the Big Brute who Hiccup
had shot with an arrow in the
bottom the day before.
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His throne had a couple of plump cushions on it, but he
was shifting from buttock to buttock as if in some pain.
In one hand he held a very unusual, enormous,
double-headed axe. The axe was different in that one
blade was a bright and shiny copper gold, but the other
blade was rusted and blackened, and deeply scarred.
There was no sign of the potato.
Suddenly Hiccup felt a bit foolish. He had
somehow expected it to be displayed somewhere obvious,
preferably with a big sign underneath it labelling it clearly
as THE POTATO.
Because, of course, he did not have any idea what
a potato looked like, whether it was orange, or green, or
large or small. Hiccup had somehow imagined it as RED
with little black spots, and kind of oblong, or triangular,
just because it sounded so exotic. Purple, perhaps? Really,
he hadn’t a clue.
‘OK,’ whispered Camicazi, ‘I’m going to have to
go down there to try and find out WHERE they keep the
potato… it could be absolutely anywhere.’
She unwound one of the ropes from round her
waist, and Hiccup suggested that they should tie it around
One Eye’s leg. ‘That way, if you get into any trouble, you
can yank on it three times, and One Eye can haul you
up sharpish.’
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One Eye objected strongly to having anything tied
round his leg, and only agreed when Hiccup reminded
him what a HERO he was going to be in the Dragon
World when they returned to Berk with the antidote to
Vorpentitis.
The little girl then lowered herself down through
the hole in the roof.
It was completely dark and very quiet on top of
the Great Hall.
Waiting by the hole, Hiccup felt rather like he
had as a small boy going ice fishing with his father, when
Stoick cut a hole in the ice, and let down the line, and
then all there was to do was wait… and wait… and wait.
Toothless scratched behind his ears. One Eye
picked at his teeth. And Hiccup shivered with anxiety.
‘Hurry up, Camicazi…’
At any moment Hiccup expected a great crack
to appear in that huge flat expanse of frozen sea, and
then they would never get home… and Fishlegs would be
lost.
Or perhaps Camicazi had got into trouble
down there?
Hiccup peered down through the hole. Camicazi
was clinging to her rope like a spider, two metres below
them. Hiccup leant down a little farther to try and see
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what was happening…
… And then, to his absolute horror, the edge of
the chimney, already buckling under the weight of the
snow, gave way beneath him and with a shriek, Hiccup
FELL into the Hall.
11. IN THE SOUP
Camicazi watched with round, scared eyes as Hiccup fell
past her, arms flailing wildly.
In ordinary circumstances, that would have been
the end of Hiccup, for the Great Hall was fully twenty
metres high, and he SHOULD have broken his neck
falling all the way from the very top.
But, in a series of tremendous strokes of luck,
the traditional Freya’sday Eve dish was Onion Soup, and
on Hysteria it was served in a truly gigantic cauldron,
two metres wide and a metre deep. This pot was sitting
on the table directly below the falling Hiccup, and he
plunged straight into it, bottom first.
If the soup had been any hotter, Hiccup would
have been burned to death, but it had been on the table
for some time, and had cooled to a pleasant swimming
temperature.
If the Hysterics had been any fonder of Onion
Soup, it would not have been deep enough to break
Hiccup’s fall, but the Hysterics only served Onion Soup
because it was the traditional thing to do, and had hardly
touched it.
So Hiccup merely bumped his bottom gently
on the bottom of the cauldron, and rose to the surface,
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coughing and spluttering, his hair full of onions. There
was a shocked silence. Nothing puts a quicker stop
to a jolly meal than a stranger and a great deal of
snow suddenly falling on to the banqueting table. The
Hysterics sat, amazed, spitting snow out of their beards,
staring at the unexpected visitor gasping in their soup.
Norbert the Nutjob was the first to recover,
shaking the snow off and leaping to his feet.
‘ASSASSINS!’ he screamed. ‘SEIZE HIM!’
Twenty Warriors sprang on to the table. Hiccup
tried to swim out of trouble, but his back-stroke couldn’t
make up for the fact that he was entirely surrounded.
Two large Hysterics dragged
him out of the soup, and
dropped him, dripping and
gloopy, in front of Norbert
the Nutjob.
‘Are there more
of you?’ barked
Norbert the Nutjob,
brandishing the
blackened blade of
his axe in front
of Hiccup’s
face.
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Hiccup shook his head, spraying soup in all
directions.
Norbert the Nutjob and his Warriors peered
upwards. Camicazi was hanging way up in the darkness
of the ceiling, and her black clothes came in handy, for
they could not see her.
‘SEARCH THE ROOF AND THE VILLAGE!’
screamed Norbert the Nutjob.
He turned to face Hiccup again. Norbert the
Nutjob had a tic in his left eye, and it was jerking around
frantically like a fly doing a jig.
‘I’m sure I recognise you…’ he said, using the
edge of a nearby Warrior’s cloak to wipe the soup off
Hiccup’s face. ‘Great Thumbnails of Thor! It’s the
revolting Hooligan worm who shot an arrow in my Royal
Bottom yesterday!’
This wasn’t a very good start.
‘How do you do?’ gulped Hiccup politely.
‘I DO NOT VERY WELL!’ screamed Norbert
the Nutjob. ‘MY BUTTOCKS ARE BURNING!’
The Warriors came panting back into the
Hall, and said they had searched both the roof
and the village, and there were no more Assassins
to be found. One Eye and Toothless must have
flapped off to hide in the darkness.
Norbert the Nutjob looked rather cross. ‘You’re
a very SMALL Assassin,’ he said huffily, removing
Hiccup’s sword and stuffing it in his own sword-belt.
‘And so, come to think of it, was the one who attacked us
with you yesterday, the one who skied like a grandmother
with knee trouble. I know I’ve been out of the loop for
the last fifteen years, but do the Hooligans really think
they can assassinate me with CHILDREN?’
‘I’m not an Assassin,’ pleaded Hiccup quaveringly.
‘LIAR!’ screeched Norbert the Nutjob, and he
lurched fo
rward as if to kill Hiccup with the axe right
there and then. And then he calmed himself, and smiled
again, and settled himself back on his throne with a
wince.
‘So if you’re not an Assassin,’ smiled Norbert,
‘what are you doing here on Hysteria, shooting me with
arrows, and poisoning my soup?’
‘I’m looking,’ said Hiccup, ‘for THE POTATO.’
There was an astonished silence.
‘Ssssssh!’ said Norbert the Nutjob, looking over
his shoulder as if walls had ears. ‘You’re not supposed to
NAME the Vegetable-that-No-one-Dares-Name…’
‘Of course,’ said Hiccup craftily, ‘now that I’m
here I realise that it was all just fairy stories. There’s no
such thing as a potato, is there? Because there’s no such
135
place as America… the earth is as flat as a pancake, and
if you sail to the west eventually you just fall off the end
of it…’
‘RUBBISH!’ shrieked Norbert the Nutjob.
‘KILL HIM!’ he screamed, his eyes bulging, his mouth
foaming, before, with an enormous effort, he gained
control of himself again. ‘No, educate him, then kill him!’
said Norbert the Nutjob, twiddling his fancy moustaches
to soothe himself.
‘The earth is as round as a circle, and a circle has
no end,’ explained Norbert carefully. ‘There is such a
thing as America, I know because I’ve been there… and
as for the Vegetable-that-No-one-Dares-Name… I don’t
know what you’re talking about…’
‘That’s because there’s no such thing,’ repeated
Hiccup.
‘There IS such a thing,’ insisted Norbert, trying
to keep his temper.
‘Isn’t,’ said Hiccup.
‘Is!’
‘Isn’t.’
‘IS!’
‘Isn’t.’
‘IS, IS, IS, IS, IS!!!!!’ yelled Norbert the
Nutjob, twiddling his fancy moustaches so hard they got
136
all tangled in a knot.
‘Prove there is,’ challenged
Hiccup.
‘I know there’s no such a thing as a
Vegetable-that-No-One-Dares-Name… because the
Vegetable-that-No-One-Dares-Name… is right here in
this room!’ cried Norbert the Nutjob. He ran over to
the wall where the map of America was hanging.
With two grand sweeps of his axe he threw
aside the curtain.
‘VERY SMALL ASSASSIN,’ announced
Norbert the Nutjob proudly, ‘SAY HELLO TO
PAPA…’
‘Oh whoops!’ breathed Hiccup.
Norbert the Nutjob was clearly madder than a
Mad March Hare having a nervous breakdown.
For there, on a stand, larger than life, stood
what looked horribly like the frozen body of Norbert
the Nutjob’s Papa.
He was standing proud and upright, every
whisker frozen solid, mouth open in a soundless
YELL, a scary monumental sight. One hand was on his
hip, and in the other he held a casket with glass sides,
filled with ice.
137
On top of the ice sat the round, rather
disappointing shape of a lumpy brownish vegetable.
Surely THAT can’t be the magical, wondrous POTATO,
thought Hiccup. Sticking out of the vegetable was a
single arrow.
Norbert’s Papa was surrounded by a carpet of
unusual dragon-creatures, called SQUEALERS.
These weird animals are often used as primitive
burglar-alarm systems. They have no legs to chase
after their prey, so they lie on their backs waving their
extra-long nails gently in the air. Any animal that comes
into contact with those nails causes the whole pack of
Squealers to scream unbearably loudly. The sound is
so piercingly noisy that it actually kills smaller dragons
(who have much better hearing than humans) stone
dead on the spot. The Squealers then devour their
victim, and rather like piranha fish, they can strip an
animal to the bone in sixty seconds flat.
‘But, Norbert,’ gasped Hiccup. ‘I thought
your father was supposed to be DEAD?’
‘Oh, he’s dead all right,’ smiled
Norbert. ‘He’s as dead as a doornail… but
as I was keeping the potato frozen anyway,
I thought I’d freeze Papa too.’
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‘You could give your father a proper
Viking funeral,’ shuddered Hiccup. ‘He looks
untidy standing there… and a bit spooky…’
‘MY FATHER HAS HIS
FUNERAL ON THE DAY THE
DOOMFANG DIES!’ shouted Norbert the
Nutjob. ‘That’s why I froze him. Just before
my father breathed his last, he stuck into the
potato the only arrow he had left given to him
by the Feather People, and made me promise
to use this to get rid of the Doomfang.’
‘That’s impossible,’ objected Hiccup.
‘You can’t kill a whopping great creature like
a Doomfang with one tiddly little arrow!’
‘Not im-POSSIBLE, weird little red-
haired boy,’ corrected Norbert the Nutjob.
‘Just im-PROBABLE. And made more
improbable by the fact that we can’t get the
arrow OUT of the Vegetable-that-No-one-
Dares-Name… Take a look at the inscription
on the casket.’
Hiccup looked at the casket Bigjob
was holding. In it, frozen by the ice, was
the disappointingly boring vegetable called
the potato. And stuck in this potato was the
140
gaudy little arrow, decorated with brilliant feathers
taken from birds Hiccup would not have recognised.
American birds that once flew about in undiscovered
American skies.
On the front of the casket was written in flowing
script the following inscription:
Whomsoever removes the Arrow from this Vegetable
Shall Rid Us of the Doomfang and Prove Himself
Right True Hero and Ruler of all the Viking Tribes.
‘We can’t get the arrow OUT of the Precious
Vegetable…’ said Norbert the Nutjob, sadly. ‘We
practise all year round with constant arm-wrestling, and
every year our strongest Champions try and pull it out.
Even I do not seem to be able to do it, although the verse
is obviously referring to ME. The arrow is stuck in the
vegetable, and we are stuck on Hysteria, until the death
of my father is avenged.’
Hiccup looked at the potato.
‘You can’t get the arrow out of the potato because
it is frozen solid. If you DEFROSTED the potato, a child
could pull it out,’ Hiccup suggested.
The tic was back in Norbert the Nutjob’s eye.
‘My dying father gave me this arrow for a reason,’
snapped Norbert the Nutjob. ‘It’s supposed to be a
test to find out who is strong enough to defeat the
Doomfang. What would be the point of the test if just
ANYBODY could do it? Who are you, anyway, you
small boy, and how dare you ask ME all these questions?’
‘Now, I
’m very glad you brought that up,
Norbert,’ said Hiccup soothingly. ‘I am Hiccup
Horrendous Haddock the Third, only son of Stoick the
Vast, and my friend Fishlegs, who you also met yesterday,
has had the Bad Luck to have got bitten by a Venomous
Vorpent—’
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‘That IS Bad Luck,’ said Norbert the Nutjob
with satisfaction. ‘Certain death, I’d say. I can’t say I’m
surprised, you know, he seemed like just the sort of little
weirdo that Fate would have it in for.’
‘Fishlegs is not a little weirdo!’ interrupted
Hiccup. ‘The point is, Norbert, I have been told that this
potato of yours is the only antidote to Vorpent venom,
and I wonder if you could possibly spare it to save my
friend’s life. It would be the kindest thing you’ve ever
done.’
Norbert the Nutjob was flabbergasted.
‘And what,’ whispered Norbert the Nutjob,
‘would you do with my Papa’s Precious Vegetable after I
gave it to you?’
‘Well,’ said Hiccup, ‘I guess my friend would
eat it.’
For a second Norbert the Nutjob stared into
space.
Then he was livid with rage, whirling his double-
headed axe around his head. ‘EAT IT????’ roared
Norbert the Nutjob. ‘YOU SHOOT ME IN THE
BOTTOM AND THEN YOU WANT TO DIVIDE
UP AND EAT MY DEAR DEAD PAPA’S
PRECIOUS AMERICAN VEGETABLE????? KILL
HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM!!!!’
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After a short struggle, he calmed
down again, and turned to Hiccup with great
dignity, holding up
his arms.
‘I could,’ said Norbert the Nutjob, ‘kill you right
now, you Evil Vegetable Murderer… but we Hysterics
are not like that. We Hysterics are CIVILISED. We
never execute before we have given lousy potato-
savaging criminals an absolutely fair trial. And on
Hysteria,’ Norbert the Nutjob gave a nasty mad leer,
‘the Trial you face is Trial by Axe.’
Oh, crumbs, thought Hiccup.
Norbert the Nutjob strode over to the middle of
the room where there was a large tree trunk, lopped off
at the base.
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How to Train Your Dragon: How to Cheat a Dragon's Curse Page 7