How to Train Your Dragon: How to Cheat a Dragon's Curse Read online

  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

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  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

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  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.

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  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

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  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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