenly landed unexpectedly

on his head was to shriek like a fire-engine and

spring into the air, as if stung by a bee. One of his

flailing arms pushed over one of the Hysteric crew-

members… who then cannoned into Hiccup… and

Hiccup slid over, plunging down into the Hatch, just

managing to grab hold of the edge of the Hatch as he

fell, so he was still hanging on by one hand…

… until with a cry of ‘Hiccup!’ and Toothless still

attached to his head, Norbert blundered forward to try

and help, and in the process trod heavily on Hiccup’s

clinging fingers.

So that Hiccup let go and fell down the Hatch…

… the Hatch that Bearcub’s Grandmother only

the day before had been warning that no Viking should

fall down OR ELSE…

… down that very same Hatch Hiccup fell, the

110

door clanging shut behind him.

There was a short silence.

Then pandemonium broke out.

111

‘Aaaarrgh!’ screeched Norbert the Nutjob, seeing

his guide to America lost, and his journey going up in

smoke. ‘Get him out! Get him out! They’ll kill him!’

But the crew could not open the Hatch. Somebody

had lost the key and had to run off and find it.

Frantically, Camicazi and Fishlegs and Norbert

pulled and pulled at the bars, and tried to squint down to

see what was happening.

There was a horrible noise of shouting and

screaming going on down there in the darkness.

What was happening to Hiccup?

Hiccup fell down, down, down, into the blackness

of the hold, landing on the wood with the carrots, and

the bread, and the cabbages the Wanderers were starting

to eat.

There was a shocked silence for a moment.

Then came a roar of rage.

‘It’s a Viking!’ yelled one big Wanderer, shaking his

chains in fury.

‘Kill him!’ shrieked Bearcub’s Grandmother,

showing her sharp pointy teeth and seizing Hiccup by the

leg. ‘Crush him to death!’ She made a growling noise like

a wolf.

‘It’s quite a small Viking,’ said the big Wanderer

more uncertainly as he grabbed hold of Hiccup, and he

112

paused his raised hand.

Hiccup knew that all Wandering

Peoples could speak Dragonese as well as

they spoke their mother tongue.*

So he spoke to them directly

in the Dragonese language.

‘Please don’t kill me…’

whispered Hiccup.

There was

a moment’s

astonished

silence.

*Unlike Vikings, who had mostly lost the art of speaking

with serpents.

‘It’s a Viking that speaks Dragonese,’ said

Bearcub’s Grandmother in amazement.

‘Please don’t kill me,’ repeated Hiccup.

‘Why should we not kill you?’ asked Bearcub’s

Grandmother in a dreadful angry voice, her eyes as

wide and staring and hypnotic as those of a king cobra.

‘Your people have killed my people for as long as

my people can remember. They have robbed us, and

cheated us, and sold us into slavery. All of history is

against you, Viking. Why should we not kill you?’

Hiccup had never met a Wanderer before, and

she was an awful sight, her hair all askew like a bundle

of hay, and those terrible grim and gloomy eyes, always

staring into the far distance as if she’d just spotted

something terrifying.

She took Hiccup by the neck in one of her

skinny hands. ‘You are a Viking, and all Vikings are

vermin, wicked and brutish enslavers of dragons and

humans. You may be young, but you should be killed

now before you grow into a rat, or a fox,’ she said,

her voice shaking with fury. Her long fingernails dug

scratches into Hiccup and he was petrified she was

going to strangle him.

‘We’re not ALL like that,’ protested Hiccup.

When Hiccup fell down the Hatch his helmet

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had fallen off, and it was lying on the wooden floor beside

him. Little Bearcub had been staring fixedly at Hiccup’s

bared head, and now he piped up, pointing at Hiccup’s

hair.

‘Look, Grandmother, he hasn’t got any horns.’

‘What do you mean?’ snapped Bearcub’s

grandmother.

‘You said that Vikings were devils that had horns

growing on their heads, which was why their helmets were

such a funny shape,’ said Bearcub. ‘But look, this one

doesn’t.’

‘Humph,’ snorted Bearcub’s grandmother, feeling

through Hiccup’s shaggy red hair. ‘Perhaps they are too

small to see yet. But, trust me, they are there. There’s

a few lumps and bumps here that could easily grow into

horns.’

‘If you don’t kill me,’ pleaded Hiccup desperately, ‘I

will help you.’

Bearcub’s Grandmother gave a bitter laugh

and shook her chains. ‘Nobody can help us,’ she said

in Dragonese, opening up her gloomy eyes. ‘We are

DOOMED… we are ALL Doomed, for I have put a Curse

upon this ship.’

‘Yes, I heard,’ said Hiccup nervously, thinking, not

another fruitcake. ‘But we are travelling north, where your

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people come from, and when we get closer to your

country, I will help you to escape.’

There was a moment’s silence, and then

the listening Wanderers broke out in a chatter of

excitement.

Bearcub’s Grandmother was more sceptical.

‘How can you do that?’ she spat in disbelief. ‘You are

far too small…’

‘I will find a way,’ said Hiccup. ‘I’m pretty sure

I will, anyway. I’ve done this sort of thing before.’

There was a long, long silence. Everyone looked

at Bearcub’s Grandmother. She was staring at Hiccup,

boring into him with her eyes, as if a tiny hope was

struggling with a lifetime’s bitter experience.

‘You are a Viking,’ she said at last. ‘I think that

you are saying this so that we will let you go, and you

will climb back to freedom, and then forget about us.’

She jerked her head up at the Hatch above, which

the Vikings were still banging and clanging in their

desperate attempts to open it.

‘I give you my promise,’ said Hiccup.

‘A Viking’s promise is worth nothing,’

spat Bearcub’s Grandmother. She looked at him

thoughtfully. ‘What is your name, Viking?’ she asked.

‘Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third,’ replied

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Hiccup. ‘I am the son of Chief Stoick the Vast, of the

Hooligan Tribe.’

‘Viking royalty,’ said Bearcub’s Grandmother,

sarcastically, but Hiccup had made her pause, and she

was thinking hard. ‘How interesting. We are honoured

indeed. King Rat. King Fox.’

Her eye caught a long, sinister-looking metal tool

leaning against one of the beams that propped up the

ceiling of the hold. It ended in the shape of an ‘S’, and

it was dipped in a dark blue ink.

‘OK then, Viking,’ said Bearcub’s

Grandmother, ‘you have got

yourself a deal. But it will

come at a price. In return

I will give you the

Slavemark. Hold him

fast, Wildthing

and Lonefox…’

‘No!’ screamed Hiccup,

struggling frantically.

‘The Slavemark is easy to

give,’ said Bearcub’s Grandmother

slowly, approaching him with the pointed stick, ‘but

impossible to remove.’ She pointed bitterly at the blue

Mark on her hand.

117

‘Take off his helmet,’ Bearcub’s Grandmother

ordered Wildthing and Lonefox. ‘And then he can hide

it from those devil-Vikings up there. We do not want

them to suspect that he has an understanding with us.’

So Bearcub’s Grandmother put the Mark on the

side of Hiccup’s head, some way above his left ear.

One second later and the Slavemark was there, a livid

blue mark that would stay for ever, a bit like a tattoo.

‘You will not be able to forget us now,’ said

Bearcub’s Grandmother with gloomy satisfaction.

The Hatch above Hiccup’s head finally burst

open and a great shaft of light poured into the

dark room.

Norbert the Nutjob’s furious red screaming face

appeared in the space. ‘IF YOU’VE TOUCHED A

HAIR ON HIS HEAD I’LL FEED THE LOT OF

YOU TO THE LOBSTERS!’ he roared. ‘CLIMB UP

QUICK THERE, BOY!’

A rope flopped down into the hold.

‘Swear by this Mark that you will help us

escape, or we will not let you go,’ hissed Bearcub’s

Grandmother.

‘I swear,’ gasped Hiccup, nearly crying. And then

he put both hands upon the rope, and was hauled up

through the Hatch.

118

‘You see, Grandmother!’ said Bearcub excitedly,

‘We are not Doomed after all! I asked for someone to

rescue us and he has!’

‘You are not rescued yet,’ said his Grandmother

sternly.

The Hatch clanged shut and they were left in

darkness again.

‘And wipe your nose,’ came the voice of

Bearcub’s Grandmother in the blackness. ‘It’s running

most dreadfully.’

119

9. THE LAND OF THE

POLAR-SERPENTS

The American Dream 2 puffed its way steadily north,

and the weather got colder and colder, and darker

and darker, until they were travelling through total

blackness, day and night, and this was the home of

the Wanderers.

It was an eerie place. Icebergs drifted

by, taller than the masts of the ship itself,

cracking and splitting and creaking

around them in the mist.

The crew fell silent as they went about their

work, and even Norbert managed to lower his voice to

a menacing whisper as he scolded and shook his axe

threateningly at his men.

For they had entered the world of the Polar-

serpents.

The Polar-serpents were great white dragons

slumbering on the ice like over-sized walruses. They

reminded Hiccup of the Sabre-tooth Driver Dragons

the Vikings used to pull their sleds back in the

Archipelago. Except that instead of sabre-teeth, out of

the nose of each Polar-serpent grew a long white tusk

like a unicorn or a narwhal.

Polar-serpents swam under the icebergs, and

when they found shoals of unwary seals and penguins

resting on the surface above, they sawed great holes

in the ice, so that the unsuspecting prey fell into their

open jaws below.

A Polar-serpent feeding frenzy was a terrifying

sight. They could strip a mammal down to the bone

far quicker than a shoal of piranhas, and as far as they

were concerned, a human was just as tasty as a seal.

Perhaps even tastier.

Of course, the Polar-serpents weren’t a threat

when you were aboard a boat… but nonetheless,

122

~ STATISTICS ~

COLOURS: White with faint grey markings.

ARMED WITH: Talons and spear-like horn.

FEAR FACTOR:................6

ATTACK:...........................7

SPEED:..................................7

SIZE:.......................................5

DISOBEDIENCE:.....................6

Polar-serpents live in the north, basking like

seals on flat icebergs. Their beauty hides a

cruel streak. A pack will even attack a polar

bear. They nest in snowdrifts, crevasses and

on the tops of icebergs. They windsurf across

the ice on their tummies and reach

extraordinary speeds doing this.

Hiccup swallowed hard as they steamed quietly past

the creatures. And he noticed that all of Norbert’s

hunting-dragons were careful to stay close to the ship

as well.

They roosted on the masts like a row of

malevolent starlings, watching the Polar-serpents, with

the Polar-serpents watching them back.

After a while Norbert slightly lost it with the

Polar-serpents.

‘STOP LOOKING AT ME, YOU BIG WHITE

MAGGOTS!’ he yelled, waving his axe at the dragons.

‘OR I’LL CLIMB OVERBOARD AND CHOP OFF

YOUR HORNS!’

He grabbed the cauldron with the remains of

lunch and shook it over the side of the boat.

The statues on the ice sprang instantly to life.

They slid into the water like big white crocodiles:

thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, three hundred of them.

Within about five seconds the water behind the

boat was a thrashing, churning, manic froth of red as

the Polar-serpents went into their feeding frenzy.

They were so crazy in their bloodlust that they

even attacked each other, tearing each other from limb

to limb.

Norbert went back to whispering.

124

All day long, Hiccup

could feel the Slavemark

pressing against his helmet.

He hadn’t told Fishlegs and

Camicazi about it, because he

knew he had to keep it a secret.

The Law of the Archipelago

was quite firm upon the matter.

Anybody with the Slavemark

was automatically an Outcast,

whether it was their fault

or not.

And they certainly couldn’t

become a Chief. No, if Hiccup ever

got back home (and it was a

big ‘if’ at this point), this was

a secret that Hiccup would

have to keep to himself

for the rest of his life. He

couldn’t tell anybody, because

if someone like Snotlout were to

find out…

Hiccup pushed the thought to the back of his

mind, because he had to concentrate on the more

pressing problem of escaping.

125

And now, escaping had been made that much

more difficult. As Camicazi had so helpfully pointed

out, it was all very well trying to escape when there are

three of you, but trying to get a hundred and twenty-

two people off a ship without their captors noticing

required a little more forward planning.

‘We could escape so easily on our own,’

complained Camicazi. ‘Why are you suddenly

bothering about those people? They’re not even

Vikings, they’re WANDERERS, for Thor’s sake, we

might set them free and then they might kill us, you

know what people say about Wanderers.’

‘I told you,’ said Hiccup grumpily. ‘I had to make

them a promise.’

Hiccup sat up in the crow’s nest of the American

Dream 2, and thought and thought and thought, his

legs swinging as Stormfly and Toothless chased each

other round and round in circles.

126

Me has b-b-buckets di belly-scream.

I am very hungry.

Me isna burped si ISSA middling

o di zuzztime.

I don’t care if it IS the middle

of the night.

Me needy di grubbings SNIP-SNAP!

I want food RIGHT NOW!

Oo mes’ll do di

yowlyshreekers too

fortissimo theys’ll earwig me

indi BigManGaff.

Or I’ll scream so loudly they’ll hear me in Valhalla.

Me needy di S-S-S-S-SALTSICKS.

I want OYSTERS.

Yow g-g-grabba di saltsicks low indi Landscoop. Sna

staraway.

You can get oysters from the Harbour.

It’s not far.

M-M-Me gogo ta yowlshreek…

I’m starting to scream…

(three quarters of an hour later)

Yow me p-p-peepers undo!

You woke me up!

Wah is DA?

What is THAT?

Da na goggle com s-s-saltsicks…

That doesn’t look like oysters…

DA goggle com sniffersludge…

THAT looks like bogeys…

Sniffersludge p-p-plus di squidink tiddles…

Bogeys with black bits in them…

Me no likeit di squidink tiddles.

Issa y-y-yuck-yuck.

I don’t like black bits. They’re disgusting.

Watever, me is tow zuzzready

por di scrumming.

Anyway, I’m too

tired to eat.

Mes’ll zip di peepers.

I’m going to sleep.

10. TOOTHLESS’S ADVENTURE

IN THE COOKING TENT

It was Toothless who provided the answer to the

Escape Problem.

One afternoon Hiccup looked down from

the crow’s nest and spotted Stormfly and Toothless

creeping out of the Cooking Tent. They had sneaked

in there while the Cook was having a thoughtful chat

with Norbert, as Norbert checked his Great Map of

America.

Both dragons were flying extremely erratically.

Stormfly had turned every colour of the rainbow, and

was letting out little hiccups in fiery explosions of

golden smoke as she somersaulted and cartwheeled

through the air.

Toothless appeared to be flying upside-down.

He too was hiccupping, and with every hiccup, a

little stream of golden bubbles blew out of his nose.

‘What ARE they doing?’ asked Camicazi, in

danger of falling off the mast as she peered down at

the little dragons’ eccentric progress.

‘They look like they’re DRUNK,’ said Fishlegs in

amazement.

Toothless got entangled in the rigging, and the

131

Stormfly was so helpless with giggles she could barely

free him.

‘Isshh v-v-very TANGLY, thish air,’ Hiccup

could hear Toothless saying.

Eventually they got going again, and they flew

past Hiccup’s perch.

‘Who ISH this tall gentleman?’ asked

Toothless, as he bashed into the mast for the

second time. ‘He keepsh getting in my way.’

‘Toothless! Stormfly!’ Hiccup called out.

‘Come over here!’

‘That b-b-boy over there s-s-seemsh to be calling

you,’ Toothless advised the Stormfly. ‘Hic… whoops…

shorry…’

They flapped over to where Hiccup and

Camicazi and Fishlegs were sitting, and they were

burping and swaying and exploding with bubbles.

‘What have you been doing?’ scolded Hiccup. ‘I

TOLD you not to go near that Cooking Tent…’

‘I haven’t been anywhere near the Cooking Tent,

have you, Toothless?’ drawled Stormfly.

The upside-down Toothless nodded so hard

great streams of golden bubbles poured out of his ears.

‘Absholutely NOT,’ he said solemnly, his eyes

crossing. ‘T-t-toothless NOT go into the Cooking

Tent… Toothless N-N-NOT open the lovely shcrum-

diddly-delicious j-j-jar of lemonade with the l-l-lovely

tickly bubbles… oooh... hic… tee hee… there goes

another one… Toothless not there… Toothless…

Toothless…’

He searched his rather addled brain for a really

good excuse this time, and came up with a BELTER.

‘Toothless in R-R-Rome,’ he said at last.

‘Really?’ said Hiccup politely, carefully turning

Toothless the right way up, and settling him in his

arms.

‘OR up the chimney,’ said Toothless, not

quite able to decide which was more convincing.

‘With Toothless’s good friend, the s-s-senator.’

And with that, both Toothless and the

Stormfly fell asleep, so suddenly and deeply

that the Stormfly fell off her perch, and

Camicazi only just caught

her in time.

They were both snoring like two little hibernating

grizzly bears.

All around their mouths was a slightly sticky

browny-yellow substance.

‘Dragon-nip,’ said Hiccup thoughtfully. ‘There

must be a jar of dragon-nip down there in the Cooking

Tent.’

Dragon-nip was a perfectly harmless but sleep-

inducing substance gathered from the sweat glands of

the Loafer dragon.

‘A spot of dragon-nip in the dinner, and anybody

who eats it will be out for the count for the next

twelve hours…’ said Hiccup. ‘OK, guys. I think this

could be a good night for us to escape.’

11. THE ESCAPE FROM THE

AMERICAN DREAM 2

The full moon shone down on the great boat steaming

through the icebergs. The crew of the American

Dream 2 feasted well that night, on a stew which,

unbeknownst to them, was heavily laced with

dragon-nip.

Hiccup had crept in to the Cooking Tent, and

poured it into the bubbling cauldron of dinner.

For a while the Hysterical crew ignored their

spooky surroundings, and sang out loud songs to the

moon above, banging their dinner plates on the deck,

and Norbert the Nutjob fiddled madly on his Viking

violin, and the Hysterics did wild jigs, and the Polar-

serpents sat on their icebergs, quiet statues, only their

eyes following the mayhem.

And then, one by one, the dragon-nip’s heavy

fumes overcame the Hysterics. Sleep overtook them so

quickly that they dropped as they stood, in the middle

of whatever they happened to be doing at the time,

and fell to the deck in grotesque attitudes of slumber.

Norbert lay snoring, the violin still tucked under

his chin. Goggle-eyes the Gory was clasped fondly to

the breast of Verociously Violent, who was under the

136

sleepy delusion that he was three years old again, and

this was his mother.

Red Ronald was pedalling the wheels of the

Keep-the-Boat-from-Sinking-and-Scare-Away-the-

Big-Sea-Creatures Machine slower and slower until

he stopped entirely and drooped snoring over the

handlebars.

And the Ship’s Cook collapsed face down in his

snail and jellyfish pie. (He would still be picking bits of

snail shell and egg out of his nostrils three days later.)

Hiccup, Camicazi and Fishlegs waited till

everybody on the deck was completely still – and then

they waited five minutes more, just to make sure. Then

slowly, quietly, they slipped down the rigging of the

mast. Hiccup was carrying the sleeping Toothless in

his breast pocket, and Camicazi had the slumbering

Stormfly draped around her shoulders like a scarf.

They tip-toed across the deck of the American

Dream 2, carefully, carefully picking their way through

the sleeping, snoring Warriors lying strewn on the

boards, the sweet yellow-brown smoke from the

cauldron billowing across the ship and making their

eyes water. Cautiously, gently, Hiccup took the ticking-

thing from around Norbert’s wrist, and tied it back

again to his own.

137

Quietly, softly, Camicazi removed the large

bunch of keys from Norbert’s waistband with her

quick, light little fingers, and she opened the lock of

the Hatch that led down to the hold where they were

holding the Wanderers. It took all three of them to

lift up the Hatch, which they did with a whining C-C-

C-CREAK! And then they threw down a rope and the

keys to the Wanderers below, Hiccup whispering as

loud as he dared to tell them to unlock their chains

and climb up, one by one.

The first two out were Bearcub and his

Grandmother.

Bearcub was in a state of high excitement, and

danced round his Grandmother squeaking, ‘I TOLD

you! I TOLD you he would rescue us! You see! You

see! Not ALL Vikings are wicked, and we’re not

DOOMED after all!’

Bearcub’s Grandmother was torn between her

delight at being rescued, and her annoyance that her

prophecy of DOOM wasn’t being fulfilled. ‘Mff,’ she

sniffed. ‘We’re not rescued YET. If just one of those

Vikings wakes up, we’re all as dead as dinosaurs…

DOOMED, the lot of us… a one-way ticket to the

happy hunting grounds…’

‘Can you work out how to get back to your home

138

from here?’ asked Hiccup, consulting the ticking-thing

anxiously. ‘And take us back to Berk when you’ve

got there?’

The scary white wilderness all around them

seemed an unlikely sort of home to Hiccup, but there

was a happy glint in Bearcub’s Grandmother’s wild

eyes, although she tried to hide it. She breathed in the

air, as cold as needles, and peered through the mists as

if looking at something very familiar. She nodded. ‘A

Wanderer is never lost,’ she said. ‘We don’t need that

silly little bauble of yours to take us home. I could have

showed that ridiculous Viking with the axe the way to

America, if he’d had the intelligence to ask me…’

Hiccup tried to organise launching the landing-

boats in a QUIET sort of way, which was impossible,

and Hiccup hopped from foot to foot in anxiety as

the Hysterical Warriors mumbled in their sleep with

every crash of the oars. They were heavily armed, with

swords, and wicked axes, and every sort of dagger, and

Bearcub’s Grandmother did have a point: Hiccup had

no doubt that if awoken, they would deal out death

with a vengeance.

But it seemed that luck was with the escapers.

The seven landing-boats plopped into the water

without any of the Hysterics opening their eyes.

139

The Wanderers filled the boats, and the first

boat began to row through the mists, Bearcub’s

Grandmother standing up straight and tall at the front,

pointing the way with one outstretched arm.

The last landing-boat had filled up, apart from

Hiccup, Fishlegs and Camicazi.

Fishlegs was watching Hiccup, as Hiccup got

ready to climb down over the rim of the American

Dream 2 and into the last landing-boat.

There were flat icebergs very close to the left

and right of them. Camicazi had taken over from the

snoring Red Ronald, and was steering the American

Dream 2, making sure the ship was moving forward in

a straight line so that it didn’t bump into the icebergs.

She had tied the slumbering Stormfly to her chest, and

the little dragon suddenly stirred violently in her sleep,

jogging Camicazi’s arm on the steering wheel… the

American Dream 2 swerved suddenly and violently to

the left…

… just as Hiccup was dangling over the edge on

a rope, preparing to let himself drop into the little boat

filled with Wanderers below.

‘Wooooahhhhh!’ gasped Hiccup, as the rope

swung him forward, leaving the landing-boat behind.

‘Watch where you’re going, Camicazi!’

140

But Stormfly seemed to be

having some sort of nightmare, and

was squirming around wildly, so that

Camicazi was struggling to see over

her wriggling tail as it flapped in

Camicazi’s face. In those vital

seconds, the

American

Dream 2

careered

erratically

forward,

glancing off an

iceberg to the

left, before

Stormfly

settled down and Camicazi got the

boat under control again. In the

meantime, when the boat hit the

iceberg, Hiccup had lost his grip on the rope

he was dangling from, and plunged downward…

141

12. R-R-R-R-UUUUNNNNNN!!!!!!

… and landed, rather painfully, on his bottom, RIGHT

in the middle of a circle of Polar-serpents.

Slowly the Polar-serpents’ heads turned one

hundred and eighty degrees, like the heads of owls, to

look at Hiccup.

‘OK…’ stammered Hiccup. ‘Easy now… nice

Polar-serpents… sweet Polar-serpents… what lovely

sharp horns you have…’

‘All the better,’ whined the nearest

Polar-serpent, ‘for spearing

you with.’

‘R-R-R-R-

R-U-U-U-U-U-

U-U-U-UNNNNNN!!!!!!!’

shouted Camicazi from the

deck of the American Dream 2.

Hiccup didn’t need to be told.

He scrambled to his feet, slipping and sliding

on the slippery ice.

The Polar-serpent has a very strange way of

manouvering across the ice floes, and if Hiccup hadn’t

been right in the middle of fleeing for his life, he might

142

have admired it. Half the pack of Polar-serpents

spread out their wings like the sails of ships, braced

their talons, and then shot forward on their smooth

bellies, rocketing after Hiccup, their noses pointed

straight toward him like darts for a dartboard. The

remaining Polar-serpents slid into the water, swift and

silent as alligators, and joined the chase from under

the ice.

‘Don’t fall over, don’t fall over, don’t fall over!’

begged Hiccup, clasping Toothless to his chest to stop

him falling out of his waistcoat as he ran. He could

hear the Polar-serpents whirring closer and closer,

their nails screeching on the ice.

Now the shadows of those that were swimming

under the ice swooped like swallows under his feet.

The American Dream 2 was still steaming

alongside the iceberg.

‘Hang on, Hiccup!’ shouted Camicazi at the

steering wheel. ‘We’re coming to rescue you!’

But Hiccup had no intention of hanging on. He

was running faster than he ever had done in his life.

‘Mfff,’ sniffed Bearcub’s Grandmother. ‘It

doesn’t look good.’ She tut-tutted. ‘He’s not

long for this world, you mark my words.’

She held up a skinny finger. ‘He’s

DOOMED, I tell you, DOOMED.’

It seemed a fairly safe prediction, under the

circumstances.

CCCC-CCC—RRUNNNNNK!

A great horn speared up through the ice right in

front of Hiccup.

He swerved around it in the nick of time.

CCCC-CCCCRUNNNNK! CRRRUNNK!

CRUNNNNKK!!!!

Three more appeared, and Hiccup slalomed

round them too.

‘Kill them!’ shrieked Camicazi.

Fishlegs had got hold of one of Norbert’s great

bow-and-arrow harpoons.

It is unclear how he thought he was going to kill

FIFTY Polar-serpents with the one harpoon, but he

was pointing it in the general direction of the Polar-

serpents with the bow upside-down, and his eyes shut.

As the harpoon went off Fishlegs fell backwards,

letting go of the bow, which ricocheted across the

deck, and jammed itself under the rim of the boat.

The harpoon sailed through the air, missing the

Polar-serpents by at least ten metres.

But it was right bang on target for Hiccup, and

would have hit him splang in the chest if the rope

hadn’t run out and pulled it to a sharp halt, sending it

crashing to the ice with a clang.

‘Why are you shooting at me?’ howled a sprinting

Hiccup. ‘Haven’t I got enough problems?’

The harpoon clattered in front of him, setting off

little sprays of snow as it bounced across the ice.

‘Oh I see…’ panted Hiccup, and he launched

himself at the harpoon as it dragged off…

But he just missed catching hold of the rope with

both hands.

‘Great God Thor… ow!… I could do… with

some HELP here…’ begged Hiccup, his chin in the

snow.

But it seemed the Great God Thor was

146

temporarily deaf. The Polar-serpents were closing in

for the kill, sending out thunderbolts of flame that only

just missed incinerating poor Hiccup.

Hiccup scrambled to his feet. The harpoon was

way out of reach now, his last hope of getting back

on board the boat. The iceberg stretched out flat in

front of him. He knew he couldn’t outrun the

Polar-serpents, who were already gaining on him.

To his left there was a gigantic cliff of ice, with an

enormous dark Cave at the bottom of it, like the open

mouth of a monster.

Hiccup ran full tilt into the Cave.

The Polar-serpents followed.

He could hear their talons clicking and scraping

on the ice, and their quick, fast breathing, so close

that they were trying to grab hold of the ticking-thing

bouncing along behind him, like great cats pouncing on

a tasty morsel tied to the end of a string.

What’s that up ahead? thought Hiccup. Oh Woden

the Great and Magnificent, I am begging you, please don’t

let that be a wall, the finish of the Cave, a dead-end, in

which case I really am dead…

It was a wall.

But as Hiccup ran closer still, he could see it was

a rough and craggy wall with nooks and crannies and

147

ledges and knobbly bits, and if he could climb up it

before the Polar-serpents caught him, surely there

would be a tunnel up there somewhere…

O Bending Biceps and Quivering Quadrapeds

and Twitching Toenails and Little Hairy Curly Bits of

Thunderous Thor!!!!!

It wasn’t a wall at all. It was a DRAGON.

He was running straight, full-tilt, as hard as he

could towards a truly immense sleeping Sea-dragon, so

huge that its head filled the entire cave in front of him.

Hiccup put the brakes on.

He skidded abruptly, screeching on the ice, slid

forward, arms waggling desperately, trying to

stop before he bumped into

the thing, because he really did NOT want to wake it

up…

… and he came to a halt just in the nick of time,

feet away from the dragon’s sleeping chin.

Hiccup stopped.

But the ticking-thing attached to Hiccup’s wrist

did not stop.

Momentum carried the ticking-thing UP from

the ice where it had been bouncing along behind

Hiccup, sailing o-o-o-over Hiccup’s head, and on

and on and up… and landing, sharp and precise, on

the closed eyelid of the sleeping dragon, as if it were

politely, but firmly, knocking on a door.

‘Oh brother… oh brother… oh brother…’

whispered Hiccup, reeling the ticking-thing in and

around his wrist.

The eyelid fluttered.

It stayed down, as Hiccup backed slowly away.

‘Please stay closed… please stay closed… please

stay closed…’

And then the eye opened.

In the darkness of the Cave it was like turning on

a great yellow searchlight, and Hiccup was blinded by

the glare.

How quickly the hunters

become the hunted.

Hiccup was now running

TOWARDS the Polar-

serpents, confusing them

considerably… until they

too realised that that bright

light was in fact the eye

of an enormous, no-longer-

sleeping, dragon.

Yowling

and screeching

like a pack of

wolves, the

Polar-serpents came

tumbling and somersaulting to

a stop and turned to run back the

other way, with Hiccup belting after

them, arms and legs going like pistons.

And behind them the terrible

beginnings of a great rumbling

R-R-R-ROAR…

The American Dream 2 had passed on from

150

the iceberg now, and was some distance away, and

Camicazi was trying to get it to turn around.

Fishlegs looked over his shoulder to see the

entire pack of Polar-serpents shooting out of the great

Ice Cave like arrows shot from a bow.

Followed by Hiccup, running flat out.

‘What’s… going… on?’ asked Fishlegs, knowing

that whatever it was, it was Very Bad News.

The flat iceberg stretched out in front of Hiccup,

far too big for safety. There was nowhere to go, no

trees to hide under. No rocks, no tunnels for shelter.

So there wasn’t really any point in running.

But the young Viking and the Polar-serpents still

ran, nonetheless, hoping to put off their deaths for one

moment, one second even.

For to Fishlegs’s horror, two great yellow eyes

slowly appeared in the darkness of the mouth of the

Ice Cave.

Whatever it was, it was huge.

Something

like a moving

mountain with

wings exploded

out of the Cave.

The cliff erupted

into a volcano of

snow, as this Something burst out

of there. A great mass of raw

energy, a roar of wild triumph

screaming from its throat,

sending snow and ice

exploding in all

directions.

It was so big it momentarily blotted out the

moon as it sailed through the air, and landed,

screaming, on the iceberg Hiccup was running across.

So big was this Thing, that when the Thing

landed, it crashed through the entire iceberg, sending

great slabs of ice, and fountains of water, shooting up

into the air. And Hiccup and the Polar-serpents were

catapulted upwards.

The Polar-serpents ricocheted off in all directions

like fireworks.

And up and up Hiccup sailed… o-o-o-o-o-over

the surprised, sinking Monster’s head… across the

sea… up and towards the deck of the American

Dream 2… where he just missed catching on to the

rim of the boat with his flailing fingers, and fell down,

down, the side of the boat, and into the sea.

Where he would have remained if the harpoon

that Fishlegs had shot earlier hadn’t snagged into the

back of his waistcoat, and dragged him along as if the

boat had caught itself

a fish.

Hand over hand, Hiccup heaved himself up the

rope, and Camicazi and Fishlegs hauled him up and

on to the deck of the American Dream 2, steaming

westward with its still-sleeping crew. And as he

clambered, dripping, over the edge of the boat, heart

racing like a rabbit, scarcely able to believe that he was

still alive…

‘The Machine!’ he gasped, and immediately ran

to the Stop-the-Boat-From-Sinking-and-Scare-Away-

the-Monster-Sea-Creatures Machine. ‘Help me get this

guy off it, Fishlegs.’

The two young Vikings dragged the dead-to-

the-world Red Ronald off the Machine, and Hiccup

looked fearfully over his shoulder. The Monster had

disappeared underneath the broken remains of the

iceberg it had shattered. But was it his imagination,

or could he see a racing, shooting, white line of water,

beginning to TURN AROUND, and move back in

their direction…?

Hiccup thrust his trembling feet into the pedals

of the Machine and circled them furiously, making the

ridiculous trumpet-like thingy revolve like a whirligig.

‘I thought you said that Machine was useless,’

panted Fishlegs.

‘Well, hopefully I was wrong,’ gasped Hiccup.

‘Because otherwise we are DEAD.’

155

‘Full steam ahead!’ shouted Camicazi, rushing

back to the steering wheel of the boat, and the

American Dream 2 surged away from the iceberg.

‘I… think… it’s… working…’ panted Hiccup.

Thor only knew how the Machine worked,*

but that white wake of water seemed to slow down…

and slow down… and slow down… and finally turn

away. So whether or not Norbert’s Machine would

prevent a boat from sinking, it did seem that it was

not quite as loopy as it looked, and it really could scare

away a Monster Sea-dragon.

With a massive sigh of relief, Hiccup turned and

he looked back over his other shoulder… to see the

seven boats of Wanderers oaring away from them as

quickly as possible in the other direction.

‘Hey!’ cried Hiccup in alarm. He showered

Fishlegs with drops of seawater as he waved his arms

at them. ‘Fishlegs, take over, and for Thor’s sake

DON’T STOP PEDALLING…’

Hiccup swapped places with Fishlegs, and ran up

and down the deck shouting: ‘Don’t leave us! What

are you doing? Come and get us! What are they doing?

* In his later memoirs, Hiccup suggests that the ‘trumpet’ attachment

emitted an unbearable noise at a pitch too high for the human ear to hear.

Other sources say that the hearing of the larger Sea-dragons was so acute

they could pick up the noise of a shrimp breathing several miles away,

and this would certainly explain why the Machine worked on the

‘Dragon-Mammoths’, but not on smaller dragons such as Polar-serpents.

Camicazi, turn round and go after them.’

‘Are you CRAZY?’ interrupted Fishlegs.

‘What about that THING? We have to get out of here as

quickly as possible.’

‘WHERE ARE YOU GOING?’ Hiccup cupped his

hands and shouted through the swiftly descending sea

mist at the Wanderers, fast disappearing in the other

direction. Hiccup’s heart sank. He couldn’t believe

the injustice of it. After ALL that he had done, ALL

that they had risked to save them from slavery, the

Wanderers were running away, abandoning them!

‘COWARDS!’ yelled Camicazi over her shoulder.

‘YELLOWBELLIES! TRAITORS!’

For a few minutes, Hiccup could still see

Bearcub’s Grandmother, standing straight and tall on

the edge of her boat.

And then she disappeared into the mist.

13. THEY WERE IN ITS

TERRITORY NOW…

So that was the end of the last hope of Escape from

the Quest to America.

All hundred and nineteen of the Wanderer

Slaves escaped.

But Hiccup, Camicazi and Fishlegs did not.

Hiccup saved Bearcub.

But who would save Hiccup?

They had their work cut out over the next five

hours or so, trying to prevent the great boat from

crashing into an iceberg in the mist. And by the

time the mists lifted it was nearly morning, they had

steamed out of the land of the Icebergs and into the

Great West Ocean, and the Hysterics were beginning

to stir in their sleep.

It was astonishing that they had all slept through

the whole thing, but they had, even Toothless, who

had snored happily through being chased by Polar-

serpents and bumping over icebergs and submerged in

ice-cold water, without so much as opening an eyelid.

Red Ronald was the first to wake up, to find

Camicazi pedalling the Keep-the-Boat-from-Sinking-

and-Scare-Away-the-Monster-Sea-Creatures Machine.

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‘I won’t tell Norbert, if you don’t,’ said Camicazi,

climbing off the Machine and letting Red Ronald climb

back on again. Red Ronald was so pathetically grateful

he practically cried, for he knew if his Boss found out

he had fallen asleep on the job he would quickly find

himself on the wrong side of the Axe of Doom.

Hiccup re-tied the ticking-thing to Norbert’s

wrist, so that Norbert would never know he had tried

to steal it, and then he judged it best that the three of

them should be out of the way when Norbert made

the discovery that all of his slaves had escaped into the

night.

So, once Hiccup’s clothes had thoroughly dried

on the chimney, they crept back up to the crow’s nest,

where they fell asleep, curled around the comforting

warmth of the two dragons, who gave out lovely waves

of heat like two little hot water bottles. They were only

awoken by Norbert’s great roar of rage.

At first Norbert was sure that it was all Hiccup’s

fault.

‘THAT WRETCHED WEIRD LITTLE RED-

HAIRED BOY! I SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM

WHILE I HAD THE CHANCE!’ screamed Norbert

the Nutjob. ‘HE’S MADE OFF WITH ALL OF MY

SLAVES!’

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Hiccup put his head over the top of the crow’s

nest.

‘No, I haven’t,’ he called down. ‘I’m up here…’

Norbert was so furious, he swiped at the mast

with his Axe as if he were chopping down a tree,

taking a big slice out of it. ‘WHAT HAVE YOU

DONE WITH MY SLAVES???!!!’ he roared.

‘I haven’t done ANYTHING with your slaves,’

Hiccup called down. ‘If I had done, I would have run

away myself.’

This was quite a good argument, but Norbert

wasn’t in a listening kind of mood and he took another

swing at the mast.

‘Now, now,’ Hiccup shouted, ‘we need that

mast, you know, and I’m the only one who can read

the ticking-thing and get us to America, aren’t I?

So without me, you can’t create your Land of the

Nutjobs… your Empire…’

With a massive effort, Norbert managed to stop

himself from cutting down the mast. But nonetheless,

Hiccup thought he might stay up in the crow’s nest

until he felt Norbert had calmed down.

Toothless and Stormfly both woke up much,

much later, when the sun was high in the sky, and the

two little dragons had absolutely no recollection of

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what had happened.

The ship was way out in the Great West Ocean

now. The world around them had turned to water.

Nothing but water, water everywhere.

It was as if a Great Flood had taken place and

washed over every precious piece of land. And now

there was nothing but sea below and clouds above, and

their tiny little speck of a boat crawling across it, like a

bug across a window pane.

It was as if they had left this world entirely and

were sailing through space, looking for another star.

There was no way of contacting other humans. They

were on their own, in a universe of water that went on

for ever.

And what was worse, was that the ship now

seemed to be being followed by something.

From high up in the crow’s nest, Hiccup,

Fishlegs and Camicazi saw it first.

It was the white wake of a GIGANTIC

Sea-Monster.

‘SEA-DRAGON ON THE EASTERN

HORIZON!’ screamed Norbert from down below

on the deck. ‘GET PEDALLING!!!!! OR I’LL FEED

YOU TO THE MONSTER WITH MY OWN FAIR

HANDS!!!’

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The crew took it in turns to pedal the Scare-

Away-the-Big-Sea-Creatures Machine so fast that the

Machine’s spokes and wheels whined a screeching,

creaking, out-of-control complaint, and the trumpet-

attachment thingy whirled so crazily, it looked in

danger of falling off.

But the Sea-dragon was not scared away. The

sound the Machine made was so physically unbearable

to the Monster that it kept a safe distance from the

boat. But it did not stop it from following them.

All of the rest of that day the Sea-dragon followed

the American Dream 2, and all of the night.

The crew went to sleep at their battle-stations,

upright in their armour, harpoons at the ready.

As they closed their eyes in sleep, it was the last

thing they saw on the horizon, the long thin line of

a white wake, and the great spiny back of one of the

Great, Deadly Terrors of the Deep, rising and falling as

it swam inexorably after them like some ghastly Fate.

They were in ITS territory now…

… and IT knew it.

All it had to do, was to be patient.

The only thing preventing the Sea-dragon from

moving in for the kill, and tearing apart the American

Dream 2 with its mighty jaws as if it were a child’s toy,

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was a dilapidated, cranky, over-worked little Machine.

A Machine that was looking increasingly creaky

and wonky as each crew member pedalled it furiously

to death.

If a screw came loose on one of those wobbling

wheels, that whirligig trumpet thingy would come

whizzing off and…

It didn’t bear thinking about.

EVERYBODY had nightmares that night.

And it made Hiccup’s heart skip a beat or two

when he woke to see the wake of the Sea-dragon on

the horizon. It was still following them.

Hiccup crept down from the crow’s nest, and

over to the Steering Deck where Norbert was staring

at it too, through his looking-glass thingy.

‘Norbert,’ said Hiccup nervously. ‘I just have a

feeling that that Sea-dragon doesn’t like us for some

reason. Don’t you think we should go home?’

For a moment, Hiccup didn’t think Norbert

had heard him, for Norbert carried on looking at the

horizon, muttering to himself slowly: ‘That… is the

largest Sea-Monster I have EVER seen…’

And then Norbert took his looking-glass thingy

from his eye and looked straight down at Hiccup.

‘No dragon, however big, is going to take away

164

my dream,’ ground out Norbert the Nutjob from

between clenched teeth, shaking his fist in Hiccup’s

face. ‘I’ll jump down that Thing’s throat and personally

remove its wishbone with my axe if I have to. You

understand me, boy?’

Hiccup nodded.

‘DEATH or AMERICA!’ roared Norbert the

Nutjob. ‘Now read me the ticking-thing, and stop

talking treachery.’

Hiccup climbed despondently back to the crow’s

nest, and relayed the bad news to his friends.

‘This just gets worse and worse, it’s like some

sort of nightmare…’ moaned Fishlegs. ‘We could

have escaped on our own, but, oh no, you have to

choose to try and escape with a hundred and nineteen

Wanderers, very subtle, and they aren’t even Vikings…’

‘I made them a promise,’ replied Hiccup

automatically.

‘And look how they repaid you!!’ Fishlegs pointed

out. ‘So you’ve saved a hundred and nineteen not-very-

nice complete strangers, but you’ve doomed your two

best friends in the process. Nice choice, Hiccup. Any

escape plans, Camicazi?’

Even Camicazi, who had escaped from practically

every Tribe in the Archipelago, seemed to have run out

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of hope that she could escape from this situation. ‘I

think the safest place to be right now is on this ship,’

she said. ‘Because out there, is that Sea-dragon. Do

you think it’s the same one that chased you in the land

of the Polar-serpents?’

‘Definitely,’ said Hiccup. ‘I recognised the spines

on its back. Those kind of spikes are mostly seen on

dragons that are now extinct.’

‘What kind of dragon is it, anyway?’ asked

Fishlegs.

‘I don’t know,’ said Hiccup slowly. ‘It was

difficult to tell because it was so dark, but it wasn’t

a species I recognised. It reminds me of some of the

ones that I’ve heard about in the ancient Sagas. A

Leviathorgan, or a Gorgenghast.’

‘Aren’t those just mythical creatures?’ asked

Camicazi. ‘You know, made-up, like unicorns and

mermaids and things?’

‘Maybe they’re not made-up,’ said Hiccup.

‘Maybe they just haven’t been seen for a long time.

Just because we don’t know how that Machine works,

doesn’t mean that it doesn’t work. Just because we’ve

never seen America, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. We’re

in waters that we’re not used to now, the waters of the

Great West Ocean. There could be all sorts of terrible

166

things down there in the fathoms below us, who

knows?’

It was not a cheerful thought.

To keep their spirits up, they thought about what

everybody would be doing back at home.

The Hooligan Tribe would be back on Berk now,

playing Bashyball in the mud, preparing for the spring

shearing, painting the boats for the summer sailings.

‘I wonder who won the Inter-Tribe Friendly

Swimming Race?’ mused Fishlegs.

‘My mother is the Archipelago Long Distance

Swimming Champion, Bertha the Unsinkable!’ said

Camicazi. ‘She’d have stayed out there for days!’

‘And why wouldn’t my father have won?’ argued

Hiccup loyally. ‘He’s just as good at swimming as

Bertha…’

‘NO WAY!’ insisted Camicazi.

And so they argued, back and forth, not that

it mattered, of course, but it passed the time, and it

helped to be thinking of what might be happening

at home.

They did not realise, of course, that in fact

neither of their parents had actually left the beach, let

alone won the Competition, on that fateful morning

several weeks ago…

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14. WHAT HAPPENED

BACK IN THE MURDEROUS

MOUNTAINS

Several weeks earlier, back in the Murderous

Mountains, it looked like Madguts would have the

glory of being Last Man Back. He lasted for forty-one

hours out there in the water, which, even when covered

with a thin layer of Deepest Purple Fleshfang Oil, is an

almost superhuman feat.

He was greeted by a cheering crowd of Viking

Tribesmen on the Long Beach as he strode out of the

waves, arms held above his head in victory, Gumboil

trotting a few steps in front of him.

The Chief Judge, the sad little Bashem-Oik,

rushed up the beach to meet Madguts. He gave him

a golden medal, and a pipe that Madguts jammed

between his lips as he made a Victory Lap of the

Beach, acknowledging the cheering.

Gumboil bowed towards the Inter-Tribal Friendly

Swimming Race Committee. ‘My Master greets the

Judges, and claims the Victory of being the Last Man

Back in this Swimming Contest. And as Last Man

Back, according to the Rules, he may make a single

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demand of the losing Chieftains, Stoick and Bertha.’

Poor Stoick was sitting with his head in his

hands. Stoick was not a natural worrier, but he was

now terribly concerned about the fate of his son,

Hiccup. Now he got to his feet and roared, ‘But

Hiccup is not back! My son may yet return and claim

the prize himself!’

It was a desperate hope, but Stoick was clinging

to it. Madguts grinned an unpleasant grin with not

enough teeth in it. He whispered in his assistant’s ear.

‘My Master points out, respectfully,’ Gumboil

bowed in the direction of Stoick and Bertha, ‘that

Stoick’s son, Hiccup, Bertha’s daughter, Camicazi, and

the odd looking boy they call Fishlegs, are most likely

to have DROWNED in the very first hours of the

Competition…’

‘NO!’ bellowed Stoick, with an anger born of

fear.

The Inter-Tribal Friendly Swimming Race

Committee nodded wisely and sadly to each other. It

did seem likely at this point.

‘This is true,’ admitted the Chief Judge solemnly.

‘For Snotface Snotlout here reports that he and

Dogsbreath the Duhbrain saw Hiccup and the other

two in difficulties. He tried to help them…’

169

‘We did our best,’ said Snotlout,

sorrowfully and nobly, ‘but we were

swept away by the force of the current,

weren’t we, Dogsbreath?’

Dogsbreath grunted, and removed

his helmet out of respect for the dead.

‘It’s a tragedy,’ sighed Snotlout.

‘Hiccup was like a brother to me…’

Stoick gave a groan of sadness,

terrible to hear, and turned away.

‘Don’t worry, Stoick, my

dear chap,’ Bertha comforted him

awkwardly. ‘Camicazi is with him,

and, trust me, she always turns up all

right… She could escape from Valhalla

itself…’

‘And so Madguts demands

his prize,’ smiled Gumboil

silkily. ‘And he demands…

the kingdoms of Stoick and

Bertha, who should be taken

immediately from this beach,

and up to the Sky Burial Place

on the clifftops to be sacrificed

to the Sky Dragons!’

‘Whaaaaaaaat?’ roared the Hooligans and the Bog-

Burglars in fury. Uproar on the beach.

‘But… but… but this is outrageous!’ stuttered

Bertha. ‘He can’t ask for that!’

‘I hope you’re not going to go back on your

word, Bertha,’ Gumboil wagged a warning finger at the

apoplectic Bog-Burglar Chief. ‘Don’t be such a bad

sport. I am presuming that if YOU had won, you would

have expected Madguts to do YOUR bidding…’

‘This is just a Friendly Swimming Race! We were

only going to ask for Madguts to cross the Sullen Sea in

a bathtub with his underpants on his head!’ yelled Bertha

indignantly.

‘More fool you,’ smiled Gumboil. Madguts is only

asking what Stoick’s ancestor, Grimbeard the Ghastly,

asked of Madguts’ ancestor, way back in the bad old

days…’

Old Wrinkly had been trying to interrupt for some

time. He got to his feet and cleared his throat.

‘A small technical point, Your Wheeziness,’ said

Old Wrinkly to the Chief Judge. ‘Let me tell again that

story from the bad old days, the Saga of Grimbeard the

Ghastly and the Swimming Race. Just in case there are

some people here who do not know it.’

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GRIMBEARD THE GHASTLY

and the SWIMMING RACE

Grimbeard the Ghastly was Stoick’s great-great-

grandfather, a wicked, successful pirate who became

the last King of the Archipelago. One day, Murderous

the Magnificent challenged Grimbeard the Ghastly to a

swimming race, and the two chiefs agreed the winner should

be granted a single demand.

So one cold morning they set out from the Western

Beach of the Murderous Mountains. Murderous the

Magnificent finally swam back to the same beach in seventy-

one hours and forty-two minutes, nearly three days in total.

His face had swollen to twice the size and his body was so

covered in wrinkles he looked like he had been pickled in

the brine.

The Hooligan Tribe waited on the beach hoping

and hoping for their chief to return. After a week, they

accepted that he must have drowned, and conceded

the victory to the Murderous Tribe. Murderous the

Magnificent claimed the Kingdom of the Archipelago, and

that, everybody thought, was the end of the matter. However,

three months later, Murderous the Magnificent was conducting

a night-time banquet on that very same beach. The highlight of

the banquet was the human sacrifice under the stars.

Just before the sacrifice took place, Grimbeard the

Ghastly came staggering out

of the surf. He was barely recognisable.

Half-human, half-monster, with skin like a dragon,all

entwined with seaweed, and he had shark’s teeth around

his calves like bracelets.

Grimbeard the Ghastly staggered up the beach

and collapsed. Murderous the Magnificent raised up his

sword to kill what he thought was some kind of demon…

then he saw that the monster was wearing around its waist

Grimbeard the Ghastly’s famous sword, the Stormblade!

The next words that Grimbeard spoke, as he lay

gasping for breath on the sand, can be repeated proudly by

every Hooligan schoolboy, so well-known are they:

‘Stay your hand, Murderous the Magnificent.

I am no ghost. It is I, Grimbeard the Ghastly, who have the

Greatest Stomach after all. I have survived the Open Ocean,

by the will of Thor, without seeking aid from float or boat, I

am the last man back, and I am come to claim my Kingdom

for the Hooligan Tribe!’

I am afraid that Grimbeard the Ghastly, who was not

a nice man, then insisted as his demand that Murderous the

Magnificent should be sacrificed to the Sky Dragons. The

Annual Inter-Tribe Swimming Race has been held every

year in memory of this historical event, but over the years it

has become more of a friendly competition.

‘There you are, you see!’ said Gumboil triumphantly.

‘For one hundred years the Murderous Tribe have

been waiting for our revenge, and now finally, the time

has come, and our pride shall be restored.’

‘Stop interrupting!’ snapped Old Wrinkly

‘Now, Grimbeard was, among other things, a terrible

trickster, a practical joker and an all-round cheat.

But however he achieved this extraordinary stunt, he

returned to this beach, Last Man Back (the Committee

might like to check the Sagas for this), exactly THREE

MONTHS, FIVE DAYS AND SIX HOURS

later! There ARE still three members of the race

unaccounted for, namely Hiccup, Fishlegs and the very

small Bog-Burglar they call Camicazi. I would propose

that if Grimbeard the Ghastly could stay out that long,

then, technically speaking, they could too… so we need

to wait three months, three days and eleven hours

before Madguts can claim his prize.’

Gasps from the crowd.

The Judges went into a ‘Thinking Scrum’ to

consult upon this matter.

‘OK, then,’ said the Chief Judge, emerging from

the Scrum and banging on the drum. ‘HERE IS

THE VERDICT of the Inter Tribal Swimming Race

Committee. As long as Madguts has stuck to the Rules

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of the Competition, trickery played within those Rules

is a perfectly repectable Viking characteristic.’

Cheers of greedy joy from the Murderous Tribe.

Howls of sadness and fury from the Hooligans

and the Bog-Burglars.

‘I haven’t finished!’ cried the Chief Judge.

‘Madguts the Murderous is granted temporary custody

of Big-Boobied Bertha and Stoick the Vast. And we

Judges will stay on the beach to keep watch for the

three missing competitors. But the rest of you can go

home. And you will return back to this beach exactly

three months, five days and six hours from the start of

the race. If in that time no one has returned alive from

these waters, Madguts the Murderous will be declared

Last Man Back, the Berk and Bog-Burglar islands will

fall into Murderous hands, and Stoick and Bertha, I

am afraid, will be sacrificed to the Sky Dragons…’

The Chief Judge banged his staff upon the

ground. And so it was.

The three old Judges sat patiently on the beach,

through wind and rain and storm, looking out to sea.

The rest of the Bog-Burglars and the Hooligans

sailed sorrowfully back to their islands.

And poor old Stoick and Big-Boobied Bertha

were not playing Bashyball in the mud, or supervising

175

the spring shearing, or painting the boats for the

summer sailings, as Hiccup had imagined.

They were incarcerated in the deepest and

darkest Murderous Cave Dungeons, so cramped and

dark that they could barely move a muscle.

There was a tiny barred window in Stoick’s

dungeon, which had a good view over the Great West

Ocean and Stoick would fall asleep sometimes, looking

out over this view, and dream that his son was alive,

and swimming back to him across the sea. But then he

would wake up, and it was nothing but a dream, and

all there was was water, water, stretching out for ever,

and the cold lonely cry of the seagulls.

15. IT’S A LONG WAY TO

AMERICA

Now follows the part of the story in which Hiccup

travelled across the Great West Ocean.*

It would take far too long to tell you what

happened every minute, every hour, every day.

Thousands and thousands of miles the Great

Ship travelled, the puffing fiery furnace sending them

skimming across the water far quicker than sails alone.

Thousands and thousands of miles across the Ocean,

sometimes in sunshine and glass-flat sea and windless

skies, sometimes in gales and hurricanes and driving

rain, surging up and down on the back of the white-

topped waves as if they were aboard a great galloping

horse.

Travelling across the Great West Ocean is a

VERY long way indeed.

It is indeed such a long way, it seemed to Hiccup

to be like stepping off the edge of the World and into

Forever. And through wind and sun and frost and rain,

this Sea-dragon followed the doomed ship, constant

as a meteor orbiting the earth, just as if the ship were

a planet that had its own particular moon, slowly and

predictably circling it.

* The Atlantic Ocean, as we now call it.

The Hysterics were still hale and hearty, wolfing

down their smoked reindeer with gusto, and washing

it down with a nice dose of bull’s blood and strong

cabbage BEER.

They were in fine, violent spirits, joking with

one another, and sometimes going too far, and so the

whole deck erupted into fisticuffs, and Norbert had

to break up the fights by storming into the centre of

the trouble, whirring his axe above his head like the

propeller of one of his mad inventions.

The Hysterics sang all day and night long, of

their sweethearts at home, of Jellybelly’s bright eyes,

and Grimhilda’s magnificent chin, and fortunes to be

made, and blood to be spilt, in the New World called

America.

And at night, as they slept, their dreaming minds

drew maps of America and each map of this paradise-

on-earth was drawn according to their own desires.

To Nutjob it was a place of GOLD, where all his

inventions worked like clockwork, and he could rule

on a golden throne with a golden crown on his head

and a golden axe in one hand.

To lazy little Toothless, it would be a land of

FOOD, with small furry animals in such abundance

that you barely had to raise a claw to catch them.

178

You just opened up your little tooth-free jaws, and

they elbowed each other out of the way to crowd down

your throat, and troop downwards, squeaking, into

your fat little stomach.

To Fishlegs, it was a world where nobody tried to

make you play Bashyball.

To Camicazi, it was a land full of sword-fights,

and kidnaps, and mad, hairy opponents to burgle and

tease.

And as for Hiccup…

Why, strange to tell, Hiccup’s map of America

looked a lot like Berk.

Hiccup, Fishlegs and Camicazi often slept at

night by the warmth of the ship’s chimney, and then

spent their days up in their treetop house at the top

of the mast, or played upon the rigging, only coming

down for Hiccup to read the ticking-thing, or to have a

meal.

As the ship puffed south, the weather grew

warmer, and they could take off some of their stolen

furs and hang them out on the crow’s nest.

The Sea-dragon followed them still.

The creaking, clanking, shambolic little wreck of

a Machine was held together by bits of old sea rope,

and ancient twine. With every revolution of the pedals,

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the trumpet-thingy seemed in trembling danger of

falling off…

… but by some miracle, the wheels still turned,

and it hadn’t fallen off…

… yet.

Every evening just at sundown, Norbert would

summon Hiccup to his tent to read the ticking-thing.

There he would be, pacing up and down on the

rocking deck in front of his maps, all spread out on the

bearskin tablecloth, and as the days went on he grew

more and more impatient, clapping his great hands

together, and muttering to himself, ‘Nearly there now!

Nearly there!’ before Hiccup told him the reading for

the day. Norbert wasn’t a very patient man, and this

waiting was killing him.

He had a tiny replica of the American Dream

2, exquisitely made in every detail, but only about

eight centimetres high. It had a real working sail, and

the writing on the side was so tiny it looked like it

had been drawn by a flea. Norbert used his axe to

push this boat across the surface of his great map,

according to Hiccup’s reading of the ticking thing, so

that he could see where they might be on the Great

West Ocean. Every day it drew nearer and nearer to

the great landfall Norbert had drawn on it and called

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‘AMERICA’, until it was now, according to the map,

only a day or two’s sail away, and Norbert could barely

contain his excitement.

Hiccup was very uneasy. He remembered what

Norbert had said about how they were only safe for

as long as Norbert needed him to read the ticking-

thing for him. Now they were so close to America,

a nasty look came into Norbert’s eye when it rested

on Hiccup. Norbert had taken to polishing the dark

side of his axe until it gleamed like ebony, whispering

to it as if it were a precious pet: ‘Not long now my

darling… soon you shall be fed…’

Hiccup did not like the sound of this at all, and

he took the precaution of getting Camicazi to steal

them back their weapons. He had a nasty feeling they

were going to need them.

So there was a great knot of anxiety in Hiccup’s

stomach. Especially as he watched the crew while they

were having breakfast outside the Cooking Tent the

next day. The Hysterics were in an excitable mood,

singing their songs with great gusto:

‘There’s LAND ahead lads, LAND ahead, a

LAND of milk and HONEY,

‘We’ll soon be off these rocking waves and

rolling in the MONEY…’

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16. LAND AHOY!!!!!!

A storm was brewing.

Ominous clouds were building up in the skies

above, like a god with a headache, and the boat was

already beginning to rock beneath their feet as the

swell grew larger, and the wind picked up.

Suddenly, there was a great flash of lightning

that lit up the sky.

Hiccup could see distinctly in that sudden flash

the black back of the great Sea-dragon on the horizon.

And just as the lightning struck, there was a great

gleeful cry of JOY from the lookout on the first mast:

‘NUTJOB-LAND AHO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-Y!!!!!!!!!’

And the Hysterics rushed to the edge of the boat,

jostling and trampling and elbowing each other out of

the way.

They wanted to be the first to catch a glimpse of

that glorious, mythical, land, that mysterious place they

called ‘America’.

That first sighting was just as wonderful as they

could possibly have imagined.

Above them, the storm was breaking, and rain

poured down on their heads, as the ship bucked up

and down on the back of the plunging waves.

183

But on the horizon,

the long grey smudge of

land that seemed to stretch infinitely

from west to east was bathed in sunshine under the

bluest of blue skies.

America.

The land of dreams, it really did exist, and in that

wonderful moment, it was just as it should be.

No sooner had Norbert clapped eyes on this

country that he had waited so long, and journeyed so

far, to find, that he drew his axe in order to exact an

old revenge.

‘Now, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third,’

grinned Norbert the Nutjob, with the light of triumph

glowing in his manic eye, ‘I have no need of YOU any

more… and now you will feel the sharp end of the Axe

of Doom… PREPARE TO DIE!’

Hiccup leapt up on to a barrel so that everyone

could see him. ‘DON’T KILL ME JUST BECAUSE

I’M A RED-HEAD, NORBERT!’ shouted Hiccup as

loud as he could.

The Hysterics crowded at the ship’s rail turned

around.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Verociously Violent,

whose hair was a great shock of scarlet, flaming like a

fiery furnace.

‘What are you talking about?’ blustered Norbert.

‘NORBERT, HERE, DOESN’T WANT ANY

RED-HEADS TO BE LIVING IN THE PROMISED

LAND!’ yelled Hiccup. ‘HE’S GOING TO KILL US

ALL WITH HIS AXE OF DOOM!’

It just so happened that, by coincidence, quite a

lot of the red-headed members of the Hysteric Tribe

had suffered at the hands of Norbert’s wild temper

and his experiments. (For instance, Norbert had sent

Verociously Violent and Goggle-eyes the Gory up in the

air to try out his Flying Machine experiment TWENTY-

SEVEN TIMES, and every single time, the Flying

Machine had crashed into the sea two minutes after it

took off.) So the red-heads drew their swords with an

angry rumble of revolt.

For their part, the Hysterics with blond hair had

always had a secret feeling of superiority. Now that

Norbert had brought it up, what could be better than

a whole Tribe of blonds, storming into the Future, hair

brighter than the cornfields?

186

So they too drew their swords, and within

a couple of seconds, to Norbert’s open-mouthed

amazement, the entire Tribe of Hysteric Warriors were

fighting each other as if they were desperate enemies.

It was a terrible battle indeed. Thor’s thunder

rolled out across the black and angry stormclouds,

and great jagged splinters of lightning cracked open

the skies and punched down on to the swelling seas

all around them. Huge frothing waves spilled over the

sides of the boat and across the deck, upsetting the

combatants as they fought in the drenching rain.

Camicazi joined Hiccup in fighting Norbert.

‘YOU, Norbert,’ teased Camicazi, ‘have the

mental capacity of a jellyfish with a lobotomy. You

have the leadership skills of a lemming with a learning

difficulty. You couldn’t run an Empire larger than my

toilet without making a complete dog’s breakfast of

it… which is a bit of a problem for a dictator…’

Hiccup lunged forward with a Left-handed

Heartseeker, and Norbert was so distracted by

Camicazi’s insults that he only just parried it in time.

And while he was occupied with the parry,

Camicazi leapt in and tickled him under the armpits.

‘Oooh, nice muscles, Norbert, have you been

working out?’

187

With a howl of fury, Norbert shook her off, and

Camicazi sprang backwards, and ducked his furious

swing of the axe.

‘Temper, temper…’ she scolded, and so mad

with rage was Norbert that he didn’t even

see Hiccup’s Twirling Double-Point until it

removed the bottom half of his beard, and

meanwhile, Camicazi sneaked in under his

left arm, and stole the ticking-thing from

out of his pocket, cutting the rope that tied it to

Norbert’s wrist.

‘Is this yours?’ asked Camicazi,

dangling the ticking-thing in front of him.

‘Tut, tut, you need to be careful with it, or someone

might steal it…’

‘Give it here!’ roared Norbert, slashing away at

her randomly.

‘Come and get it…’ sang Camicazi, twirling the

ticking-thing around her head, and bonking Norbert

on the nose with it, before she threw it to Hiccup, who

caught it neatly.

The only problem with Camicazi’s fighting

method was that it tended to make the opponent

REALLY REALLY MAD.

Norbert turned as red as a tomato, and

LAUNCHED himself at the two young Vikings,

howling like a dog.

The swords flashed together, in and out, lunge

and parry.

Norbert was a terrifying opponent, with his

sword in one hand and his axe swiping in the other.

But even though they were young, as you can

see, Hiccup and Camicazi were a formidable fighting

duo.

Who knows what would have happened, if

Toothless hadn’t taken it in his head to be helpful.

Toothless grabbed Norbert’s big map of America

from the table in his Tent, and flapped unsteadily, like

190

a large ungainly moth, over to the scene of the fight.

He hovered for a second over Hiccup, Camicazi and

Norbert, and then shook his head as he dropped

the map, so it spread out nicely as it fell, and

floated gently…

… on to the head of Norbert the Nutjob,

covering him from the top of his helmet to the bottom

of his midriff, like a mysterious lady of the Eastern

deserts.

‘Oh well done, Toothless!’ Toothless

congratulated himself, clapping his wings together in

an ecstasy of excitement. ‘Nice swooping!’

The deck heaved violently on the swell of a wave.

Norbert staggered, trying to regain his balance,

but with a map upon his head, he couldn’t see where

he was going…

He lurched violently to the left… and then wildly

to the right, bashing into Red Ronald, still pedalling

faithfully away on the Stop-the-Boat-from-Sinking-

and-Scare-Away-the-Big-Sea-Creatures Machine,

with such force that… Red Ronald… and, most

importantly, the MACHINE… the creaky, cranky little

Machine that had by some extraordinary chance held

together all this way…

… fell over the rim of the boat and into the sea.

191

There was a mighty pause.

‘Oh, Toothless…’ moaned Hiccup, with his hands

over his eyes.

They were so close to America that it had ceased

to be a pale grey outline, and was a long swoop of

white beach, with great grey waves crashing upon the

shoreline, and trees above, and you could even see tiny

little mysterious figures moving upon the sand.

But now the Machine was no longer giving out

that unbearable high-pitched noise, the Sea-dragon

on the horizon – the Sea-dragon that everybody had

forgotten about in the heat of the fighting – was finally

released.

And with a mighty, terrible shriek, it shot towards

the boat.

Having regained his balance, Norbert took the

Map off his head and blinked twice, first at the spot

where the Machine had disappeared over the rim of

the boat, then at the Truly Gigantic Dragon moving

purposefully towards them.

Nobody was fighting now. Red-heads, blonds,

lunatics, all had recognised a greater danger, and were

crouching down on the deck in fear.

‘HERE IT COMES!’ shouted somebody.

192

17. THE LEVIATHORGAN

STRIKES

The Hysteric nearest to Hiccup fell to his knees,

gasping: ‘Thor save us!’

All they could see of the Creature were the

spines on its back drawing closer and closer in the

water.

It was aiming straight for the boat.

But at the very last moment, it changed direction,

and swam alongside it. And it was only then that they

realised how truly enormous it was.

It was IMMENSE.

As the Dragon passed the boat, it rolled slightly

on its side, and one terrible yellow reptilian eye stared

at Hiccup, pinpointing him, picking him out. There

was a curious expression in that eye, of intelligent

humour mixed with the purest fury. It was as if it

hadn’t forgotten the incident in the Ice Cave, and

something in that eye seemed to say, ‘You’re going to

pay for that, boy, and I’m going to enjoy it… You can’t

get away from me now.’

And then it moved on, muscles rippling, as it

swam sinuously as a panther through the water. It

swam so close to the boat, that it was almost as if it

193

were showing off how big it was. That long, glorious

back with the cruel, primeval spikes, went on, it

seemed like, for ever…

Oh for Thor’s sake, thought Hiccup, his heart in

his mouth, it must be twice, no nearly three times as

long as this boat…

It was a Leviathorgan, all right.

Like all the ancient Sea-dragons, it had probably

been alive since the age of the dinosaurs, and it

had the look of something dug up from the past.

Blackened crustacea festooned its spiny armour like

rust. Parts of its body were so encrusted with coral,

and trailing with long drifts of seaweed, that it was like

a living, moving reef.

The heart-stoppingly huge length of

the Leviathorgan swam beside the boat.

And then it turned away, and swam

on past them, and disappeared

below the water, the casual,

contemptuous flip of its tail

creating such a great white

washing powerful wake that

it swamped the deck with

a wave that covered

their knees.

‘Where’s it gone?’

Many voices called out the same question from

the ship.

There had been a look in that Dragon’s giant eye

which Hiccup had seen in the expression of Toothless

when he had cornered something smaller than himself,

like a mouse or a rabbit.

Like cats, dragons have a cruel streak, and they

like to play with their food, before they kill it.

‘It’s going to play with US…’ thought Hiccup

with foreboding. ‘Grab on to something on the boat!’

he yelled out, winding a rope attached to the mast

firmly round his wrist.

‘Oh brother,’ moaned Fishlegs, as he did the

same, ‘how did this happen? We just went out for a

simple little SWIMMING RACE, is there NO safe

activity in this uncivilised world?’

The dragon had dived under the water, and there

was no sign of it, just the roaring of the wind, the

crashing of the thunder, the drenching rain.

‘WHERE IS IT? WHERE’S IT GONE?’

someone shouted frantically.

There was an explosion of white water to

Hiccup’s left, as the Leviathorgan LEAPT out of the

sea. It flew right over the boat, and hovered there.

Again, it was almost as if it were showing off how

big it was.

It was so enormous that hovering above the great

ship’s mast, the tips of its great wings just grazed the

surface of the water as they beat downward on either

side.

Its eyes bored down at the Viking ship. Gently

196

it reached out its gigantic talons, and took hold of the

mast of the American Dream 2, like an eagle grasping

a stick.

And then it lifted the entire ship completely clear of

the water…

It looked down into the boat to see the reaction

of the inhabitants.

Most of them were screaming.

The great Sea-dragon gave the ship a little shake,

sending the Vikings inside it catapulting around the

deck like marbles… and then it dropped the American

Dream 2 back into the water again.

The Monster hung above them still, blotting out

the sky, and now it stretched wide its great ancient

mouth, far wider than would have seemed physically

possible, so that it became a great black cavern,

opening up in front of their eyes.

Like an enormous spitting cobra, the Sea-dragon

began to hiss.

First a gentle sssssss… getting louder and louder,

SSSSSSS, until it built up into such a sinister, angry

intensity that it was as if the entire ship were crawling

with nests of serpents about to strike. The sound

sent goosebumps all over Hiccup’s body, and every

individual hair on his head stood up as if charged

197

with static electricity.

The Creature’s eyes bulged, its throat worked.

It was looking straight at Hiccup, and

instinctively, Hiccup ducked behind the mast.

Something flew through the air, and sunk itself

quivering into the wood.

With round, terrified – no, petrified – eyes,

Hiccup peered round the mast to look at it.

It was the sting of the Leviathorgan.

Hiccup had heard of this in legends. Like a

gigantic bee, the Leviathorgan carries stings within its

body, but in its throat, inside the fire-hole rather than

its abdomen. It can propel these stings from its mouth

at astonishing speed, like a rocket launcher.

The sting of a bee is no more than a couple of

millimetres long. The sting of a Leviathorgan is roughly

the length of a spear.

It had sunk quite eight centimetres into the

wood, and remained there, shivering and on fire. It

seemed to be made out of some kind of bone as hard

as metal, but it was difficult to tell because the flames

flickered along its length. A great scarlet-black stain

was spreading out on the mast as the poison from

the tip leaked out, and Hiccup was just taking off his

jacket to smother the flames before they set fire to the

198

mast, when the Leviathorgan entered the water on the

other side of the boat.

This time it slapped down its tail with such

deliberate force that a wave tipped the boat violently

to the left, so much so that the tip of the mast itself

nearly reached the water.

Barrels, the Cooking Tent, cauldrons, brooms,

Norbert’s precious Map Table, his table and chairs,

his rugs and his birdcages, Hysterics, forks, pails, and

vegetables, all were washed away in a flood of thigh-

deep water as the boat dipped so crazily that it almost

seemed in peril of tipping over entirely.

Both Fishlegs and Camicazi had lost their grip on

what they were holding on to and were washed off by

the force of the wave. But the ticking-thing had caught

around the mast, and Hiccup remained on the boat.

For a second it seemed as if the boat would

up-end completely… and then it righted itself again,

and swung back, equally wildly, in the other direction,

flinging Norbert back over the edge and spinning him

to the centre of the deck.

Again it seemed uncertain that the ship

would find its centre of balance, but it rocked back

eventually, and rolled drunkenly forward, direction-less

now that there was no one at the wheel.

199

Most of the crew was washed off into the stormy

seas.

The deck was ankle-deep in water, stained a

bloody red (I’m SORRY for those of you who are

squeamish, but it was).

Those crew that remained were either

concentrating in putting out the fire on one of the

sails before it spread (the Leviathorgan had shot out

another flaming sting before it dived back into the sea,

and it had passed straight through the end sail, setting

it alight), or they were on their knees praying to the

great god Thor.

Some, indeed, thought that the Leviathorgan

was the incarnation of Thor himself, come down in

judgment upon them for their temerity in daring to

cross the Uncrossable Waters, and its stings were

Thor’s lightning bolts raining down upon them.

Many had now abandoned the American Dream

2 as a hopeless cause, a lost ship, and were even now

striking out for land as their only hope of survival.

Camicazi and Fishlegs were in the sea.

Fishlegs had got hold of one leg of Norbert’s

Map Table, which was floating upside-down in the

water, and he looked down, and found himself staring

at the great black form of the gigantic Leviathorgan

200

swimming just ten metres below him.

‘It’s all right!’ screamed Camicazi. ‘It’s going for

the boat!’

And then they both turned white.

Hiccup was still on the boat.

Hiccup had unfortunately tied the ticking-thing

to his wrist a little too carefully, with one of Stoick’s

Foolproof Never-Go-Wrong Slip-Knots, and he was

having difficulty untying himself.

‘Come on… come on… come on…’ he muttered,

desperately trying to untangle himself.

‘Help me bite it apart, Toothless,’ he said, and

the little dragon worked at the rope with his sharp

little gums, to no avail.

‘Hurry up, hurry up!’ screamed Hiccup.

‘OK, that’s it,’ said Toothless, folding his wings,

and stopping biting. ‘Toothless not

help the big Mean Master if he

be cross with p-p-poor Toothless.’

There was a great crash from

below of splintering wood, and the

boat rocked crazily, and another

crash, and the boat listed to the left

and then sank a couple of metres

into the water.

‘Aaaaghhh!!!! It’s holed the boat, it’s holed the

boat! ABANDON SHIP!!!’ yelled one of the crew,

belly-flopping over the side.

‘Toothless! Help me!’ shrieked Hiccup,

scrabbling frantically at the rope, trying to untie it,

and only succeeding in making a complete bird’s nest

of the thing. ‘I didn’t mean to sound cross, I was just

frightened!’

‘Is no r-r-reason to be RUDE,’ complained

Toothless, in a huff. ‘And Mean Master still sounding

cross.’

‘I’m not cross!’ squealed Hiccup. ‘Get biting! Get

biting!’

Toothless wagged a wing at Hiccup. ‘First, Mean

Master say he v-v-very sorry…’

‘I’m very sorry!’ screamed Hiccup. ‘Very, very,

very sorry! I couldn’t be sorrier!’

‘Say, I am a big, wingless idiot and T-T-

Toothless the handsomest, cleverest k-k-kindest

dragon in the WHOLE WORLD…’ said

Toothless, giggling naughtily.

‘I-am-a-big-wingless-idiot-and-Toothless-

is-the-handsomest-cleverest-kindest dragon-in-the-

whole-world!’ gabbled Hiccup.

Norbert was lying in the centre of the deck in a

crumpled heap, and for a moment Hiccup hoped, as

he frantically worked at the knot, that he was actually,

finally, completely dead.

But Norbert seemed to be indestructible. He

quivered a little, and then rose like a nightmare from

the deck, as he did in so many of Hiccup’s dreams,

a limping sack of bones and muscles with murder in

his eyes.

His clothes were in dripping tatters around him,

his face was contorted in fury.

Hiccup could tell from the crazy light in

Norbert’s eye that he had lost the plot. He no longer

cared about escaping the frightful peril of the Creature

determined to destroy the boat, or about reaching the

American shore, so temptingly close, and yet still so

far away.

All he wanted now was the head of Hiccup.

‘YOU…’ spat Norbert, as he staggered forward,

panting hard. ‘You, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the

Third are my nemesis… my Curse… If YOU were not

in this world I would be a RICH man, counting my

American gold… an Emperor perhaps, of the New

World… but you and your wretched little flying lizard

have foiled my dreams once more. I mean, can’t a man

204

DREAM for Thor’s sake? All of my dreams YOU have

turned to ashes, time and time again.’ Tears of self-

pity rolled down Norbert’s furious face, as he waded

through the knee-deep water.

He staggered forward, his sword raised above

his head.

‘… and when we get home, I am going to let

Toothless have his very own p-p-pet, a dear little rat…’

finished Toothless.

‘And-when-we-get-home-I-am-going-to-let-Toothless-

have-his-very-own-pet-a-dear-little-rat-help-me-Toothless-

or-I-am-going-to-DIE!’ screeched Hiccup.

At the very last minute, Toothless finally

unwound the ticking-thing from the mast. Hiccup

looked desperately around him as the lightning shook

the sky… there was no escape now, nowhere to go

but… UP.

In an instant, a Plan popped into Hiccup’s mind.

The Archipelago was a dangerous place to live, and

Hiccup had spent many years coming up with one

desperate plan after another, but this was a plan too

crazy even to be given the name ‘desperate’, so let us

call it the Suicidal Plan.

Sheathing his sword, the Endeavour, Hiccup

began to climb the mast of the American Dream 2.

205

18. UP THE MAST OF THE

AMERICAN DREAM 2

He shinned up the mast like a little monkey, as it

reared up and down like a great plunging tree on the

back of the waves. He was in terrible danger of being

blown off by the shrieking wind that tore at his clothes,

and froze his fingers till they nearly lost their grip, but

up, and up he climbed.

Norbert halted at the bottom of the mast for a

second. He was laughing as he did this, shouting up

the mast, ‘Where are you going, you small boy? Don’t

you know you’re going to run out of mast, and I shall

get you in the end?’

And then he began to climb after Hiccup.

Up and up Norbert climbed in pursuit. He was

surprisingly quick, for he had an interesting technique.

Every few metres or so he let out a scream of effort as

he sank his axe deep into the mast above. And then

he hauled himself up, almost entirely with the strength

of his upper arms, worked the axe out, and dug it into

position a few metres further up.

Hiccup had run out of mast.

He curled the rope of the rigging around his arm

206

(he was careful not to tie it this time), drew his sword

again, and waited for Norbert.

Down in the sea, Fishlegs and Camicazi were

watching him, open-mouthed.

‘What is he DOING?’

‘I think,’ said Fishlegs slowly, ‘he’s going to fight

Norbert on the mast.’

Hiccup’s fight with Norbert on the mast top has

passed into Viking Legend.

Never had a fight been undertaken in such

difficult circumstances as these, on top of the rigging

and mast of a ship that was rapidly sinking, in the

middle of a thunderstorm, and under attack from

below by one of the major Monsters of the Deep.

Norbert drew his blade with his left hand as soon as

he was level with Hiccup, and aimed a great swinging

swipe at the boy, which Hiccup parried at the last

moment, and the two great swords rang together.

‘It’s not too late, Norbert,’ panted Hiccup, as he

parried a Flashburn Fancy-Thrust, and nearly fell off

the rigging while doing so. ‘Can’t we put this off till

later? This boat is SINKING.’

As if in response to this statement, the boat gave

another lurch downward, and Hiccup was hanging only

by one arm for a second before he got his feet back on

207

the ropes, slippery in the drenching rain.

‘I’ve BEEN patient!’ howled Norbert, slicing

through the air with a Double-wristed Heartbreaker.

‘Fifteen years stuck on Hysteria! And then two

American Dreams built and destroyed by YOU!

Everything was all going to plan, if YOU hadn’t come

along.’

‘Well, be fair,’ argued Hiccup,

steadying himself on the mast as he

performed two quick Wristflickers and

followed them up with a Grimbeard’s

Grapple, ‘we had to defend ourselves,

because you were going to kill us,

weren’t you?’

‘Oh you’re always full of

excuses,’ howled

Norbert

furiously.

‘Maybe I wouldn’t

have done. I will now,

of course,’ and as

if to emphasise this

point he narrowed

his mad eye, and

followed up a

Perfectpiercer

with a wild lash

with the axe.

Hiccup

desperately

avoided the axe,

helped by a

gust of wind

that

threw

him

backwards a little. He lost his footing, was hanging

on by one hand again, and Norbert bashed away at

the fingers with his foot.

Camicazi and Fishlegs could hardly bear to

watch as they bobbed in the sea below.

But Hiccup threw the ticking-thing upwards, and it

whipped through the air, and the rope wound itself

around the horizontal beam of the mast a little further

down. Just at the moment that his hand gave way, he

swu-u-ung on the rope, yelling out the Hooligan War

Cry, and landed safely a little distance away.

‘Oh Bravo, Hiccup!’ cheered Camicazi excitedly,

‘That was a really cool move.’

Toothless flapping into Norbert’s face gave

Hiccup the time to regain his footing on the rigging.

Hiccup followed up with some graceful Left-Hand

Lunges, one of which was so close to disabling

Norbert’s sword arm that it ripped off the right sleeve.

‘I think he’s winning, you know, Fishlegs,’

chirped Camicazi.

It was an extraordinary sight.

Great crashes of thunder from Thor at his most

furious, the distant grey outline of the American shore,

the majestic half-sinking ship still pouring steam from

its chimney, and then high, high on its mast, the two

tiny figures, who had now climbed even higher, and

were fighting in the crow’s nest…

‘Oh for Thor’s sake,’ gasped Fishlegs, as he

clung like a half-drowned little spider to the Map

Table. ‘What’s THAT?’

210

The Leviathorgan had been repeatedly battering

the ship from below, and it must have been very well-

made, the American Dream 2, for it was only now that

the hull gave way into splinters, and the head of the

great dragon appeared through the deck, screaming in

fury, and chomping away at the wood with its fangs. It

threw back its head and let out a great roar, shooting

three of its stings upwards simultaneously. One of

the flaming spears of bone shot straight through the

swordfight, the other narrowly missed Norbert’s

bottom. (That would have been uncomfortable.)

As if woken from a dream, Norbert looked

down to see the deck destroyed, with the head of the

Monster thrusting right through it, and looking up at

him and Hiccup.

An appalling stench of long-dead seal and

rotting porpoise reeked off its fangs (these large Sea

Monsters always smell bad, I’m afraid, owing to their

carnivore diet), and the feet of an unfortunate Hysteric

crew-member could clearly be seen disappearing down

the black cavernous gullet.

Norbert’s concentration wavered for a second as

he realised he had been carried away by his own anger,

and Death was now staring him straight in the face.

211

Hiccup had a

moment in which to act –

and to Camicazi and Fishlegs’s

astonishment, watching far down

below, he did NOT use it to press

home his sword into Norbert’s momentarily

undefended heart.

No, he looked up at the Heavens, sheathed

his sword, shook off his shoes and scrambled up

to the very pinnacle of the boat.

‘What is he doing?’ asked Camicazi,

scandalised. ‘He’s sheathed his SWORD!

Oh by Freya’s Beard, no GIRL would

ever do that… boys… I don’t know…’

How anybody could have the

stupidity to sheath their sword

under these circumstances

was completely beyond the

understanding of Camicazi.

Hiccup edged out on to the mast

like a tight-rope walker, the wood cold

beneath his bare feet, his arms flapping outwards

for balance, the wind tearing at his clothes.

He put up his face to the furious storming black

Heavens. ‘OK, THOR!’ shouted Hiccup. ‘THIS IS

YOUR CHANCE TO SHOW ME. ARE YOU ON

MY SIDE, OR ARE YOU NOT?’

The small boy wobbled, teetered, on the mast of

the sinking ship, with his arms stretched up and out, it

wasn’t quite clear whether for balance or in prayer to

the storming skies above.

For one second, the boat seemed to stop sinking.

The Leviathorgan, with its paw hauling its great body

up the mast, greedy jaws a-gape, froze like a statue,

even the storm seemed to ease for a second.

‘Norbert!’ shouted Hiccup above the howling

of the wind. ‘If it is, as you say, all my fault, then Strike

me Down Now, for then at least one of us shall die

happy!’

Another pause.

And then everything happened very quickly.

Norbert hauled himself up high on the pinnacle.

214

Hiccup was right, at least he would go to

Valhalla in a moment of triumph.

He raised the Axe of Doom above his head

with a scream of victory, ready to bring

it down on the unarmed boy

with the outstretched arms

and upturned head.

The air above

fizzed with

electric energy,

crackling,

bursting,

searching,

seeking for a

path down to

the sea.

And it found it.

There it was,

the Axe of Doom,

now standing

exactly one metre

thirteen centimetres above

the mast of the sinking American Dream 2,

the highest point for miles and miles around,

and constructed from the finest metal that Norbert the

Nutjob could get hold of at the time.

The perfect lightning conductor.

A crooked bolt of tremendous lightning jagged

down from the clouds, and struck the blackened point

of the axe.

The second before it struck, Hiccup’s toes left

the mast as he sprang off and out in a (not quite

perfect) swallow dive.

The lightning struck the Axe of Doom, and

three-hundred-thousand volts of electricity ran

sparkling down the arm of Norbert the Nutjob,

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bristling down the mast, and straight through the body

of the Leviathorgan.

Sparks flew from Norbert’s nose and jumped

crazily off the wood of the mast, setting it alight, and

frazzled around every spiny tip of the Leviathorgan’s

jerking body, in a beautiful impromptu firework display.

The body of Norbert the Nutjob fell from the

peak and down, down into the sea.

The Leviathorgan crashed down too, through the

hull in another cascade of water and wood splinters.

And then DOWN went the American Dream 2, and

down in style, with her sinking mast in flames.

Down went the largest, most technically

sophisticated boat that a Viking has ever

built, already turning into a

wooden skeleton, a

ghost, as she

sank slowly

through the cold,

grave fathoms to the

sea-bed below. And

nestled within her in

the darkness, as if she

were his coffin, was

the dead body of the Leviathorgan.

It had tried to eat the boat, but ended up

with the boat eating it, its white picked-

clean bones sleeping for ever more in

the belly of the ghost ship on the

sea-bed. And a boat like that

has never been made again

by the Vikings, as far

as I know.

Norbert the Nutjob may have been a maniac,

but lunacy and genius are very close together, and it

had to be admitted, he was a great Dreamer.

Perhaps the inventor-madmen of the Future will

dream its like again.

But for now it was no more, and down it went,

the death of Norbert’s Dream, the sinking of all his

hopes.

And, incidentally, the only way they had of

getting back to the Archipelago.

19. KEEP KICKING, IT’S A

LONG SWIM HOME

What happened to Hiccup?

As I said, he jumped off the mast in a not-very-

perfect swallow dive. Toothless dived after him, folding

back his wings. It was a long way down, and by the time

Hiccup reached the breath-stoppingly cold sea, he was

moving at quite a speed.

Momentum took Hiccup quite a way downward,

and as he resurfaced, he hit his head on a cauldron,

which was slowly sinking down to the bottom. Hiccup

spat out water, gasping and confused, not sure where

he was, or who he was or what was going on. Blood was

pouring into his eyes, and he fainted.

Toothless let out a scream of alarm to Camicazi

and Fishlegs, and dived down to pull his Master

up so that his face was out of the water. Camicazi

immediately set out in her sprawling crawl to try and

help, but she was some distance from where Hiccup

had landed, so she was never going to be able to reach

him in time. Fishlegs, on the other hand, was very close.

As Hiccup disappeared under the water for the

second time, Fishlegs let go of the table, and splashed

haphazardly across to his friend.

223

He hauled Hiccup up, still unconscious, and

heaved him a couple of metres or so to the relative

safety of the floating table.

‘Oh for Thor’s sake, oh for Thor’s sake… is he

all right?’ asked Camicazi as she reached them. Hiccup

was sprawled floppily on his back, still breathing but

with his eyes closed, and one arm trailing into the

water.

‘I don’t know…’ replied Fishlegs anxiously.

‘He’s still alive, but he’s been knocked out. I think he

hit his head on something under the water.’

‘We need to get him out, fast,’ cried Camicazi.

‘and get him warm.’

The storm had passed as suddenly as it arrived,

and was already moving on to the land called America,

leaving chaos in its wake. It was as if an angry god

had turned the ship upside-down, shaken out its

contents, and tossed the boat to the depths. All around

them, the surviving Hysterics were striking out for

the American shore, swimming around the myriad of

objects floating in the waters.

Saucepans, chairs, tables, hammocks,

chessboards, stools, fishing equipment, pairs of

trousers: Norbert had been very ambitious about the

amount of STUFF that he was taking to America.

224

And they were all now strewn about the waves, and

would be washed up for many years on those white

beaches, and I wonder what the native American

peoples made of them when they found them.

Camicazi tried to pull the table towards the

land, but Fishlegs was wondering what the little figures

walking about on the beaches would make of THEM

when they swam up the shore.

It is one thing to turn up in a new country in all

the pomp and circumstance of a great big boat, heavily

armed, and laden down with good things to eat and

trade. It is quite a different thing, as poor refugees

throughout history will tell you, to turn up practically

naked, unarmed, defenceless and with nothing in your

hands.

As strangers from an alien nation, would they be

greeted with interest and mercy? Or would they be

greeted with fear, and a hail of arrows?

‘No!’ cried Fishlegs, pulling in the other

direction. ‘No! I think we should swim over there!’

And he pointed out to sea.

‘Are you out of your tiny little mind?’ asked

Camicazi. ‘The Archipelago is thousands and

thousands of miles away across the Great West Ocean.

You think we’re going to SWIM to it????’

225

‘No, of course not,’ gasped Fishlegs, accidentally

swallowing a big gulp of sea-water. ‘But I think I can

see the outline of a boat on the horizon… I just have

this really strong feeling it wouldn’t be a good idea for

us to land on that beach…’

The faint noise of shouting coming from

the beach in question seemed to underline

that feeling.

‘Oh I don’t know,’

shivered Camicazi, faint with

weariness and cold.

‘OK, let’s swim out

a little further, we can

always change our minds,’

she agreed.

So they began to

swim away from the

beach.

‘But you can’t live in the ocean!

Humans haven’t got gills!’ Stormfly pointed out.

Toothless fanned Hiccup’s face with his wings, to

try and get him to wake up. ‘We n-n-need you

M-m-master! These h-h-humans don’t know what

they’re doing!’

The thing is, after a while, as they swam out

further and further, it became clear that they couldn’t

necessarily change their minds.

They were so weak with cold and exhaustion that

they weren’t swimming fast at all, particularly because

between the two of them they

had to push the table along

the water and over the

waves. And there must

have been a strong, unseen

current beneath them, for

they were moving out to

sea at a very rapid rate.

And the sails that Fishlegs

thought he had seen seemed

to vanish in the sea-mist as

they swam towards them,

228

until Fishlegs began to doubt he had

ever really seen them at all.

They didn’t speak of it, though they both knew

what was happening.

They were too frozen and too tired to speak, and

they needed all their energy to keep kicking.

‘Keep kicking… keep kicking… keep kicking…’

Fishlegs muttered.

Strange how a story sometimes seems to end just

how it started, in a circle.

They had set out, swimming away from the beach

at the bottom of the Murderous Mountains, many

weeks before.

And now here they were, swimming out into the

very same Ocean, from the opposite direction, and

from a very different shore.

After a while, the land behind them had been

covered by mist. And they had become just another

strange floating object in an alien environment, two

Viking children pushing a table with another child’s

body on it across a vast and lonely Ocean.

Above them hovered two dragons, wings spread

wide and tossed up by the wind.

229

There was still quite a swell, so they were riding

up the waves, and then having to hold their heads up

high as the wave washed over them, until they dropped

down and were picked up by another one. Their feet

were so cold they could barely kick now, and they had

lost all feeling in their arms.

Toothless tried to help by catching fish and

offering it to them, but poor humans, they are so

helpless, they didn’t even seem to want to eat it.

After about half an hour Camicazi said through

numb and frozen lips, ‘You DID learn to swim there,

though, didn’t you? You pulled Hiccup out without

holding on to anything. I told you you could do it!’

‘I did didn’t I?’ gasped Fishlegs. ‘I didn’t even

think about it.’ He gave a shaky laugh. ‘Well, this has

all been worth it then, hasn’t it? What a way to learn to

swim!’

Camicazi started laughing, hysterically and faintly,

and then she said, ‘Maybe we should go back now.’

‘In a little while, perhaps,’ said Fishlegs. ‘Keep

kicking… keep kicking…’

After another twenty minutes, Camicazi said, ‘I

think I might have a little nap, I’m feeling very tired…’

‘All right then,’ said Fishlegs, ‘We’ll just sleep a

little while, and then we’ll carry on.’

230

The two dragons fluttered down, and landed on

two of the table legs, sitting up straight and stiff like

two guardian angels on a bedstead. The two Vikings

laid their tired frozen heads on the table, and Fishlegs

was just dropping off when he saw

through half closed eyes…

… a ship, surprisingly

close, looming out of the

mist.

‘Over here,’ he whispered, his voice-box so cold

that noise could barely come out of it, and then a

bit louder, and dragging himself up on to his elbows,

‘OVER HERE!’

He shrugged off his waistcoat, and half-stood

up on the table, waving the waistcoat over his

head. ‘OVER HERE! OVER HERE! OVER HERE!

Camicazi, wake up, there’s a ship, there’s a ship!’

‘Oh go away and leave me to sleep…’ muttered

Camicazi, not opening her eyes. ‘It isn’t morning time

yet.’

The people on the ship seemed to hear the

shouting, for there were cries in a strange language

from aboard, and it moved towards them, nearer and

nearer.

‘Wake up, Camicazi, wake up! There really is a

ship!’ cried Fishlegs. ‘In fact, more than one ship!’

And when Camicazi opened her eyes, there they

were, seven ships, and standing on the front of the

deck of the first one, straight and tall as a figurehead,

and holding aloft a flare in her right hand so they

could see through the mist…

… was Bearcub’s Grandmother.

‘I hope we’re not too late,’ she said. And then

she saw Hiccup’s prone body on the table. ‘But I see

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we may be,’ she said, with sorrow, but also perhaps a

certain amount of gloomy satisfaction.

There were seven Wanderer ships that had

followed the American Dream 2 across the Great West

Ocean. Wanderers are the best trackers in the world,

so they are good people to have following you.

They had known they were getting close to the

American Dream 2 for the past hour, because they had

begun to pick up a trail of the wreckage strewn in the

sea. Candlesticks, barrels of vegetables and jars of

beer, chairs, oars, maps, cups, swords and saucepans –

all the mad remains of a doomed voyage.

They picked up all that they could find, in case

it would be useful or valuable, because Wanderers are

not a wealthy people, and this was riches to them.

One of the ships had even retrieved Norbert’s

defective Flying Machine, and balanced it on the back

of its deck, so that it looked as if it were about to take

off into the sky.

Bearcub’s Grandmother had begun to think

that Hiccup had drowned, or landed on the shore

of America, when they spotted the floating table

in the distance.

It turned out that Bearcub’s Grandmother was

a surprisingly good nurse, for one so good at Cursing.

233

She was much better at it than Old Wrinkly, the

doctor of the Hooligan Tribe, whose cures and potions

of seagulls’ droppings mixed with spider webs often

made you feel somewhat worse than you did before

you went to see him.

A couple of hours and some of Bearcub’s

Grandmother’s medicine later, and Hiccup’s eyes

opened, to see the faces of Fishlegs, Camicazi,

the Stormfly, Toothless, Bearcub and Bearcub’s

Grandmother looking down at him.

‘I thought you had left us,’ said Hiccup to

Bearcub’s Grandmother, in surprise.

‘Why did you think that?’ snapped Bearcub’s

Grandmother. ‘We could not follow you in those titchy

little landing-boats, we had to fetch some proper ships.

We Wanderers are a people of our word, unlike some

other people I can mention.’

20. THE TICKING THING

STARTS TO TICK LOUDER

Again, I will not weary you with the details of the long

journey home, the dragons they saw, the storms they

survived, the perils of the crossing, or we would be

here for ever.

Every day, Hiccup checked the ticking-thing.

As they grew closer and closer and closer to home,

their hearts were lifting with excitement.

But something had begun to worry Hiccup.

It was something that Old Wrinkly had said on

the beach, on the day of the Inter-Tribal Friendly

Swimming Race. He had told Hiccup that he had to

be back within three months, five days and six hours.

Now, why would Old Wrinkly say that?

It may seem obvious to you, dear Reader, for you

know all the facts, but it never occurred to any of them

that the Race they had been participating in was either

particularly important in itself (it was only a Friendly,

as far as they were concerned, after all, and there were

always Competitions going on in the Archipelago), or

that the Race could still be going on all that time later.

So Hiccup didn’t know why Old Wrinkly would

say such a precise time. And it was concerning him,

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because according to his reading of the ticking-thing,

they had now been gone for three months, four days

and thirteen hours, and they were still at least two

days’ sailing away from the Archipelago.

‘I don’t know why you’re worrying about this,’

said Fishlegs, who was in a hugely happy mood now

they were nearly home. ‘It probably didn’t mean

anything at all. You know Old Wrinkly, he’s not that

great a soothsayer, and he’s sometimes a bit batty.’

‘But what if it did mean something?’ insisted

Hiccup. ‘What if Old Wrinkly had seen what was

going to happen to us… he knew we weren’t going to

come back that day, didn’t he? And look, we’re nearly

coming in at exactly the time he said, it’s just that

we’re going to be a bit late, and he particularly told me

not to be late…’

The next day, Hiccup was even more worried,

and the ticking-thing began to tick louder, as Old

Wrinkly had said it would.

TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK.

‘Look!’ said Hiccup anxiously. ‘That means

there’s only six hours left, and even though it’s a very

windy day, we’re at least…’ he checked the ticking-

thing, ‘TWENTY-FOUR-hours’ sailing distance

away… we’re going to be late!’

237

‘Late for what?’ asked Fishlegs in exasperation.

‘There’s nothing we can do about it, anyway, and Old

Wrinkly probably didn’t mean anything when he said

it.’

Hiccup fiddled and fiddled with the ticking-thing

as he worried, and the back of it fell open, and for

the first time he noticed, along with the little delicate

moving wheels on the inside, there was a tiny little

inscription. Two letters. G.G.

Hiccup’s heart beat a little quicker, for he had

seen those letters before, and he knew what they stood

for.

Grimbeard the Ghastly.

Hiccup had assumed that this ticking-thing had

been made by Norbert’s father, Bigjob, and he had

always felt a little guilty about stealing it from Norbert.

But it seemed that Bigjob had perhaps stolen it

himself.

For this ticking-thing, surely, belonged to the

Heir of Grimbeard the Ghastly, and the Heir to

Grimbeard the Ghastly was…

… Hiccup.

And now he was absolutely sure that there was a

precise reason for the time that Old Wrinkly had given

him. He did not yet know what the reason was, but

238

he was certain that somehow there was some kind of

pattern to it that he did not yet understand.

Some way in which everything interconnected,

like the little tiny wheels revolving in the instrument in

front of him.

Six hours.

TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK

went the ticking-thing, a little louder still.

They were never going to get there in six hours…

by boat.

Hiccup looked up and his eye caught Norbert’s

defective Flying Machine, salvaged from the sea by the

prudent Wanderers, and now lashed to the figurehead

of one of the other Wanderer boats.

There was a very strong wind today.

Hiccup knew from the time that he had spent in

a Roman Observation Balloon (it’s a long story, don’t

ask)* that flying was much quicker than sailing.

If only that Flying Machine actually WORKED.

Fishlegs saw what Hiccup was looking at, and

guessed what he was thinking. ‘Oh no, Hiccup, oh,

seriously, you have got to be JOKING! Remember how

many times they tried that thing out on the journey?

And how many times it fell out of the sky like a stone?

That Flying Machine doesn’t work.’

* Please read How to Speak Dragonese.

‘We thought the Stop-the-Boat-from-Sinking-

and-Scare-Away-the-Big-Sea-Creatures Machine didn’t

work, didn’t we?’ Hiccup pointed out. ‘And we were

wrong.’

‘But we’re so close now… so close… and so

ALIVE which is the important thing,’ gasped Fishlegs.

‘what is the POINT of risking it all right now, after

all that we’ve been through, when we’re so very

nearly there? No, I’m putting my foot down this time,

Hiccup, I can’t let you do it…’

TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK-

TICK-TOCK went the ticking-thing.

21. THE END OF THE

SWIMMING RACE

On the windy clifftops of the Murderous Mountains

stood the proud figures of Stoick the Vast and Big-

Boobied Bertha, their arms in chains, surrounded by

Murderous Warriors. They were too dignified to show

fear. They would show Madguts the Murderous how

bravely a Chieftain could die. Before them was the

Sky Burial Place, where they would be strapped down

and left, helpless, for the Sky Dragons to attack them.

Nothing would be left of their remains.

Above their heads, the Sky Dragons were already

massing in their hundreds, with shrieking, hungry

vulture cries.

Down on the beach, the Tribes of Hooligan

and Bog-Burglar stood, depressed and silent, holding

burning flares in their hands, looking up at the

silhouettes of their Chiefs on the clifftops.

The deaths of their Chieftains were not the

only things at stake here for the two Tribes. Madguts

was about to take over their lands. The Hooligans

and Bog-Burglars had packed up all their belongings,

and loaded them into their own ships standing in the

Harbour. These ships were piled high with every

241

possession they owned:

favourite swords and armour,

stools and clothing,

clucking hens and pigs

and goats.

The Hooligans

had never intended

to settle on Berk in the

first place. Berk was not the

most comfortable, the most

luxurious, the most civilised place

to live in the world. It was a funny,

boggy, shaggy little heap of heather and

rock, where the wind buffeted so strongly

that you might as well be on the sea in a

ship, and when it wasn’t raining it was often

snowing.

But Berk was where they had grown up,

where they met their sweethearts and brought up

their children, and when it came down to it, they

found that they didn’t want to leave.

242

So they stood there, sunk in the profoundest

melancholy.

The sun was going down on this day, and Old

Wrinkly’s big sand-timer was running out of sand, and

his complicated candlesticks were running down to

little stubs, marking the Final End to the Competition.

The three Judges sat solemnly at the table.

Three months, five days, three hours and twenty-

four minutes… Three months, five days, three hours

and twenty-five minutes…

Norbert’s defective Flying Machine worked rather

better than Fishlegs had expected.

But he hadn’t expected much, it had to be said.

Fishlegs and Camicazi insisted on going in the

Machine with Hiccup, Camicazi because it was the

kind of crazy thing she particularly enjoyed, Fishlegs

because despite all the complaining he wasn’t going to

desert Hiccup, who was the closest thing to family that

Fishlegs had.

The Wanderers had to haul the Machine up

to the top of the mast so they could take off in it,

and Bearcub’s Grandmother predicted Doom and

244

Destruction would be the outcome. ‘Vikings – they’re

all mad… even the small ones…’

But Doom and Destruction did not follow – not

immediately, at least.

It was a very windy day, and when the Wanderers

let go of the Machine, lift-off was instantly successful.

The wind caught underneath the wings and launched

the Machine almost vertically up into the air, like a

kite.

‘Wahooooooooo!’ cried Camicazi, as they soared,

legs dangling, hair blown back in the wind, up and up

into the big blue sky.

‘If Thor meant humans to fly, he’d have given

them wings,’ recommended the Stormfly, swooping

alongside them in an amused way.

The wind was strong, the young Vikings were

light, and they quickly left the seven boats with the

cheering, waving Wanderers on them far, far behind.

They were heart-stoppingly high.

Hiccup had flown on the backs of dragons

before, but never at this height.

They were so far up in the sky that it was difficult

to see how fast they were flying, apart from the marker

of the little boats, now only specks way behind them in

the distance.

245

It was cold up there, so cold that Hiccup was

glad that they had tied themselves to the Machine,

because their fingers were so numb they might have

fallen out, and the sea was a very long way down.

And they were up there for such a long time,

that after a while, even Fishlegs began to feel that they

weren’t going to plummet out of the sky like a stone,

and opened up his eyes to look about him, at the blue

above and below, stretching out for ever.

TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK-

TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK went the

ticking-thing, getting louder and louder and more

insistent with every passing moment. I hope we’re going

to make it… thought Hiccup.

And after a long, long time, a grey smudge

appeared on the horizon before them, and Hiccup

shouted over the wind, and pointed towards it, and as

it slowly became larger and greener, it was clear that it

was the Murderous Mountains.

‘HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET DOWN?’

shouted Fishlegs, because they were still so high that

he had a sudden vision of them sailing right over the

Archipelago and beyond. But a sudden SNAP! from

one of the wings of the Machine above them provided

the answer to Fishlegs’s question.

The Machine lurched violently to the right.

They lost height with such rapidity that Hiccup’s

stomach lurched and his ears popped. And Norbert’s

defective Flying Machine folded up its wings, and

plunged in a nose-dive towards the sea.

‘AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaggggghhhhhh!’

screamed Hiccup, Fishlegs, and Camicazi.

Madguts the Murderous strode up and down the

beach, his cape whirling, Gumboil trotting after him,

rubbing his black-gloved hands together.

In fifteen minutes, the Murderous Tribe would

248

have the revenge for which they had waited a hundred

years…

Fourteen minutes… whispered the Judges

together, staring at the sand-timers.

Thirteen minutes…

On the stroke of thirteen minutes, Old Wrinkly

thought he caught a sound coming from out to sea. He

shielded his eyes from the rays of the setting sun with

one gnarled and wrinkled hand, and cupped the other

behind his ears. Was it just his imagination playing

tricks on him? Was it just the beat of his old heart

making the sound that he so longed to hear?

For the first time in three months the old man

got to his feet, his ancient legs shaking as he leant

heavily on his staff. He stumbled forward in the sand,

straining, longing, willing it to be the sound he wanted

it to be… and there it was.

Coming from out of the sea, soft but getting

louder every second.

TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK

To the astonishment of the watching crowds,

the old man let out a cracked old laugh, and began

to dance in the sand on his bent old legs, his clothes

flapping around him like a scarecrow doing a jig.

249

He’s really lost it… they thought, as Old Wrinkly

bustled back to the Judges’ Table, his eyes now

brimful of merriment and excitement.

And then came a shout from the clifftops.

Stoick shouted out something, and pointed, and

the crowd could not hear what he was saying, but they

looked where he was pointing, towards the long rolling

waves coming in from the West. There was nothing

there but the path of the setting sun lighting up the

tops of the long waves rolling in from the west.

But then there came a cry, from Nobber

Nobrains maybe, ‘Look! Over there!’

And there, distinctly, far into the bay, were three

little heads bobbing in the waves.

‘What is this?’ snarled Gumboil, screwing up his

eyes to try and see what they were looking at out there

in the water. ‘Those are just SEALS.’

‘Seals with horns?’ asked Gobber the Belch, with

hope rising in his chest.

‘Deer, then,’ argued Gumboil.

But as the little heads swam nearer and nearer

it became clear that they were not deer. Those

were VIKING helmets on their heads, and hovering

protectively above them, were the distinct shapes of

two small hunting-dragons. And as they came nearer

250

and nearer still, Old Wrinkly cried out: ‘Remember!

They must land here unaided!’

His warning was unnecessary for it was as if the

crowd had been turned to stone, so dumbfounded

were they.

The three figures swam closer and closer until

they got into their depth, and then they put their feet

down on the sand of the Archipelago, and they waded

waist high through the crashing waves.

Hiccup, Camicazi and Fishlegs staggered out

of the water of the Great West Ocean, exactly three

months, five days, five hours, and fifty-eight minutes

after they had entered it.

They were totally bewildered to find everybody

on the beach, flares in their hands, apparently waiting

for them, and absolutely silent and stunned.

They had entered the Ocean all that long, long

time ago, a laughing-stock. The smallest contestants

in the Race, jeered at, pointed at, humiliated and

embarrassed. Now the same crowd that had laughed

them so uproariously into the water, greeted them with

awed, wide-eyed wonder and amazement.

Slowly, the huge adults on the beach removed

their helmets as they passed, the ultimate sign of

respect. They fell back in wonder at the soft footprints

251

in the sand. They murmured their astonishment as

great hairy forearms were raised in admiring salute.

It was the proudest moment in Fishlegs’s life.

He had left this very beach an object of ridicule,

unable to swim and wearing those ridiculous

armbands. Now all those who had laughed had

watched him as he swam, entirely unaided, up the

whole depth of the bay. Even though he was so tired

he could barely put one foot in front of another, his

back was straight, his head

held high.

As he passed

he heard one

Hooligan whisper

to a Bog-Burglar…

‘That’s Fishlegs,

there, the one on the

right…’ in a tone of

recognition and

admiration.

Imagine that, for a boy used only to being ignored or

laughed at!

Fishlegs, Hiccup and Camicazi had equalled

Grimbeard the Ghastly’s record, but they did not look

like they had spent the time pickled in the sea. Their

hair was so stiff with salt water it stuck out like broom-

brushes. Their faces tanned dark brown. They were

a little taller maybe. (Well, it had been three months,

and pre-teens can grow a great deal in three months.)

They were, without question, this skinny, unlikely

threesome, the last three competitors to return alive to

the Archipelago.

The Last Men (and Woman) Back.

Hiccup staggered forward to the Judge’s Table,

too tired to ask questions, almost too tired to think,

the ticking-thing dragging behind him in the sand,

TICK-TOCK-TICK

TOCK-TICK-TOCK

TICK-TOCK…

He stopped at the Judges’ Table, and wound

the rope of the ticking-thing around his wrist, placing

the ticking-thing carefully before the dumbfounded

Committee.

Softly, the two small hunting dragons folded their

253

wings, and landed on the Table their eyes fixed on the

ticking-thing in the centre.

TICK-TOCK

TICK-TOCK…

… and the alarm on the ticking-thing finally went

off, in a peal of tiny clockwork bells, ringing to the

sound of the Hooligan National Anthem.

A typical Grimbeard the Ghastly touch.

You had to admit it, the guy did have STYLE.

Old Wrinkly reached out and turned it off.

‘I wasn’t late,’ said Hiccup.

‘No,’ said Old Wrinkly. ‘You were just in time.’

The Bog-Burglars and Hooligans were so amazed

they just stood there, eyes open wide as saucers,

staring at them.

Madguts was looking like a thundercloud.

‘I do not believe this!’ spluttered Gumboil.

‘Madguts does not believe it… These are just

CHILDREN… and quite odd looking children at that.

They can’t possibly be the LAST MEN BACK.’

Nobody could believe it. Snotlout was lost for

words. How did Hiccup DO it? Yet again, it had

seemed certain that he had kicked the bucket, and

254

yet here he was, turning up very much alive and in

a horribly glorious manner. Even that weed Fishlegs

seemed to have somehow taught himself to swim.

‘Yes, well they’re not the Last Men Back are

they, unless they are able to take the Oath that they

did not seek aid by Float or Boat,’ Snotlout pointed

out meanly, so eaten up with jealousy that he spoke

without thinking.

Snotlout’s own father, Baggybum the Beerbelly,

shouted: ‘Shut up Snotlout!’ and there were cries of

‘Shame!’ and ‘Whose side are you on, Big Nose?’ And

even the Murderous Tribe booed and hissed him, for

nobody likes a traitor to their Tribe. Snotlout turned a

bright and unattractive red, and muttered sullenly, ‘I

was only saying…’

‘Yes, as Snotlout so kindly reminds us,’ said Old

Wrinkly, shooting Snotlout a venomous look, ‘for any

of you to be declared Last Man Back, you have to take

the Oath. Can you take the Oath?’

Hiccup, Fishlegs and Camicazi at last realised the

significance of what was happening. They looked up at

the clifftops, at the long line of little figures standing

silent below the wheeling, shrieking Sky Dragons.

They looked around at the serious, intent faces of the

Tribesmen. They looked at each other.

255

Well… the Oath said that you were not allowed

to ‘seek aid’ from Float or Boat.

None of them had asked to be kidnapped by

Norbert the Nutjob. And only Fishlegs and Camicazi

had ‘sought aid’ from the Wanderers, to take them

back to the Archipelago. Hiccup had been knocked

out, unconscious at the time, not in a condition to seek

aid from anyone. And a Flying Machine was neither a

Float nor a Boat.

So, technically speaking, Hiccup COULD take the

Oath.

Fishlegs and Camicazi pushed Hiccup forward.

Hiccup put up his left hand.

Total silence from the crowd.

‘I solemnly swear by this my sword-arm,’

said Hiccup, ‘that I did not seek aid by Float or

Boat… I did not plan to win this Race by trickery or

deception… and that any assistance I received was

by the favour of Fortune, and the gracious will of the

great god Thor.’

The crowd erupted with joy.

The Chief Judge signalled to the Murderous

Warriors on the clifftops, and reluctantly they let

Bertha and Stoick the Vast free of their chains, and

the two Chieftains walked proudly down the cliff-paths

256

to the beach, heads held high.

Cheers rang out along the bay, and ‘SILENCE!’

yelled Old Wrinkly, bursting with pride, for it is not

every day that a grandson returns to you from out of

the water, a Competition is won, and a prophecy is

fulfilled.

(And he was rather proud of his soothsaying skills

on this occasion – Old Wrinkly’s soothsaying did not

always turn out this well.)

He turned his grandson around to face the

crowd.

‘He did not seek aid by Float or Boat,’ cried

Old Wrinkly solemnly in his ancient old quavering

voice. ‘And therefore I declare that the winner of

this Competition, and the Last Man Back, to be…

HICCUP HORRENDOUS HADDOCK THE

THIRD!’

Old Wrinkly held Hiccup’s arm up in the air

victoriously.

‘This is preposterous!’ spluttered Gumboil. ‘This

is impossible! He can’t have done it! He must have

cheated!’

Gumboil found himself grabbed around the

throat and lifted up in the air, his little legs dangling

like a frantic beetle.

257

‘Are you suggesting, that MY ancestor,

Grimbeard the Ghastly, and, more importantly, MY

SON AND HEIR, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the

Third, are LIARS?’ spat Stoick the Vast, pressing his

face menacingly into Gumboil’s.

‘Erm… no… not exactly…’ gargled the strangled

Gumboil, his voice squeaking like a five-year-old.

Oh, how the Hooligans and Bog-Burglars cheered

then, throwing their helmets up into the air, and

clapping Hiccup and Camicazi and Fishlegs on the

back, and Bertha and Stoick hugged them hard, and

they all made ready to leave for their boats moored in

Wrecker’s Bay, because, frankly, they had had enough

of the Murderous Mountains to last them a very long

time indeed.

‘Wait!’ called the Chief Judge, the sad little

Bashem-Oik. ‘Before you go, there is just one more

thing,’ he said. ‘And that is the question of the

demand of the Last Man Back. According to the Oath

declared by all, the Last Man Back may demand a

request that cannot be denied from the Chieftain of

the opposite Tribe.’

The cheers died down and the mood darkened.

And Madguts had gone very silent and still, as he

realised his trick had turned on himself, and he had

258

played into his Enemy’s hands. Stoick’s grin turned to

a thunderous frown, Bertha’s hands were on her hips.

‘What is your request, Hiccup? You can ask

anything, anything at all.’

Madguts the Murderous had turned rather white,

and he fiddled nervously with his sword. He did not

have a leg to stand on, and he knew it. He only had

himself to blame for the situation in which he now

found himself.

The faces of the Bog-Burglars and the Hooligans

were hard and set and seeking Revenge. They drew

their weapons and tapped them on their thighs, and

the air was filled with menace. Up on the clifftops the

Sky Dragons circled. They didn’t care WHO they ate.

‘What will it be, Hiccup? What is your demand?’

asked Old Wrinkly.

Hiccup thought for a long, long time, looking out

over the waters.

The thing about history is that it has this nasty

habit of repeating itself. If he did to Madguts what

Madguts was intending to do to them, well, Madguts

would only be getting his just desserts. But then the

cycle of revenge would just start anew. In a hundred

years’ time, did he want Madguts’ Heir and his own

Heir to be playing out the same tragedy all over again?

259

At some point it might be a good idea to say goodbye

to the Bad Old Days…

‘I demand,’ said Hiccup slowly, ‘that Chief

Madguts the Murderous should sing a love song

at the next Thing* while dressed as an ickle pretty

shepherdess.’

A pause. Everybody looked at Stoick to see what

his reaction would be.

For a moment Stoick remained purple with fury,

the angry flush of the Blood-Rage still engorging his

face, his hand shaking with righteous wrath.

And then Stoick’s thunderous brow lightened,

he sheathed his sword, and threw back his head in a

tremendous guffaw. He patted his son on the back

affectionately. ‘That WOULD be

funny,’ he admitted.

*The ‘Thing’ was a meeting of all the local

Viking Tribes.

‘Very funny,’ grinned Big-Boobied Bertha, her

great biceps rippling in her amusement. ‘Even better

than the bathtub-and-underpants idea!’

And the Tribes of Hooligan and Bog-Burglar put

away their weapons, their love of a good joke turning

away their anger. Tragedy turned to comedy in an

instant.

History, you see, is like the interlocking wheels

turning in a ticking-thing. Something unexpected

happens, some sort of hiccup… the wheels are

jogged… and then they set off again, beating out the

time in a new pattern.

‘So there you are then, Madguts!’ yelled Stoick

the Vast. ‘My son has made his demand, and you’ll

just have to carry it out… No hard feelings, eh?’

Madguts the Murderous shook Stoick’s hand,

unable to believe his good fortune. He’d thought that

he was a dead man for certain.

You couldn’t say that he was happy at the

prospect of standing up in front of the Thing dressed

as an ickle pretty shepherdess.

The pride of the Murderous Tribe winced at the

thought of it.

But on the whole, it was better than being picked

to death by Sky Dragons.

261

And the Hooligan Tribe made their way down to

their ships and returned to Berk.

Going back to Berk now, when they thought they

had lost it for ever, in their boats laden with all their

belongings, it was as if they were discovering it for the

very first time.

A beautiful little island, all lit up under a canopy

of stars.

Maybe it was a little rainier on Berk than you

might wish for. Perhaps it was a trifle on the windy,

boggy, rocky and heathery side. No doubt there were

lands with bluer skies and richer soils, somewhere over

the horizon. But Berk was the Hooligans’ home, and

perhaps that is what really matters, after all.

EPILOGUE by Hiccup

So that is the story of how I went to the New World.

I crossed thousands and thousands of miles of

ocean, starving and baking on the deck of the ship,

slew monsters and fought battles with my life hanging

on the thinnest of threads… I cheated death so many

times on that journey… and then finally, FINALLY,

I saw with my very own eyes, the dream land, the

imaginary place, that was no dream after all… it WAS

true!

Despite what it may look like, the world is not

really as flat as a pancake. There is no waterfall at the

corners. There are no edges to the globe on which we

live and struggle and laugh and die.

The world is a circle that has no end.

I know that, I have been out to the West and

seen with my very own eyes the white beaches and lush

green trees of America… and yet I never quite landed.

I was so CLOSE to landing, that if I swam just a few

hundred metres more, I could have put my foot on

American sand.

But I did not.

What Glory it would have been to have

discovered America! To have founded an empire there!

263

To have your name live for ever in the history books…

to have little schoolchildren chant your name, saying

‘America was discovered by Hiccup Horrendous Haddock

the Third…’

But within touching distance of the Ultimate

Quest, I turned back.

I went home. I took the quiet way, back into the

shadows, to be forgotten by future generations.

It may seem to you, perhaps, dear reader, that

my Quest was not a success.

To have travelled so far… such a very long, long,

long way… and at the last minute, within sniffing

distance of the prize… to have not discovered America

after all.

What a failure!

But this is not how it seems to me. Again and

again I have been on Quests that I thought were

for one thing, and turned out to be something quite

different.

For it was on that Quest that I first truly

discovered MYSELF, and my destiny.

We were not ready to build a New World.

How can you make a fresh start in a New World

when you are carrying with you on your boat all the

same problems, the same frustrations and inequalities

264

of the Old World?

Let’s face it, any country ruled by Norbert called

‘The Land of the Nutjobs’ would have turned out to

have the same problems as the Barbaric Archipelago

quicker than you can say the words ‘half crazed lunatic

carrying a double-headed axe’.

What that trip taught me was just how very many

things were wrong with that Old World of ours. And

I returned the long, long, way back to the Inner Isles

with a new determination. The boy that went into the

Atlantic Ocean that day was a very different boy than

the one who came out three months, five days and six

hours later. I had been immersed in the waters of the

Western Seas, and came out a different person.

I had always known that I had, one day, to take

over my father’s job. I had always felt reluctant, even

cross, about this. Always felt that it was something I

didn’t really want to do. Now, for the first time in my

life I really wanted to be a Chief. And not just a Chief,

but a KING.

I knew for the first time that I was Grimbeard

the Ghastly’s True Heir… and I would be such an

Heir that he had never dreamed of.

I wanted to be a King who would found a New

World, not in some misty country far across the seas,

265

but right here, right now, at home. I would make the

Barbaric Archipelago a place in which Might was no

longer Right. Where the weaker Tribes could have

their say and their vote at the Thing. Where small

children would not live in daily fear of death by

wolves, by dragons roaming wild, by starvation and by

war. Where the rule of Law would apply to bully boys

like Snotlout and Nutjob himself. And, the first thing

I would do as a King, would be to abolish slavery for

ever from the Viking Lands…

The Slavemark has been a great burden to bear,

and made my task so much the harder. But Thor was

right to give me the Slavemark. I could never rub it

away, never forget the promise that I made, because

there it was, in indelible purple on the side of my head.

Maybe all Kings should bear the Slavemark, to remind

them that they should be slaves to their people, rather

than the other way around. And to help them never

to forget what it feels to be a child… to be small and

weak and helpless.

Perhaps my vision does not seem so revolutionary

to readers of the Future. But you have to remember

the savage wildness of the world in which I grew up. It

is quite extraordinary for one small boy with red hair

and nothing very remarkable about him to think that

266

he can change the world to that extent.

I did not realise at that time what a gigantic task

I was setting myself, what a huge enterprise, so much

larger than merely crossing the Western Ocean and

back again… How much easier it would have been to

have rubbed along as my father had, shrugging at the

injustices, closing an eye to the Bad Things… But that

way is not my way. My story is all about being a Hero

the Hard Way.

We are all not so very different from Norbert

the Nutjob. We need a vision of a New World to help

us carry on. And in all that I have done, I have been

dreaming of those white beaches. All my life I have

struggled to found a New World, a better world, for us

to live in. I have struggled to make us ready, to make

us good enough, to return once again to that country

that I saw, long ago, across the sea.

We are still not ready. Maybe we will never be

ready. But we are a bit closer now than when I was

young.

Now I am an old, old man, the world that I

created has no need for dragons. They have retreated

from the civilisation that I brought, along with the

wolves, and the Berserks, and the monsters of my

childhood.

267

But when I sleep, I am no longer a Great King

but a child again. I slip into a longship that sets out

across the oceans far far away, sails spread out like

dragons’ wings.

On and on we sail, unimaginably far. And if the

dream is a good one I see again those white beaches,

those green trees, with the bluest of blue skies above.

Always sailing, sailing, sailing… never quite reaching…

Glory comes not to the weak

A treasure land shines out so strong

O Great and Brave and Searching Thor

I hope that that was land we saw…

Once before… Long ago…

HO!

This is all stirring stuff, but how is Hiccup going to keep

the Slavemark a secret for ever and ever? If Snotlout

finds out about it, Hiccup will never get to be a

CHIEF, let alone a KING.

And why does Fishlegs appear to have no family?

And is that the last we shall see of that inventive

maniac, Norbert the Nutjob? And what about Hiccup’s

arch-enemy Alvin the Treacherous, who we last saw

being swallowed by a Fire-Dragon that dived down into

the burning waters of the Earth’s core?

I have a nasty feeling that Alvin might

have survived that frightful experience,

Thor only knows how…

Watch out for the next volume of Hiccup’s memoirs,

How to Break a Dragon’s Heart

MIDSUMMER STORM

There are many storms in the Barbaric Archipelago.

But this was the greatest storm in over one

hundred years.

It came, without warning, at the height of

midsummer.

For three days it raged without stopping, howling

like a god in pain, blowing over houses, tearing up

trees, picking up ships and tossing them down into the

depths of the ocean as if they were matches, caring

nothing for the tiny human habitations clinging like

ants to the barren island wildernesses, mowing them

down as if they were nothing.

A storm like this causes many things to be lost,

and many things to be found.

Many a boat can be dragged down in the tempest.

And many a strange object that everyone had forgotten

about can be dragged up from the depths of the ocean

and tossed up on one of the beaches along with a

whole heap of driftwood.

This particular Storm caused someone to be lost.

Camicazi, the tiny, intrepid, tangle-haired

daughter of Big-Boobied Bertha, Chief of the

Bog-Burglars, was out on the sea, alone in her boat

The Stormy Petrel,* when the storm struck.

Even before the tempest was past, the

Bog-Burglars were out looking for her. And when

the winds finally dropped and the Tribes of the

Archipelago were waking up to the devastation of

flattened cowsheds and walls and houses and

upside-down trees, and were wearily getting down

to the task of rebuilding their lives again, the Bog-

Burglars were already scouring the very edges of the

Archipelago in their black-sailed boats, shouting:

‘Caaa-aaaa-m-a-c-aaaaaaaaaaaaziiiiiiiiiiiiii!’

‘Caaa-aaaa-m-a-c-aaaaaaaaaaaaziiiiiiiiiiiiii!’

‘Caaa-aaaa-m-a-c-aaaaaaaaaaaaziiiiiiiiiiiiii!’

But answer came there none.

* The Stormy Petrel is the smallest of the sea-birds. They were so named

because sailors thought they warned of incoming storms.

1. THE LOST CHILD

And so it was that one summer evening, two Hooligan

ships were going round and round in circles around

the little island of the Quiet Life in the Eastern

Archipelago.

It was odd for Hooligan ships to be in the

Eastern Archipelago, for that part of the world is

exceptionally dangerous, and the Vikings tended

to avoid it at all costs.

There are many many horrors in the Eastern

Archipelago. The only reason the Hooligans were there

at all was because they were helping Big-Boobied

Bertha search for her missing daughter. And now

evening was drawing in, and in their quest to find the

lost child they had travelled far, far, far from their safe

cosy little home on the Isle of Berk, and it was

too late to go home.

They would have to drop

anchor and spend the night in

the Eastern Archipelago,

never a happy

thought.

But where

could they camp?

All the lands to

the north and east were part

of UGLITHUG territory, and

the Uglithugs were slavers, and

the wickedest pirates in the Barbaric

World, and they had a tendency to kill

any uninvited visitors on the spot. Besides,

a lot of their beaches were haunted.

Of course, there was the island of Berserk.

But then again, the Berserkers went crazy on

a full moon and howled like dogs and fed people

in baskets to some nameless thing that lived in the

wildness of the wood…

So that left the island of the Quiet Life as the

only safe place in the Eastern Archipelago to spend the

night.

Which was why the Hooligans had spent the last

hour and a half going round and round it in circles,

searching for the Perfect Camping Spot.

‘HALT!’ shouted Stoick the Vast, O Hear His

Name and Tremble, Ugh, Ugh, the Chief of the Hairy

Hooligan Tribe. He was an impressive figure with a

magnificent red beard like a lion’s mane that had been

vigorously back-combed by maniacs.

‘REST YOUR OARS A MOMENT!’

Stoick turned to his son, Hiccup Horrendous

Haddock the Third, who was standing beside him on

the deck of The Fat Penguin, peering anxiously over

the figure-head, shielding his eyes from the setting sun

as he scanned the horizon.

Hiccup was a most unlikely Heir to the Hooligan

Tribe. An ordinary looking boy, with red hair, and

long skinny limbs, and the kind of anxious freckled

face that was easy to overlook in a crowd.

‘Now, Hiccup,’ said Stoick importantly.

‘I want you to watch what I do carefully

here. A Chief has to be ABSOLUTELY

SURE that he finds a safe spot to camp. The

wellbeing of his entire Tribe depends on him

finding the PERFECT camping spot.’

‘Yes, but we’ve been looking for ages

now,’ Hiccup pointed out. ‘And there was a

place back there on the island of the Quiet

Life that looked really quite nice.’

‘Too exposed,’ pronounced Stoick

gravely. ‘The perfect spot should be sheltered

from wind and sudden storms.’

‘Yes, but Father, we’re all quite tired

and it’s getting

dark and

the Eastern

Archipelago

is very

dangerous,’ Hiccup said. ‘What about all those other

places we looked at?’

‘Too muddy, too many jellyfish, not enough

places to pitch the tents, no lookout area…’ said

Stoick. ‘You need to look for the PERFECT spot,

Hiccup.’ He patted Hiccup condescendingly on the

back. ‘That’s why I’m the Captain, son. Watch and

learn, my boy, watch and learn.’

Stoick stalked off enthusiastically to look for

other suitable spots, while his crew rested their weary

arms and grumbled mutinously. Somebody said that

perhaps if Stoick was so keen to find the perfect

camping spot he might like to take

over at the oars.

But they said it very quietly, so

that Stoick wouldn’t hear.

‘I hate camping,’ said Fishlegs,

Hiccup’s best friend. ‘It does terrible

things to my asthma.’ Fishlegs was

a tall, spindly runner-bean of a boy,

who had eczema as well as asthma,

and was allergic to wheat and dairy.

Not to mention dragons.

‘This is all your fault, Useless*…’

snarled Snotlout, Hiccup’s cousin. Snotlout was a large

arrogant adolescent with a natural air of leadership and

a lot of skeleton tattoos. He spat thoughtfully into

the sea.

* Hiccup the Useless was Snotlout’s nickname for Hiccup.

‘We wouldn’t be out here looking for a lousy

little Bog-Burglar, if you hadn’t turned your father

soft, so that he made allies with those mud-trotting

female no-hopers,’ sneered Snotlout. ‘Before you

started interfering, there was an excellent saying, “the

only good Bog-Burglar is a dead Bog-Burglar”. And

what I say is, if we find her dear ickle Bog-Burglar

corpse floating down that gorge over there tomorrow

morning, I, for one, will not be blubbing into my

cocoa.’

‘Har har har,’ snorted Dogsbreath the

Duhbrain, Snotlout’s friend and fellow

bully.

‘You’re such a charmer,

Snotlout,’ snapped

Hiccup. ‘No wonder

you make friends

easily.’

‘But seriously,’ drawled Snotlout, ‘look around

you, Useless. You and your father have really put us in

danger here. We’ve drifted into UGLITHUG territory.

See that island over there?’ Snotlout pointed to an

ominous, brooding dark shape to the south, from

which a strange, humming, drumming noise seemed to

be coming. ‘You want to know what that is, sweet-pea?

That’s BERSERK, that is. And this beach that we’re

drifting into now? This is the Beach of the Broken

Heart…’

Dogsbreath the Duhbrain stopped giggling

abruptly, and turned an unattractive shade of green.

‘The Beach of the Broken Heart?’

he stammered. ‘But isn’t

that… supposed to be…

haunted????’

‘Sure is,’ grinned

Snotlout.

‘Haunted????’

squeaked Fishlegs.

Snotlout opened

his eyes wide and leaned

forward to Fishlegs,

whispering conspiratorially. ‘That’s right, you weed.

The Beach of the Broken Heart is haunted, so they

say, by a ghost-lady in a ghost-ship… searching for

ever for her lost, dead child… and if she finds YOU

instead… why’ – and he paused, for effect – ‘she

reaches into your chest with her horrible ghosty

fingers…’ – Fishlegs and Dogsbreath both covered

their chests hurriedly – ‘… and she takes out your

beating heart and sails with it back to the ghost-world,’

finished Snotlout with relish.

Dogsbreath was so anxious that he dropped

his drawn dagger rather painfully on to his toe.

‘OOOOW…’

‘That is such RUBBISH, Snotlout,’ said Hiccup

loudly. ‘That’s just a myth, created because the

marshes behind the beach are home to a rare kind of

bird called the Neverbird, and it makes a sound like a

crying ghost.’

Snotlout leant back and crossed his tattooed

arms casually. ‘Is it rubbish though?’ he said. ‘We

could be in serious danger here. And all for a dirty

little Bog-Burglar who has nothing to do with the

Hooligan Tribe. I repeat. All your fault, Useless.’

And it was just at that moment that Hiccup’s

hunting-dragon Toothless returned to The Fat Penguin

from

a scouting

mission, making a

clumsy crash-landing on

Hiccup’s head.

Hiccup had sent Toothless ahead to investigate

coves and rocks and beaches and likely places where

a small boat might have been blown and wrecked by a

mighty storm.

If Hiccup was an unlikely Heir to the Hooligan

Tribe, Toothless was an even more unlikely hunting-

dragon-to-the-Heir. He was a Common-or-Garden

dragon, the least rare of the dragon species (although

he claimed to be something much more exotic),

and he was at least half the size of the other young

Warriors’ hunting-dragons. He had no obvious

weapons and, as his name suggests, no teeth.

At the moment he was genuinely anxious, but

the drama of the search, and the lateness of the hour,

and the importance of him, Toothless, leading the hunt

from the front, not to mention the fact that he had

missed two meals and two naps, had led him to cross

the line into hopeless, fidgety, over-excitement.

He was wound up tighter than a tick who had

feasted on several, large, sugar-laced cups of coffee.

Toothless always had a stammer, but now he

was so beside himself he couldn’t even get the words

out. He just jumped up and down on Hiccup’s head,

pointing his wings at the Beach of the Broken Heart.

‘What is it, Toothless? What is it?’ asked

Hiccup.* Stoick, who was squinting all around him,

and discussing with his second-in-command the

relative merits of different camping areas, spotted

Toothless pointing, and turned his telescope towards

the Beach of the Broken Heart.

‘Well that’s not a suitable camping spot,’ Stoick

grunted but then he stopped. ‘Hang on a second.

What’s that? THERE’S SOMETHING ON THE

BEACH OVER THERE!’

* Hiccup was one of the few Vikings before, or since, who was able to

speak Dragonese, the language the dragons spoke to each other.

www.cressidacowell.co.uk

This is Cressida, age 9, writing on the island.

www.HowToTrainYourDragonSeries.com

Table of Contents

Copyright

Title

Contents

1. A Proper Viking Swimming Race

2. May The Fattest (and Least Stupid) Man (or Woman) Win

3. Isn’t That Snotlout a Lovely Guy?

4. A Really, Really Bad Situation

5. An Unpleasant Old Acquaintance

6. The Axe of Doom Decides

7. The Quest to Discover America

8. The Slavemark

9. The Land of the Polar-Serpents

10. Toothless’s Adventure in the Cooking Tent

11. The Escape from the American Dream 2

12. R-R-R-RUUUUNNNNNN!!!!!!

13. They were in Its Territory Now…

14. What Happened Back in the Murderous Mountains

15. It’s a Long Way to America

16. Land Ahoy!!!!!!

17. The Leviathorgan Strikes

18. Up the Mast of the American Dream 2

19. Keep Kicking, It’s a Long Swim Home

20. The Ticking-Thing Starts to Tick Louder

21. The End of the Swimming Race