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How To Train Your Dragon: How to Betray a Dragon's Hero

Page 12

by Cressida Cowell


  a second, crouched down low.

  And then she exploded into action,

  screaming.

  ‘WHAT ARE YOU

  WAITING FOR, YOU IDIOTS?

  SEARCH HIGH, SEARCH LOW,

  SEARCH EVERYWHERE!

  FIND THE HICCUP BOY!’

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  12. THAT TREASONOUS

  TRAITOR OF TRAITORS

  Alvin rushed out of the door in a demented frenzy,

  followed by the witch and the Alvinsmen with drawn

  swords.

  Leaving the cages with the captured

  Dragonmarkers openly whispering and then shouting

  to each other: ‘What happened? They’ve got the last

  Lost Thing? But is Hiccup still alive? Or did he die?

  That treasonous traitor of traitors Snotface Snotlout

  betrayed us all…’

  That treasonous traitor of traitors, Snotface

  Snotlout, had not left the room with the others. He was

  still standing in the shadows. Even if you could have

  seen his face, you would not be able to read it.

  ‘Boo!’

  ‘BOOOOOOO!’

  The room reverberated with the sound of the

  shouting, furious Dragonmarkers rattling their cages,

  and it was dreadful indeed to hear their condemnation.

  ‘TURNCOAT! TRAITOR! LOWEST OF THE

  LOW! DISGRACE TO YOUR TRIBE!’

  There was shame in Snotlout’s flushed face as

  all around him his former Companions cursed his

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  name and howled furious

  contempt.

  He would never

  be trusted again. Not

  even Alvin and the witch

  trusted him. He had

  nowhere to go.

  It was a far greater

  disgrace for a Viking to lose his

  honour than to lose his beard.

  A single tear rolled down Snotlout’s cheek.

  Once upon a lifetime ago, Snotlout had been

  Gobber the Belch’s favourite pupil. Now it was

  Gobber the Belch’s powerful bellow that reverberated

  around the room in rolling echoes, like the honk of an

  outraged walrus.

  ‘YOU HAVE DISHONOURED THE NAME

  OF HOOLIGAN! YOU HAVE SHAMED THE

  GOOD NAME OF YOUR FATHER AND OF YOUR

  FATHER’S FATHER’S FATHER! SAGAS WILL

  BE TOLD OF YOUR IGNOMINY FOREVER!’

  roared Gobber.

  Snotlout stood perfectly still.

  And then out loud, he said to himself: ‘Hiccup

  knew that I was going to betray him. He knew.’

  Only two Alvinsmen were left in the room. They

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  were kneeling around the trapdoor, peering down into

  the sea, shivering and with swords drawn, as if that

  magical Hero, Hiccup the Outcast, might in some final

  act of superhuman sorcery rise up out of the sea and

  strike them down.

  With a quickness Gobber would have been proud

  of in the old days, Snotlout walked up behind them,

  removed the keys from their belts and shoved them

  into the water.

  The bellows from the cages of the Dragonmarkers

  died down.

  What was the traitor doing?

  Why had he attacked

  the Alvinsmen?

  What in Valhalla was

  going on?

  Snotlout ran to

  Gobber’s cage and put the

  key in the lock.

  ‘What are you

  doing, Snotlout, you

  villain?’ cried Thuggory

  the Meathead in

  bewilderment.

  ‘What does it look

  like, O Dumbo-brain Meathead?’ said Snotlout as the

  door to Gobber’s cage swung open. ‘I’m helping you to

  escape.’

  There was a murmur of astonishment along the

  cages.

  Vikings were strong Warriors, tough soldiers.

  But they were not all of them quick on the uptake.

  They might have been taught Spying and Treachery in

  their Pirate Classes, but most of them, to be honest,

  were not very good at it. What they really liked was

  to know exactly who their enemies were, preferably

  colour-coded, with the same helmets, or a similar style

  of furry cloak or something, to avoid confusion in

  battle.

  So this unexpected move on the part of Snotlout

  really flummoxed them.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Thuggory the Meathead

  plaintively, ‘I thought you were on the other side?’

  ‘Me too,’ complained Grabbit of Grim. ‘The

  witch thanked you and everything… Why are you

  freeing us? What’s going on?’

  ‘Look here, Snotlout,’ demanded Boily of

  Bashem. ‘Let’s be absolutely clear. Are you on that

  rotter Alvin’s side or not?’

  ‘You won’t believe me, whatever I say,’ replied

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  Snotlout. ‘You already told me I’m a double-crossing

  worm.’

  Gobber’s cage door was still hanging open. But

  the great giant within, with his arms crossed, refused to

  move.

  ‘I don’t accept help from Traitors, or disgraces to

  their Tribe!’ roared Gobber furiously.

  ‘Oh for Thor’s sake, stay if you want to! You

  always were a stubborn old warthog,’ muttered

  Snotlout. He tossed the keys through the door of the

  nearest cage so that the others could free themselves,

  and ran out of the room.

  The Dragonmarkers did not waste any further

  time trying to work out Snotlout’s motivation, and

  passed the keys along from cage to cage. Psychology

  had never been their strong point.

  Fighting, however, was their forte.

  With cries of joy, the freed Dragonmarkers armed

  themselves with swords, javelins, spears, whatever they

  could find in the armoury.

  Even Gobber realised it might be better to

  swallow his pride and join the fray. He left his cage,

  shaking his head in confusion.

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  13. MEANWHILE, UNDER THE

  FLOORBOARDS…

  How did Camicazi and Hiccup escape from the box

  and the rope? Well, it wasn’t quite the miracle that the

  watching Dragonmarkers and Alvinsmen thought it

  was.

  Let us go back to earlier on, under the

  floorboards of the floating city, where a terrified

  Hiccup had whispered ‘Plan B! Plan B!’ down to

  Fishlegs and slammed down the hatch, leaving Fishlegs

  sitting on the upturned hull of a boat in the darkness

  with six dragons: the Deadly Shadow, Stormfly, the

  Hogfly, Windwalker, the Hurricane and Wodensfang.

  ‘Oh, for Thor’s sake,’ moaned Fishlegs. ‘Plan B!

  Plan B means that the Lost Things aren’t there!’

  The ears of the Wodensfang were bright purple

  and quivering as if electric currents were running

  through them, which was always a sign that terrible

  peril was near.

  ‘I told Hiccup,’ wheezed Wodensfang, ‘I’ve seen

  the Lost Things in my dreams. They’re underwater

  somewhere. But I admire Hiccup’s courage in trusting

  Snotlout. It’s just a shame…’

  236

  Fishlegs swallowed and finished the sentence for

  him.
<
br />   ‘It’s just a shame that Snotlout has betrayed him

  again?’

  As if to confirm this, Snotlout’s Hurricane dragon

  took off from the submerged boat and flew off.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ asked Fishlegs.

  And then he answered his own question.

  ‘He must be joining his treacherous master.

  ‘This is fine,’ said Fishlegs to himself. ‘I’m on my

  own here, but it’s fine.’ He was trying not to panic.

  His asthma often got worse in times of stress.

  Luckily Deadly Shadows give off a calming

  hormone in their smoke when they are in an action

  situation, and breathing in the milky clouds of steam

  drifting out of the three heads of the gentle giant

  beneath him gave Fishlegs the strength to remain calm

  and to focus.

  Fishlegs pushed his broken glasses more firmly

  on to his nose. He did not want to look like a coward

  in front of his mother’s dragon. If his mother could be

  brave, then so could he.

  ‘OK,’ said Fishlegs, making himself think

  reasonably, ‘according to Plan B, we now have to

  surreptitiously rescue Hiccup. But how do we rescue

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  him if we have no idea where he is?’

  Two hundred yards away, a hatch opened in

  the long platform of the ceiling above them, letting

  a brilliant shaft of light down into the dark sea. The

  sound of the shouting and the stamping of feet became

  so loud, Fishlegs shrank behind the Deadly Shadow’s

  back spines, for fear they had been discovered.

  ‘HIC-CUP! HIC-CUP! HIC-CUP!’

  And then the witch’s voice, clear and loud:

  ‘LOWER HIM THROUGH THE TRAPDOOR!’

  Something was dumped through the trapdoor

  and into the sea. With horror, Fishlegs recognised

  Hiccup’s helmet.

  ‘O… K…’ said Fishlegs. ‘There he is… That’s

  Hiccup… let’s rescue him…’

  Windwalker had left Fishlegs’s side before

  Fishlegs had even finished speaking, flying towards

  the spot where Hiccup had been dumped. In two flaps

  of his wings, Fishlegs could see from the bubbles that

  Windwalker had reached Hiccup underwater, closely

  followed by Wodensfang, Stormfly and the Hogfly.

  Fishlegs hovered near the spot on the back of the

  Deadly Shadow.

  ‘Get him up! What are you guys doing?’ he

  whispered desperately from the shadows. ‘Why aren’t

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  you getting him out of there? There are Winterfleshers

  down there and everything…’

  He could see the quick black silhouettes of the

  heavily-fanged Winterfleshers being chased hither and

  thither underwater by the hunting dragons.

  The Alvinsmen pulled on the chain again. It drew

  taut, and UP the blue dripping figure of Hiccup was

  hauled, and Fishlegs watched, open-mouthed.

  SPLASH!

  Up rocketed Wodensfang, out of the water.

  ‘Why didn’t you rescue him?’ whispered an

  agitated Fishlegs.

  ‘He didn’t want us to,’ replied Wodensfang. ‘He

  kept on pointing up towards the Great Hall. I think he

  doesn’t want us to rescue him until he can get Camicazi

  out too.’

  ‘Oh thank Thor,’ breathed Fishlegs. ‘So Camicazi

  is alive?’

  ‘We’re just trying to keep him warm and

  alive,’ continued Wodensfang, ‘and scare away the

  Winterfleshers. Windwalker is blowing air into him so

  he doesn’t drown.*’

  SPLASH!

  Down Hiccup was thrown again, and Fishlegs

  could see the large shadow of the Windwalker flying

  * Windwalker was acting like a dragon aqualung. Hiccup first describes doing

  this with Toothless in How to Be a Pirate when he was stuck in Grimbeard the

  Ghastly’s underground cavern. Hiccup and Windwalker had practised this in

  happier times and warmer waters, when they went diving together for crabs in

  long ago summers in Hooligan Harbour.

  underwater like a giant ray, sending the little dark

  slivers of the Winterfleshers shooting off in all

  directions in alarm. Again and again, Hiccup was

  hauled back up through the trapdoor, again and

  again he was thrown into the sea – and each time

  he was left underwater for longer and longer.

  ‘Oh what shall I do?’ Fishlegs whimpered to

  himself, ‘This can’t be good for him… Plan B was

  always over-ambitious… How on earth is Hiccup

  going to rescue Camicazi when he’s all tied up in

  chains and everything?’

  Fishlegs’s question was answered when

  SPLASH! The large box crashed into the

  water, and this time Windwalker attacked

  the box, and to Fishlegs’s passionate relief,

  Camicazi came gasping to the surface. He

  reached out an arm to pick her out, and she climbed up

  behind him on the Deadly Shadow, and sat shivering

  on the dragon’s warm back, steaming lightly.

  The fourth time, when Hiccup dived through the

  trapdoor by himself, the Windwalker changed tactics.

  Camicazi was safe, so it was time to rescue Hiccup

  now.

  Windwalker got a good grip on Hiccup’s collar

  under the water, like a cat holding a kitten, and hauled

  with all his strength on the chain attached around

  Hiccup’s ankle, the one that Alvin and the Alvinsmen

  were holding at the other end.

  That was the mystical tug of war that had so

  impressed the Alvinsmen and Dragonmarkers in the

  Great Hall.

  With a final HEAVE, the chain broke, and with

  smooth powerful strokes of his wings, Windwalker

  brought Hiccup, gasping, to the surface and deposited

  him on the boat beside Camicazi.

  ‘Thank you, Camicazi,’ gasped Hiccup.

  ‘I told you,’ said Camicazi, ‘I would never Turn

  My Back on you again.’

  Hiccup grinned. ‘Windwalker, Hogfly, Wodensfang

  and I will find Toothless and the Things… Fishlegs and

  Camicazi and the others, cause a Diversion…’

  242

  He had barely finished the sentence before

  Windwalker flew off, carrying Hiccup like a limp doll in

  his mouth, with Wodensfang and the Hogfly anxiously

  following.

  ‘Excellent news!’ said Camicazi joyfully. ‘Apart

  from Burgling and escaping from impossible prisons

  and possibly surfing on dragonback, DIVERSIONS

  are a Bog-Burglar’s favourite thing!’

  She sat back on the Deadly Shadow, unpacked

  her backpack and put on a large blond moustache.

  ‘Camicazi,’ said Fishlegs, ‘no one is going to

  mistake you for a very small Alvinsman.’

  Camicazi ignored him.

  ‘Now,’ she said, holding up a finger, ‘we’re going

  to have to be a little bit careful because I reckon

  there must be thousands and thousands

  of Bullguards and Alvinsmen up

  there…’

  ‘And there are four of us…’ bleated Fishlegs.

  ‘Six!’ corrected Camicazi optimistically. ‘Your Deadly


  Shadow counts as three. Which is why I need my

  super-dangerous secret weapon. Now, where did I put

  it?’ Camicazi rummaged away at the bottom of her

  Escape Artist backpack, pulling out ropes and keys and

  all sorts of extraordinary equipment.

  ‘You have a super-dangerous secret weapon?’

  Fishlegs clutched at the faint hope of what a

  ‘super-dangerous secret weapon’ offered.

  Ideas of battering rams, and spear launchers, and

  those gigantic Roman catapults swam into his head,

  and made him feel a little braver.

  But no, it would have been hard to fit a battering

  ram into that teeny weeny little backpack.

  Camicazi whooped in triumph as she finally

  located the super-dangerous secret weapon, and held it

  up so that Fishlegs could see it.

  There was a short silence.

  ‘Camicazi,’ said Fishlegs. ‘The four— no,

  sorry, six of us are about to face Alvin’s entire

  heavily-armed army, and that is a small glass

  jar filled with pebbles.’

  It was indeed a small glass jar filled

  with pebbles.

  244

  Small, grey, and very normal-looking pebbles.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Camicazi craftily, ‘but these are

  no ordinary pebbles. My mother burgled them off a

  Chinese ship she raided when she was out east a while

  back, and I sort of borrowed them. Trust me, Fishlegs,

  these things are quite something.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Fishlegs sarcastically, ‘those little

  pebbly souvenirs that your mother got on her holidays

  are really going to make the difference…’

  ‘Now, we are a little outnumbered, I have to

  admit,’ said Camicazi, frowning, and pulling out

  her lassos and her ropes, and borrowing some of

  Fishlegs’s bow and arrows, ‘so we have to seem like

  there are more of us. We need to make those rotten,

  haddock-stinking, twister-evil Alvinsmen think they’re

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  being attacked by Valhallarama’s whole Dragonmarker

  army. Can I borrow your helmet a second, Fishlegs?’

  Without waiting for an answer, Camicazi

  whipped it off his head.

  ‘Watch this, Fishlegs, I think you’re going to like

  it…

 

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