How to be a Pirate's Dragon (Hiccup) Read online

  Hiccup forced himself to open his eyes. If he was ever going to be a pirate, he would have to get used to this sort of thing. He made himself peer over the edge and into the coffin.

  There, in a state of green and yellow decay, lay the corpse of Grimbeard the Ghastly. It wasn't so bad really. The face was all slimy and drippy, but it wasn't crawling with maggots or anything disgusting. Rather peaceful really, lying so still....

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  And then Hiccup was sure he saw one of the paper-white fingers twitch slightly.

  He blinked and stared hard at it.

  Nothing for a second.

  And then ... there it was again, a definite quivering....

  "The c-c-corpse!" stuttered Hiccup. "It's m-m-moving!"

  "Nonsense, boy!" snapped Gobber the Belch. "How can he possibly move? He's DEAD, isn't he?" And he gave the corpse a prod with one fat forefinger.

  The corpse of Grimbeard the Ghastly snapped straight upright, propelled by some appalling force from within it, yellow eyes popping, dribbly green face contorted in a ghastly grimace.

  "Aaaaaargh," gurgled the corpse of Grimbeard the Ghastly, straight into the face of Gobber the Belch.

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  "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" screeched Gobber the Belch, jumping quite three feet in the air with his hair and his beard sticking out in all directions with the shock of it.

  "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" yelled the rest of the Tribe.

  For while Hooligans do indeed laugh in the face of Death and spit in the eye of the Great Typhoon, they have a morbid fear of the SUPERNATURAL.

  Stoick dived underneath the table with his arms over his head in the vague belief that if he couldn't see IT, IT couldn't see HIM.

  Seawater poured out of the coffin. The corpse of Grimbeard the Ghastly made disgusting choking noises. The veins on its popping yellow eyes stood out, its grey mouth quivered horribly.

  Only Old Wrinkly remained calm.

  "Don't panic," said Old Wrinkly, "this is NOT the corpse of Grimbeard the Ghastly...."

  Hiccup had frozen in sheer terror. But he trusted Old Wrinkly, and he opened his eyes.

  Nobody else took any notice whatsoever. They went on panicking like crazy.

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  [Image: Gohher the Belch jumped quite three feet in the air with the shock of if.]

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  "Woden preserve me from the terminally stupid," muttered Old Wrinkly under his breath, and he started yelling, as this was the only language the Hooligans really understood. "DON'T PANIC! THIS IS NOT THE CORPSE OF GRIMBEARD THE GHASTLY!"

  As he yelled he patted the corpse-that-wasn't-a-corpse hard on the back. Seawater spluttered out of it in all directions, gushing out of its nose and ears and mouth.

  It wasn't the corpse of Grimbeard the Ghastly. Now that it had recovered from its coughing fit, it was clearly a tall, good-looking man, very much alive, if a little green from the effects of the seawater.

  "So ...," said Stoick, from under the table, "that is DEFINITELY NOT the corpse of Grimbeard the Ghastly?"

  The corpse-that-wasn't-a-corpse shook its head.

  "Oh no," it said faintly, "definitely not. Easy mistake to make, but no, I'm not."

  And it slithered out of the coffin in a rush of seawater. It removed its helmet and, under the circumstances, performed a remarkably graceful bow.

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  "The name is Alvin. Alvin the ...er... Poor-but-Honest Farmer."

  Alvin had quick, clever, laughing eyes. He had a long, elegant mustache, a little limp from the seawater. He smiled a charming, easygoing smile (although a fussy person might think that perhaps it had too many teeth in it).

  Alvin stepped gracefully forward to pat Hiccup on the head.

  "And who might YOU be then, sonny?"

  "H-Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third," stammered Hiccup.

  "Greetings," said Alvin the Poor-but-Honest Farmer.

  He stooped to peer under the table. "I presume from your air of natural authority that you must be the Chief of this Tribe?"

  "Stoick the Vast," replied Stoick.

  Alvin clapped a hand to his forehead.

  "Not THE Stoick the Vast, Terror of the Seas, Most High Ruler of the Hairy Hooligans, O Hear His Name and Tremble, Ugh, Ugh? By an EXTRAORDINARY coincidence, you are the very man I have been searching for."

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  Stoick crawled out from under the table, staggered to his feet and puffed out his chest.

  "That's me," said Stoick the Vast, in much of his old hearty manner. "And, may I ask, if you're not the corpse of Grimbeard the Ghastly, what in Woden's name were you doing in his coffin?"

  "What a remarkably bright question," replied Alvin enthusiastically, "and if I could just sit down in this comfortable-looking chair? It's been a long day...."

  "Of course, of course," said Stoick, dusting off his throne.

  "... I would be delighted to tell you my Tale ...." said Alvin.

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  6. THE TALE OF ALVIN THE POOR-BUT-HONEST FARMER

  The whole of the Tribe of Hairy Hooligans sat round-eyed, in silence, as Alvin settled himself into Stoick's throne and told his Tale.

  "I was put in the coffin," began Alvin, "by some very rude people who not only disbelieved the Tale I am about to tell you but also suspected me of being a common thief. They dumped me over the side of the Harbor on their island with a lot of rude laughter...."

  "Meatheads," said Stoick knowledgeably. "Were they led by a tall chap, one eye, bad breath, answers to the name of Mogadon?"

  "That does ring a bell," admitted Alvin.

  "But how had you come across the coffin in the first place?" asked Stoick.

  "I am a poor-but-honest farmer," said Alvin, "and a long time ago in the Peaceable Country, far far away, I was digging up some ground for ... er ... planting potatoes when I came across this coffin which ... er ... just fell open in my hands."

  "And when you opened this coffin which says

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  [Image: Alvin the Poor-But-Hosest-Farm.]

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  quite clearly 'DO NOT OPEN' on the front," asked Old Wrinkly thoughtfully, "was there not some sort of surprise?"

  "You could say that," admitted Alvin with a good-natured smile that perhaps did not quite reach his eyes. "I opened the coffin, reached forward quite innocently to grasp something inside ... and the coffin lid snapped shut with the force of a shark's jaws and in one stroke cut off my hand."

  Alvin held up his right arm.

  There, where his hand should have been emerging from his sleeve, was an iron claw.

  The Hooligans gasped in horror.

  "Dearie me," tutted Stoick. "BOOBY-TRAPPED. I do apologize for my great-grandfather. He did have a nasty sense of humor."

  "Yeeesss," said Alvin, smiling happily once more, "but luckily us Poor-but-Honest Farmers can take a joke.... And this," he gestured to the claw, "is very handy for opening up oysters.... Now, back to my Tale. I was careful the next time I opened the coffin to dismantle the booby trap first, but there was no sign of any Treasure inside, nor indeed the body of Grimbeard the Ghastly.... What there was ..."

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  The entire Tribe of Hairy Hooligans leaned forward eagerly, mouths open, eyes wide....

  "... was this map*, and this riddle."

  Alvin reached into his breast pocket and held up the map and the riddle for everybody to see.

  "Oh," said Stoick, very disappointed. "No Grimbeard? No treasure? No Stormblade? Just two little pieces of paper?"

  "Ah, but Stoick," said Alvin craftily, "these two little pieces of paper will LEAD us to Grimbeard's treasure."

  "US?" said Old Wrinkly. "Something is puzzling me. You have the riddle, you have the map, why didn't you just go and find the treasure yourself? Why did you come here to us?"

  "But that would be dishonest!" said Alvin virtuously. "We all know the Saga of 'The Lost Treasure of Grimbeard the Ghastly'... This treasure belongs to you, his descendants. Besides, there's the little matter
of the riddle. The riddle makes it clear that this treasure cannot be found by just anybody."

  Alvin cleared his throat.

  * See page viii for the Treasure Map of Grimbeard the Ghastly.

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  "So you see," said Alvin, "it seems only the Heir to Grimbeard the Ghastly can find the treasure.... And only his beast can sniff it out. I assume by 'Beast' he means dragon."

  Dragons were excellent sniffers and finders of Treasure. A good dragon could sniff out gold and precious metals even when they were buried some way below ground.

  [Insert: Dare you brave the watery grave?

  The Death's Head prick of fire and sleep?

  If you dare you are my Heir

  For my Heir's Beast shall sniff it there

  And he shall tell me underground

  Am I lost or am I found?.]

  "And I couldn't possibly find this treasure myself," said Alvin, "because I don't have a way with dragons. They just DON'T LIKE ME, I don't know what it is. Anyway, I wonder if any of you have any idea of where the riddle is talking about? You, for instance,

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  Stoick, with your quick and lively brain?"

  Stoick struggled to look intelligent. "Hmmmm, it's a hard one...."

  Hiccup looked at the map.

  "Don't you think the Death's Head might be talking about the Isle of the Skullions, Father?" suggested Hiccup. "A Death's Head is a skull, after all...."

  "Of course!" boomed Stoick. "The Isle of the Skullions! That'll be where it is!"

  The Isle of the Skullions was a small island off the west coast of Berk that formed the shape of a skull and crossbones. It was this shape that Grimbeard had adopted for his flag and, most famously, his helmet.

  "So this island here is the Isle of the Skullions, is it?" purred Alvin gleefully, pointing at the map. "And that's where we'll find our treasure?"

  To Alvin's surprise the Hooligans started laughing.

  "Oh, there's no question of finding the treasure if it's on the Isle of the Skullions," said Stoick cheerfully. "Nobody has ever returned from the Isle of the Skullions ALIVE. Hiccup, you're the expert on dragons, you explain to Alvin about Skullions...."

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  ~VIKING DRAGONS AND THEIR EGGS~

  The SKULLION

  The Skullion is a dragon standing about ten feet tall. It has lost the power of flight, eyesight and hearing but its sense of smell is phenomenal and it will eat anything it comes across. This animal is untrainable and very, very dangerous.

  STATISTICS

  COLORS: Black and purple.

  ARMED WITH: Terrifying teeth, claws etc ......9

  RADAR: Yes, also strong sense of smell .... 7

  POISON: None.....................0

  HUNTING ABILITY:

  You don't want to be the prey.............9

  SPEED: Very, very fast..........9

  FEAR AND FIGHT FACTOR:

  Nasty -- unprecedented savagery*......8 or 9.

  [Image: dinosaur.]

  [Insert: (but you do have a chance cause they can't see or hear)]

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  "The Skullion," said Hiccup, always delighted to be asked a natural-history question, "is a very rare, very savage species of flightless dragon. Despite being blind and very nearly deaf, it is one of the most fearsome predators of all dragons, hunting in packs using a highly developed sense of smell alone. ..."

  "Okay, okay," said Stoick hurriedly, "we get the picture. ..."

  "It has this one extra-long super-sharp claw," continued Hiccup, "with which it disables its victims by cutting the Achilles tendon at the back of their heels, leaving them unable to walk. It then eats them alive."

  NOT very nice.

  "Ahhhhh," said Alvin. "I see the problem. But I am sure a man as clever as you, Stoick, will be able to lead a quest to the Isle of the Skullions to find this treasure nonetheless."

  "A quest to the Isle of the Skullions would be total madness," said Old Wrinkly firmly.

  "Grimbeard's sword, the Stormblade, will be part of this treasure," wheedled Alvin. "And if you held the Stormblade the name of Hooligan would be feared again throughout the barbarian world. ..."

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  Stoick stroked his beard thoughtfully.

  "And you, Stoick," cooed Alvin, "picture yourself with diamonds sprinkled in your beard, a golden breastplate, the Stormblade flaming terribly in one hand, bracelets for those handsome wrists of yours. I can see you already, Mogadon kneeling humbly before you. What a vision you will be!"

  Stoick sucked in his belly and flexed his muscles. He'd always secretly fancied himself in a pair of earrings.

  "I'LL DO IT!" he yelled.

  "FELLOW HOOLIGANS!" he bellowed. "I shall lead you on a quest to find the treasure of our ancestors!"

  "But it's insane!" cried Hiccup. "Anyone who sets one toe on that island will be eaten alive in moments! It's suicide to even think of it!"

  Everyone was cheering too hard to listen to Hiccup.

  "Glory and riches shall be ours," beamed Stoick, patting Alvin painfully hard on the back.

  "Oh, here we gooo ...." moaned Hiccup to himself.

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  7. PRACTICING SWORD-FIGHTING AND SNIFFING FOR TREASURE

  In Hiccup's opinion, everything went wrong from the moment Alvin the Poor-but-Honest Farmer was let out of the coffin. It wasn't Alvin's fault, of course. He was a most entertaining and enjoyable companion.

  He made the women blush by praising their muscles and their fat yellow plaits. He made the men laugh with hilarious farty jokes and impressions of Mogadon the Meathead. He made the children adore him by telling stories of the trickeries and battles of long-dead Heroes.

  Hiccup liked him, too.

  Alvin came across Hiccup one day, practicing his swordfighting for the second depressing hour in a row.

  Hiccup was trying to do Grimbeard's Grapple, and failing miserably every time. Stoick had given him a new sword to replace the Scaremaker, an impressively large and heavy one called a Stretchapoint.

  "Got a lot of LENGTH to it, my boy," Stoick had

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  said. "It'll make up for your shortness of arm. Give you a better reach."

  But Hiccup had difficulty keeping it steady, and when he got to the lunge at the end he tended to fall over. He had just got up and wearily picked up the Stretchapoint for another go, when Alvin the Poor-but-Honest Farmer suddenly appeared right behind him and said, "Hiccup, isn't it?"

  Hiccup was so startled he nearly fell over again. He hadn't realized he was being watched.

  "You're the Heir to Stoick the Vast, aren't you?" smiled Alvin.

  Hiccup sighed. "Well, I hope so," he said. "That's the general idea, anyway. But unless I get better at this swordfighting, I'm never going to be anybody's Heir. I'm HOPELESS at it."

  [Image: A sword.]

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  "No, no," said Alvin reassuringly, "you've got natural ability, I can see that. You just need a little coaching, that's all. Let me show you."

  Alvin carefully put his helmet by the side of the ferns for safekeeping. Hiccup watched, fascinated, as he untwisted the claw attached to his right arm. In its place he fixed a "sword-holder" mechanism. He then drew his sword and showed Hiccup how he could fit it into the mechanism. He twisted it tight so it wouldn't fall off.

  "A clever little contraption I designed myself," said Alvin. "I think I even fight better now than I did before the accident. ..." He twirled his mustache and demonstrated the Grapple himself.

  "You see," said Alvin, "the weight should be kept on the left foot."

  Hiccup followed him carefully ... and fell over again.

  "BRAVO!" clapped Alvin, to Hiccup's surprise.

  "But I fell over again," said Hiccup.

  "But with such STYLE," said Alvin. "You can't teach that, it's in the blood."

  Alvin replaced the sword with the claw and picked up his helmet. He made a grimace as he put

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  it back on his head. He to
ok it off again and peered inside. "There seems to be some sort of MUD in here, some sort of very SMELLY mud. ..."

  "It's all over your hair, I'm afraid, sir," said Hiccup.

  Alvin looked horrified. He was very particular about his personal appearance. He hurried away to wash it off.

  [Image: A dragon.]

  Toothless, who had been hunting rats through

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  the ferns, came and perched on Hiccup's shoulder. He had the giggles.

  Eventually, when he got his breath back, he choked out, "P-p-pooed in his helmet.... "

  "TOOTHLESS!" scolded Hiccup. "That's revolting and unkind. Why did you poo inpoor Alvin's helmet?"

  "H-h-he's a BAD MAN," replied Toothless.

  "Who, Alvin the Poor-but-Honest Farmer?" asked Hiccup in surprise. "Don't be so prejudiced, Toothless. Just because he's not from round these parts doesn't make him a bad man...."

  "S-s-suit yourself," shrugged Toothless, checking out his wings for dragonfleas. "Toothless thinks he's an O-O-Outcast."

  Hiccup started nervously.

  Outcasts were Vikings who were so vicious, so terrible and sneaking and burglarous, that they had been cast out of regular Viking society, and had formed an extraordinarily ferocious Tribe of their own. It was even rumored that some Outcasts ate their enemies.

  "Oh, come ON," protested Hiccup. "He doesn't look anything LIKE an Outcast."

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  "Y-y-you ever seen one?" asked Toothless.

  "Well, no," admitted Hiccup, "but neither have you, and y ou haven't a shred of evidence. Let's go and get some lunch and forget this rubbish."

  That conversation sowed a little seed of doubt in Hiccup's mind.