She ambushed the soldier who brought them
their food every day, knocking him out with his own
food tray.
She was planning to wear his clothes to pass
herself off as a soldier.
‘It’ll never work,’ said Hiccup. ‘You’ll get
caught. You’re a girl for starters. And you’re only four
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foot high. There are no four-foot-high soldiers. They
don’t let them in the army.’
‘Oh, you’re always bringing up PROBLEMS,’
grumbled Camicazi, putting on the soldier’s helmet,
which was so big she could hardly see out of it.
‘And let’s face it, they’re going to be really cross
you knocked out one of their men,’ Hiccup pointed
out, looking at the soldier slumbering peacefully in his
Roman underwear on the floor.
‘Why don’t YOU face it?’ snapped Camicazi.
‘Look at you, staring out the window all day long. Your
father is NEVER GOING TO COME…’
Hiccup flinched.
‘He’ll come,’ he said defiantly.
Camicazi had to turn up the sleeves of the
soldier’s shirt four times. The tunic trailed some way
along the ground behind her. She looked like a very
small military person in a wedding dress.
‘Ze great CAMICAZI will be back home, guys,
while you are facing those gladiators on Saturn’s day
Saturday…’
She took three steps and fell flat on her face.
The boys tried very hard not to laugh.
With great dignity Camicazi got back on to her
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feet again. She picked up the front of the tunic like
she really was a bride. ‘You can’t keep a Bog-Burglar
under lock and key,’ she said, taking the keys from the
tunic pocket and unlocking the cell door. With a final
bustle of skirts she was gone.
Hiccup looked out the window again.
‘He’ll come…’ said Hiccup. The rain was being
blown through the window at such a rate that he had
been driven from his usual post. But now he peered
through the bars, seeking, seeking, for the sails that
were not there. There was only rain and more rain,
pouring down relentlessly on the ocean, drumming on
the rocks, sogging up the heather, and filling the
pockets of the poor sentries as they stood, sandals full
of mud, dreaming of Roman sunshine.
The wind shrieked across the ocean, up
over the grim black cliffs, and through the
Roman courtyards of the fort. And as it
came through Hiccup’s barred window,
blowing in great drenching streams
of water, it seemed to be
answering…
‘… but he’s late…’
Camicazi didn’t return that
night. Hiccup and Fishlegs
wondered with amazement if
she really had escaped this
time. But the soldier who
brought their food that evening very
grumpily told them she had been caught within
two seconds of leaving the Tower and put into solitary
confinement for three days.
‘And serve her right, the little barbarian,’ said
the soldier, rubbing the lump on his head.
‘Three days!’ said Fishlegs excitedly. ‘At least
we’ll have some peace and quiet around here.’
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‘Camicazi’s all right really,’ said Hiccup.
‘Mmmm,’ said Fishlegs, unconvinced. ‘But
she’s very pleased with herself and she never stops
talking. I’m looking forward to a nice, quiet night.’
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15. THE COMING OF THE
SHARKWORMS
As the long night wore on, something strange and
frightening was happening in the seas around Fort
Sinister.
The rain poured down without stopping, and
for several days the heated swimming baths of the Fat
Consul had been overflowing, sending a stream of hot
water pouring down the hillside and into the ocean.
And this warm current was attracting some unwelcome
visitors… SHARKWORMS.
From far and wide the Sharkworms came.
Terrible creatures half out of nightmares, but only too
true I’m afraid, propelled not only by the tremendous
force of a shark-like tail, but also by thick, muscly
alligator legs that poured through the water, sending
them forward at extraordinary speeds.
They were swimming towards the Roman
Fortress, not just in ones and twos but in tens of
thousands, and when the sun came up on the morning
before Saturn’s day Saturday there was a boiling mass
of black fins with jagged edges, circling like vultures
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around the island of Fort Sinister.
It was as if they were waiting for something.
Sharkworms are ancient animals and their brains were
formed in who knows what dark and terrible furnace.
They knew not why they waited, only that they
smelled warm water, and blood-yet-to-be-spilled, and
guts-in-the-offing and trouble-about-to-happen.
And so they waited, patiently and greedily,
waiting and waiting and waiting for some awful
event to unfold in the future that would bring them
their supper.
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16. THE CUNNING BUT
DESPERATE PLAN
Camicazi returned the day before Saturn’s day
Saturday.
She was not as cheerful as usual. She drooped
around the cell, sighing. Even Fishlegs was worried.
Camicazi came and sat next to Hiccup beside the
barred window.
‘Maybe,’ she said sadly, ‘maybe you can keep a
Bog-Burglar under lock and key. I don’t understand it.
I’m the MASTER ESCAPER – no prison can hold
me…’
‘The Romans make good prisons,’ replied
Hiccup.
‘The only good Roman is a dead Roman,’ said
Camicazi.
Hiccup sighed. ‘That isn’t true. I’m sure there
are loads of good Romans. But all the good Romans
are probably quietly minding their own business back
in Rome. Anyway, Alvin isn’t a Roman, he’s a Viking
just like us.’
‘Your father really ISN’T going to send a War
164
Party, you know Hiccup,’ said Camicazi gently.
Hiccup looked out the window. Camicazi was
right. HIS FATHER WASN’T COMING. Maybe he
thought that Hiccup wasn’t worth it…
‘OK,’ said Hiccup, trying to keep them from
despairing. ‘I think it’s time we made another plan.’
‘I know what we do!’ cried Camicazi, drawing
her sword with her old swagger back again. ‘We
practise our sword-fighting! We die, yes – but we die
in STYLE!’
‘No,’ said Hiccup.
‘But you’re a great sword-fighter – for a boy, of
course…’ said Camicazi, disappointed.
‘I only sword-fight when there’s a point to it,’
said Hiccup. ‘No, this is the plan. I have this dragon
called Ziggerastica who owes me a favour…’
‘OOOooh, Zigg
erastica – he sounds scary,’ said
Camicazi. ‘Do you think he can help us?’
‘I don’t know,’ Hiccup admitted.
Hiccup felt a bit silly shouting to someone who
wasn’t in the room, but he did so nonetheless, calling
‘ZIGGERASTICA!’ three times at the top of his
voice.
‘How is this dragon going to get IN here, when
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we can’t get OUT?’ asked Camicazi.
‘You’ll see,’ said Hiccup.
Nothing happened for about three hours.
Hiccup wasn’t really expecting this plan to work, in his
heart of hearts – he was just trying to cheer Camicazi
up. But then there was a faint rustling noise, and the
tiny black and red dragon squeezed through the
double bars and fluttered around the room.
‘Don’t tell me,’ said Camicazi, ‘please don’t tell
me that THIS is the dragon who owes you
the favour…’
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‘Yup,’ said Hiccup in astonishment. ‘That’s
definitely him.
How amazing that he came when I called!’
‘This dragon,’ said Fishlegs, ‘is even smaller
than Toothless – that’s really going to help us, isn’t it?
The entire Roman Army is going to be shivering in its
shoes when it sets eyes on a dragon the size of a
bumblebee. How can a dragon not much larger than a
beetle help us fight a whole Roman Legion?’
‘What were you expecting?’ asked Hiccup. ‘A
Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus? Hang on,
Toothless… what are you doing?’
Toothless was stalking Ziggerastica like a cat
following a mouse.
‘Toothless, STOP!’ yelled Hiccup. ‘You mustn’t
eat him, he’s our only chance of getting out of here
alive!’
But Toothless hadn’t had the pleasure of
hunting for a couple of weeks now.
He chased a shrieking Ziggerastica all
around the room until he finally
trapped him in a corner of the ceiling
and closed his jaws around him.
167
Toothless hovered just out of reach, one cheek
bulging, and Ziggerastica’s furiously swinging tail
trailing out of his mouth.
‘SPIT HIM OUT!’ howled Hiccup, frantically
jumping up and trying to grab Toothless by the tail. ‘I
mean it, Toothless, this is not a game – our lives
depend on that nanodragon!’
Toothless shot him a naughty look and dodged
to the other corner of the room.
The others joined in the chase, leaping after
Toothless as he swooped from one side of the ceiling
to the other, squealing with delight.
Camicazi climbed on to Fishlegs’s shoulders,
while Hiccup got on a chair and tried to sweep
Toothless in her direction with a broom.
Unfortunately, Hiccup missed, and the brush
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cannoned into Camicazi and Fishlegs, who then
knocked over the chair Hiccup was standing on and
they all landed in a heap on the floor.
Toothless somersaulted across the ceiling in his
glee. He laughed so hard he nearly dropped
Ziggerastica. He hadn’t had so much fun in ages.
‘OK,’ said Hiccup under his breath to the
other two, ‘I’ve got a new tactic here…
‘We don’t have time for this nonsense,’ Hiccup
said loudly. ‘Just ignore Toothless and everybody
gather round me while I tell you our plan…’
‘Oh, I get it,’ said Fishlegs.
Fishlegs and Camicazi got into a huddle
around Hiccup who started whispering loudly.
Toothless remained on the ceiling, making rude
raspberry noises.
Nobody paid him any attention.
Eventually Toothless’s curiosity got the better
of him, and he flapped down to see if he could hear
what was being said – and Camicazi leaped out of the
huddle and grabbed him.
‘HA!’ said Hiccup triumphantly, looking sternly
down on the struggling little dragon. ‘Now, Toothless,
DROP IT.’
Toothless crossed his eyes and made a gulping
noise with his throat as if he was swallowing…
‘AAAAAAARGH!’ screamed Hiccup.
Toothless spat Ziggerastica on to the floor.
‘Only j-j-joking,’ he said.
Ziggerastica was FURIOUS.
Hiccup put him carefully on the table and for five
minutes he refused to say anything at all,
170
concentrating on shaking out his wings and removing
Toothless’s saliva.
‘I am SO sorry about Toothless, Your
Highness,’ said Hiccup, thinking that a little flattery
might be necessary.
Ziggerastica’s voice was icy. ‘If I didn’t owe you
a favour, O-Boy-With-Legs-Like-a-Heron,’ he
spat, ‘that dragon would be history…’
Toothless laughed scornfully.
‘What you g-g-gonna do,
tough guy? T-t-tickle
Toothless to d-d-
death?’
‘Shut up,
Toothless,’ said
Hiccup. ‘Thank
you for coming,
Ziggerastica.
And for looking
so very, VERY
handsome as well, if I may
say so…You have such
kingly legs…’
Ziggerastica looked
171
slightly less cross. He admired his own royal knees with
approval.
‘And your wings! The finest I have ever seen!
I’ll explain what I would like Your Highness to do…’
Hiccup told the nanodragon his cunning but
truly desperate plan.
The nanodragon was silent for a moment.
‘That,’ he said at last, ‘is a truly terrible plan.’
‘T-t-told you,’ said Toothless. ‘H-h-hiccup’s
plans are always terrible…’
‘You’re still alive, aren’t you?’ retorted Hiccup.
‘Also,’ said the nanodragon, ‘that is actually two
favours, and I have offered you only one.’
‘Think how cross the Fat Consul will be…’
pleaded Hiccup.
The nanodragon thought about that. He shook
out his black and red spotty wings, and Hiccup began
to see the suggestion of a smile on his tiny face.
‘OK,’ said Ziggerastica, ‘I’ll do it. But don’t
blame me if it fails… By the way, O-Boy-With-a-Nose-
Like-a-Small-Potato, your friends are even uglier than
you are! Where did you find these people? Never in my
life have I seen anybody who looks so much like a lemon
sole…’ He pointed rudely at Fishlegs with one wing.
172
And with that
the little nanodragon
gave a self-important
wriggle of his behind
and flew out the
window.
‘Did he
agree to carry out
your plan?’ asked
Camicazi.
Hiccup
nodded, trying to
look confident to
keep everybody’s
hopes up.
‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘I don’t think in this<
br />
kind of weather they’ll be able to hold those Games
tomorrow anyway. I’ve seen the arena from the
window, and it’s knee-deep in water – the ground is
far too wet and slippy for gladiatorial combat. With
any luck the rain will make them cancel the whole
thing.’
173
17. THE CIRCUS ON
SATURN’S DAY SATURDAY
The next day was Saturn’s day Saturday. For the first
time in a week the wind dropped and the clouds
cleared. It was a glorious day for a celebration, the sky
a bright blue with not a breath of rain. From about ten
o’clock in the morning Hiccup watched the stadium
being prepared for the circus. The stands were hung
with Roman flags. Tents and cushions were laid out in
the Consul’s seating area. Metal nets were set up
across the top and insides of the amphitheatre to
prevent the performing dragons from escaping or
attacking the audience.
The stands of the amphitheatre began to fill up
with spectators, anxious to get a good view. They were
mostly soldiers, cooks and carpenters, given the day
off for the national holiday. They could buy food and
wine within the amphitheatre to while away the hours,
so, by early afternoon, when the performances began,
the atmosphere was very lively, everybody singing
songs and even dancing on the seats.
At two o’clock exactly the trumpeters came out
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on to the Consul’s Pavilion, the luxury covered area
which was draped with Roman flags and Imperial
Standards. They blew an impressive fanfare, and
everyone stood up and fell silent as the Consul’s party
entered the stadium. The Fat Consul came first,
waddling very slowly with a slave at each elbow and
one to carry his stomach. He had to stop every couple
of steps to catch his breath.
He wasn’t looking too good. The Fat Consul
was covered from head to toe in ugly red rashes and
eczema weals. Once the slaves had got him seated,
they took it in turns to scratch different parts of his
body with an instrument like a large fork, and this
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