Chapter Nine: Vikings Don't Dance
A sea urchin, mused Cragfist, or some unnatural pinecone.
Cragfist would have come up with other ideas had his imagination not been scrubbed out of his mind years ago. Regardless, the thing the Alchemist fawned over, the thing that had taken up most of her time during the last few weeks, resembled a random piece of nature's garbage than any pretty artifact. The thing must have spent too much time in an active volcano. Circular in shape but with a blackened surface dotted with pointy bumps, it occupied a corner of the Zenith's main hold that had been cleared out and cordoned off. Its height ended at his neckline, but it weighted far more than its size implied.
The Recorder. Exactly what did that mean?
Oh, right. Magic stuff. Gods, he hated deviltry, but that was not a wise thing to say when you were chin deep in it, surrounded on all sides.
The Alchemist didn't notice him initially when he slid past the flimsy curtain barricade and stood behind her. She pawed the Recorder's surface like she was looking for the hidden catch on a treasure box, moving her hands in a strange pattern while placing and replacing a trio of hexagon-shaped stone objects at different points on the sphere. These things glowed like all the other glowing things on the ship, but they glowed different shades of color based on where they were placed. Norom called them … Oh, Hel's vultures, he didn't care about the names. He didn't care about any of this except when it applied to him getting closer to the names on his revenge list.
"I take it Norom sent you down here," said the Alchemist, her attention on the Recorder. She moved one of the devices to another location, causing it to switch to an ocean blue. "More precisely, you better be here because Norom sent you."
"He said that you're out of time, Alchemist," he replied. "It's morning, you've worked all night, and…"
"I get the gist, Cragfist." If she did, she didn't act like it, moving another device to atop one of the pointy knots on the Recorder. "Tell Norom I almost have the code and that we can delay another three hours without…"
"Norom said you'd say that. So he also said to mention that we had an incident last night and that we no longer have the time you thought we had."
"Incident?" She turned to Cragfist, showing off the bags under her eyes. She really had pulled an all-nighter. "Why wasn't…? Oh, yes, the do-not-disturb-under-pain-of-death edict."
As she plucked all the weird devices off the Recorder, she spoke to herself. Cragfist, used to constant attacks on his intelligence, first thought she had decided that a one-person discussion was better than talking to him. Then he realized that she was actually talking to the Recorder, which, while still an insult, put the madness squarely on her.
"You won this battle, but don't think this is over," she said. "I will crack you eventually. Patience is my power. You, on the other hand, are stuck on this ship with nowhere to go but back into the depths of the cold sea. In time, you'll wish you cooperated."
She stormed away in a huff, not even giving Cragfist an order to follow as she climbed the stairs to the deck. Cragfist took another look at the artifact, shaking his head at the insanity of it all…
It moved.
More precisely, it rocked slightly back and forth in place, as if a wave had gently pushed the ship. That would have made sense if Cragfist had felt the rocking himself and if the ship didn't have the stability of an island.
As he stared, the artifact rocked in place one more time, less pronounced as before but no less obvious. Like it wanted him to see it wiggle.
No, not biting. Cragfist knew better than to probe below the surface of this mystery. He left the taunting artifact in his dust.
On deck, crewmembers were swarming about the ship attending to a hundred different chores, checking and double-checking equipment that resembled rocks, rocks, and more rocks. Shining, clear, smooth rocks, or black, irregular rocks, but rocks just the same. Some of them were piled up in clusters on the deck, others were attached to belts or armbands worn by the "pilots." Cragfist had no idea what those chosen crewmembers were going to do with all those fancy rocks and, as always, he didn't want to know.
An occasional flash of silver amongst the crew indicated the presence of mystical steel, much like the sword he now carried on his back as a reward for good intelligence (as in information, not the other kind, which he admitted he sorely lacked). Such weapons were given out only to lieutenants and a select few who had done the Alchemist a great service. This Qiao character was turning into a pivotal player and Cragfist's information might have saved the whole operation… or so Cragfist liked to believe.
A few sailors were eavesdropping on the discussion between Norom and The Alchemist near the port side of the ship. Cragfist slithered his way to join them, pretending he was looking out to sea like the other sailors. There was a thick fog around the ship that made the sun into a cloudy specter above them and the sea into a misty curtain around them. They always parked the ship in a fog – Cragfist had begun to suspect that the fog was a feature of the Zenith, a force of weather they could call to their aid when needed.
On this morning, they weren't alone in the fog. Off the port side, the disintegrated remains of a fishing vessel floated alongside the ship, the bigger chunks rising and falling with the turbulent waves. The biggest pieces had either sunk or been vaporized.
Not Cragfist's fault in the slightest. For once, this was Norom's folly. From what Cragfist had heard via the grapevine, Norom had been on night watch when the little fishing boat stumbled across them, the crew of the doomed vessel freaking when they saw the gigantic warship anchored not all that far from their city. To be fair, Norom did what Cragfist would have done – he removed the witnesses. He ordered the fishing boat and the four fishermen onboard Scoured.
Cragfist didn't know what it meant to be Scoured. He hadn't witnessed it personally. Top-secret junk. He just knew that it was something you didn't want happening to you.
Going by her yelling and Norom's downcast eyes, the Alchemist didn't approve. Someone at Riki Poka would be missing the boat and those fishermen fairly soon. Search parties would be sent out, which meant more ships that might stumble onto them. Cragfist kept his face averted to hide his smile.
Having given Norom a stern lecture about discretion, she came over to Cragfist and demanded his attention. "Congratulations, you won the contest."
"Um…"
"My lieutenants and I had a contest going as to how long it would take you to screw up my plans. I had bet that it would be one of them, not you. Overconfidence breeds miscalculation, and I was correct. We now have little time to spare, so they get to implement the backup plan they spent a week putting together while you have the honor of patrolling the demonstration tomorrow, along with Norom and a few other hand-selected soldiers."
Was this a good thing? Walking around on guard duty with Norom - not something he considered a reward. She had to know they didn't get along. Maybe she was punishing Norom more than rewarding him.
"I… am happy to do this?" he lied… badly.
The Alchemist snickered. "Trust me, you'll like it. We're having a party tomorrow at Outcast Bay, with lots of guests expecting quite the show. It'll be an experience you will never forget. And who knows? If you lucky, someone on your list might show up. We wouldn't want that nice sword of yours to go to waste, would we?"
Since beginning his journey across the Mainland, Hiccup found at least one new thing about dragon riding each day that made him appreciate it even more than the previous day. Today's revelation was actually a repeat – finding an out-of-the-way location that only a dragon could get to.
No stranger to beachfront property, Hiccup was somewhat unfamiliar with beaches composed of soft, grainy sand that molded to the contours of your feet when you walked on it. Berk was all pebble and scraggly stone, the way Vikings were supposed to like it.
Down a frightening cliff drop and behind a series of shoals that made the beach inaccessible to ships, the beach was rarely touched by the tide and untouched by anything save for a few adventurous sand crabs. It was less than ten minutes from Riki Poka and had a great view of the eastern horizon and the next day's sunrise.
Perfect.
Standing in the middle of the beach, the morning sun only now deigning to wake up and do its job, Hiccup thought he could live with this. He didn't want to spend the night in Riki Poka. It'd be too crazy and every inn was already booked. And going back to the cabin wasted valuable Hiccup-Astrid time, especially since they weren't going to be by themselves again for some time.
Make today count, Arc had said to all of them. After today, we don't know what the future holds for us. Many days at sea, for certain, but also many unknown threats and dangers. Today is your day to enjoy life without reservation. I suggest you make the most of it.
Hiccup planned to. Too bad he already felt guilty.
Toothless sat next to him, managing to look both sad and mad at the same time. Once again, he was being left out of the proceedings, and this after Hiccup told him such a thing wouldn't happen again. At least he hadn't made any promises – Toothless understood promises and he would've fried Hiccup's hair for breaking one.
"Bud, we can't blow this deal by riling up the city," Hiccup explained, rubbing his pal on the snout. "If I didn't have to go make a fool out of myself, I'd spend the day with you instead."
Toothless grumbled and looked away. The Night Fury cold shoulder.
"Bud, think about it. We're about to be at sea again, with nothing but lots of water and lots of fish around us. How do you think we'll keep ourselves occupied?"
That seemed to help. Toothless looked at him again and the grumbling sounds had quit.
"How about this? Today I trust you to fly on your own. Go out and have fun doing… whatever Night Furies do for fun. Just be back at our rendezvous site at sundown. Does that help?"
A slow, unhappy waggle of the head. The dragon equivalent of better than nothing.
Hiccup gave Toothless a squeeze around the neck, which Toothless leaned into and accepted. The dragon was going to forgive him this time. He'd have to make it up to him, which meant he had several hours of vomit-inducing acrobatics in his future. But no one ever said penance came cheap.
"It sucks, pal," declared Hiccup, "but I'm proud of you for putting up with it. Tomorrow will be different, Toothless. That, I promise." Yes, he was making a promise, but he meant it. Tomorrow would be different, and his best friend wouldn't feel left out any longer.
As it turned out, it was a very safe promise to make.
While it was safe to say that Riki Poka never strayed too far from a festival-like atmosphere, it pulled out all the stops when it was time for the annual Harvest Festival. Did you think the streets were crowded before? Try not to get crushed by the literal waves of partygoers flowing by. Did you think the Market District had everything under the sun? Every street was the Market District today. You had to tie a rope around your waist and tether yourself to your friends to move through the city.
In other words, Harvest Festival was a big deal.
It wasn't all crowds and congestion. The more open areas became spillways for the masses, where entertainers from all across the coast (and further) came to juggle, dance, sing, or paint their way into your purse. The pubs and inns were open and doing bountiful business, struggling to slate the thirsty streams of humanity. The bay had a boat flotilla on display, with dozens of creative captains showing off their artistic side of seamanship. Murals and carpets of flowers, colored sails and gaudy uniforms – sometimes breathtakingly beautiful, other times so over-the-top that someone had to have banned the term ostentatious from coming within twenty miles of the city.
The Dancing Clam could no more resist the city's mood than any other pub, already full of well-paying jovial customers. But these customers were the local types who were seeking refuge from the party. Too many guards on the streets today for any known hooligan or vagabond to go hunting, despite the fat pickings right outside.
The back section of the Clam was customer-free but far from devoid of activity. The pub's storeroom featured a curtain and dresser set up on the far end of the room, away from the kegs of liquor and beer. Nestor sat on an empty keg and awaited the grand unveiling of Hiccup's prize-winning getup. The girls had set up shop in Linebreaker's office, where they were helping Astrid get ready for her public debut. Arc had stayed out of the city, attending to a matter of Hyperion business before their voyage tomorrow, while Toothless was probably flying the friendly skies.
Based on the complaining coming from the hidden side of the curtain, there was a little issue concerning Hiccup's metal foot.
"The cloth is stuck in the spring," said Hiccup.
"Are you sure you're wearing the same foot?" answered Linebreaker. "My measurements are usually very reliable."
"I only have the one! I can't walk with the pants leg jamming my foot."
"Be at ease, I'll just hem it. You're not the first person with artificial limbs that I've made clothing for…. One pin here… one more over here…"
"OWW!"
"Sorry, that wasn't cloth…. Okay, try that."
"I suppose that works as long as I don't have to run for my life."
"No one said fashion wasn't dangerous. Now greet your public!"
Nestor's smile widened in anticipation when the curtain parted with a flourish, Hiccup and Linebreaker stepping into the torchlight together. Much to Nestor's surprise, the jester suit he'd envisioned Hiccup wearing was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Hiccup's outfit was extremely well tailored, not too tight nor too loose. He'd gone with a dark-gray buttoned shirt with long sleeves and zero pockets, along with black pants and a matching pair of leather boots.
Boots, plural. Linebreaker had made some customizations to Hiccup's metal foot, so that it now had a certain boot-like quality to it without largely interfering with its operation. Holes in the side and sole of the boot allowed the mechanism to bounce and twist where needed, but Hiccup's tentative gait and the slight hitch in his step showed that Linebreaker's engineering sense didn't match his fashion sense.
"What do you think?" said Linebreaker. "And be brutal, for how else can I learn?"
"Does it work?" said Hiccup hesitantly.
"Work?" said Nestor. "I think you grew a few years behind the curtain." Hiccup appreciated the sentiment, though he couldn't help feeling like he was his five-year-old self again, trying on his dad's warrior outfits and finding them a very poor fit. These clothes might fit him, but they didn't really fit "him."
"You don't think the neckline is too thin?" asked Linebreaker. "I thought a collar might be more appropriate, but I was afraid the boy's head would disappear beneath it."
"Everywhere I go, size jokes," said Hiccup. "I want to mention that I'll be walking very carefully today."
"You guys decent in there?" The voice was Qiao's, her head poking through the doorway. Her grin implied she was dying to make the big reveal. "We're ready on our end."
Linebreaker waved her in, Qiao moving aside to let Astrid through the doorway. Saga joined Qiao at the doorway, Saga wearing a smile of approval in regards to the end result of their joint effort.
Not used to wearing the accouterments of female garb, Astrid acted downright timid as she entered the storeroom to let the boys get a good look. The bottom half of her dress flashed emerald while her bare-shouldered strapped top was sky-blue. The dried necklace of violets she'd gotten at Weed adorned her neck, and a white flower of a fresher state had been stuck in her hair, which was no longer braided but loose and flowing, partly down her back and partly around her shoulders. Her boots were the only part of her ensemble still vaguely warriorish.
"So… does it work?" she asked, grabbing the folds of her dress as if not knowing what to do with it. It was a dumb question, but as out of her comfort zone as she was, she had to say something.
"Exquisite," said Linebreaker, far more used to beautiful women in dresses than Nestor and Hiccup, who were stuck at the wide-eyed staring part of their admiration.
There were times that Hiccup wished he were one of those suave lady-killer types who had too much ego and barely any brains. That guy could come up with something pithy and romantic to say. He'd never seen Astrid in a dress, not once in all the years he'd known her, and the shock had all but paralyzed his mouth. She was already a ravaging beauty in normal times. Now it was like Freya, the goddess of love, was standing before him in mortal form.
"Gah… blarg… splugblug…" he said.
"What he said," remarked Nestor.
"His brain has shut down," said Qiao from the doorway. "Success."
"Beauty has been known to cloud the minds of men," commented Saga. "A useful battlefield tactic."
"Not everything has to be graded on how battle-related it is, you know," replied Qiao.
"Pretty," blurted out Hiccup, desperately trying to get his brain working again. "Pretty, very pretty, outstanding, lovely, please make me stop talking…"
Astrid did so by giving him a kiss, Hiccup's fumbling successfully making her awkwardness go away. "You look pretty good yourself. I like what he did with your leg."
"Just don't make me dance on it," he lightly quipped, back in control of his mouth. "I don't think I'd survive the experience."
Dancing, naturally, was the first thing they did.
Linebreaker demanded exposure for his outfits, and the best exposure could be found at one of several dancing circles scattered about the city. Nothing fancy had to be done, but they did have to get noticed. The impartial judges hired to decide the contest between Lord Benzyl and Linebreaker would be circling at designated times and spots, meaning that Hiccup and Astrid had to participate in three different dances during the day. Other than that, they had free reign.
This did not sit well with Hiccup. There were many misconceptions about Vikings, but one of those misconceptions wasn't all that misconceived – Vikings don't dance. They had raucous parties where something like dancing occurred, if throwing your body around in a fit of drunken idiocy counted. There were even attempts to sync it up with music from time to time. But as an art form, Vikings never tried it. Not manly enough. Warrior-poets, yes. Dancers, no.
Then take a scrawny string bean like Hiccup and put a false leg on him that couldn't pivot at the ankle. Then ask him to dance.
Always the more risk taking of the two of them, Astrid literally dragged Hiccup into the center of the first dancing circle, where they were ringed by other dancers and a crowd of curious onlookers who couldn't help staring at them. Whether it was Astrid's shining beauty or Hiccup's boot-wrapped metal foot, Linebreaker's strategy had worked like a charm.
Having watched a few dance routines before entering the circle, they managed to not crash into anyone their first time out. It started with a slow dance, allowing the two of them to hold hands and get the rhythm without incident. The steady flow of the string music and Astrid's reassuring smile placated Hiccup's mood to the point where he almost began enjoying himself.
Then the local band switched to a bouncy high-speed song and that's when the first rule governing Hiccup's life kicked in – first attempts must always end, or nearly end, in disaster. The couples around him switched to a swinging style of dance with more twisting and turning and improvising. Not a problem if you didn't have two left feet… or one right foot and a metal brace.
Reliable Astrid knew this and tried to keep the pressure off his left foot, which made their dancing more stilted as a result. Not wanting to ruin the contest with bad dancing, Hiccup dared to pick up the pace and do a fast spin on his left leg when the dance routine called for it. The foot locked up halfway through the turn, a victim of the pivot problem, and his momentum nearly toppled him into the crowd.
Again, thank the Gods for Astrid. In a surprising move that had Saga written all over it, Astrid held onto his hand and yanked him into a reverse spin, putting him back on his right leg and whirling with him until he had control again. The crowd had seen the accident about to happen and was so impressed with the recovery that they gave them a round of clapping.
Now that they knew not to expect much from Hiccup's left foot, the two of them wisely avoided dances with too much footwork. No further near-disasters occurred the rest of the day.
They never saw the roaming judges, which was the way it was supposed to be, according to the rules. That way, the contestants couldn't influence the judging. With all the jabbering about "the boy with the metal leg" filtering through the crowd, Hiccup safely assumed a judge or two had seen them in action at one of the dances.
In-between obligatory dancing, Hiccup and Astrid found plenty of things to do. Plays at outdoor theatres showing Greek tragedies and epic battles fought with fake swords and red ribbons for blood. Legions of carts and vendors yelling out their sales pitches, every one of them stating they had the best products with the best prices. Acrobats in perpetual motion, playing with fire or with poisonous snakes (so they claimed), scaring the faint of heart. Swamis and monks from around the world demonstrating the benefits of mind over matter by sticking spears, and swords against their skin, fire-walking over coals, or sleeping on a bed of nails.
After the first dance, Nestor and the others had left to enjoy the day in their own way. But they had a meeting spot picked out by Linebreaker, a location in a clearing not far from Outcast Bay that was easy to get to, and they needed to be there by sunrise the next morning. From there, Linebreaker would take them to his hidden ship. Until then, they were all on their own recognizance.
"Is there any actual 'harvesting' at a Harvest Festival?" asked Astrid at one point, when they had stopped to have a bite of some exotic dish dubbed "curry." She must have a fireproof tongue because she was really enjoying it. Hiccup tasted it and had to spit it out due to the intense spice. Enough of that stuff and he might be able to breathe fire like Toothless.
"Linebreaker said that's how it started," said Hiccup, "but you know how traditions morph over time."
"Whatever it used to be, I like this version better," said Astrid.
Hiccup agreed. Riki Poka had grown on him, and today was ending up a pretty good day. The cultures of the world all came to celebrate Harvest Festival, and it could make a tired soul think the world was worth saving.
And then the guilt. Because Toothless wasn't here to enjoy it as well. His bud deserved to be part of this. Hopefully Toothless had found something fun to do on his own. At least he might enjoy the curry-flavored fish he was bringing back for supper. Then again, considering that fire came out of his mouth all the time, he might not even know the difference.
No matter how much things can improve in your life, some weights can't be lifted. Nestor understood this all too well, which was why he did the wise thing and headed for Riki Poka's "park," finding a little corner of the fenced-in woodland spot to stay out of the way of the festive throngs and read a book. He didn't want to press his luck and accidentally trigger a witch-hunt. That could spoil things with Linebreaker.
He had decided not to ask Saga to join him. Not sense spoiling her fun just because he was overcautious. He told her where he'd be and she acted like she understood his logic, though he picked up on her disappointment. She obviously would have rather spend time with him than with Qiao, but she did find the city intriguing and Qiao was still willing to play tour guide one final time. They promised to meet up later.
Park – interesting concept. A piece of nature inside civilization. The city even went to the effort of maintaining it by cutting the grass and trimming the trees. It seemed silly at first – if you wanted nature, you just had to step outside the boundaries of the city – but he had to admit that a predator-free preserve, with nothing to worry about other than ants and bees, had its attraction.
The book in his hands had a story behind the story, and he chuckled just thinking about it. He overheard a vendor hawking a new book series that had just come out, and a small crowd had gathered to hear an excerpt from the exciting tale of Burp, the Dragon Rider.
Burp.
That alone required Nestor to buy a copy, one of those cheap hand-bound versions that took days to scribe and bind. The penmanship for an Old Frank translation was poor but legible. Sitting down within a copse of pines with his back to the city, Nestor dove into the book with gusto, laughing frequently.
While it was amazing how quickly the rumors from up north had made it down to Riki Poka, or how quickly some poverty-stricken scribe had capitalized on it, the truly incredible part was how wrong the tale was. Did the rumors get that distorted, or was this a case of a writer thinking the story needed to be punched up for the public?
Burp, a valiant warrior, who tamed the nasty black dragon Fearless with his iron will and astounding abs. Burp, who led his tribe into a great battle against hundreds of man-eating dragons, decimating their ranks and breaking through their lines until he fought the Queen Dragon single-handedly and sent her headless carcass into the sea. Burp, who now led the people of Perk as their new leader and who had a hundred statues made of his gigantic likeness.
He absolutely had to show this to Hiccup.
But for all it got wrong, it did prove to be an exciting tale, if a bit clichéd and riddled with plot holes. Plus it implied a sequel that suggested dealings with dark magic. Maybe the writer had gotten wind of the latest adventures of Burp. Would Burp soon be joined in his battles by Fester, the tall, dark stranger with a tragic past and unnatural powers?
"Interesting read," whispered a voice from above. "I especially like the tacked-on duel between Burp and Bloodlout, his eternal rival."
"It's rude to read over people's shoulders, Old Man," said Nestor without looking up from his book. Even if he had, all he would have seen was Arc's Shroud. The park foliage wasn't dense enough to hide a dragon, so obviously Arc was still incognito.
"Why aren't you out enjoying the city?" said Arc in his ear. "Don't tell me you're still afraid of street rats with rocks."
"Just trying not to make a scene,' said Nestor. He checked about to make sure he was out of earshot from other park dwellers. Save for the birds above him, who'd gone quiet due to Arc's presence, they were good.
"You have friends now that aren't dragonoid," stated Arc. "They can help you in these matters."
"They should be out having fun, not worrying about me getting accused of witchcraft," he replied. "Didn't you have business to attend to?"
"It's finished. It was only a minor affair. But if you would rather be alone…"
"I didn't mean it like that," he hurriedly blurted out. Despite trying to act nonchalant about his solitude, he was actually glad for the company. "I just… I guess I'm really out of touch with civilization. My first instincts still are to run from it."
Arc lowered himself in-between a set of bushes, flattening the wild grass below him, the brush obscuring most of the incriminating signs of his presence. "I fear I'm at fault for that. For your survival, it was important for you to be careful around the huddled masses of society. But you don't have to remain as isolated as you think you do."
"Maybe, but then again I really don't want to ruin our plans by testing out how truly enlightened the citizens of Riki Poka are and whether they run off sorcerers or just flog them a lot."
Arc made a reluctant grunt of agreement. "Very well. Then if I am not allowed to read over your shoulder, perhaps you can read me that book in your hands. The tale of Burp enthralls me with its absurd charm."
Nestor chuckled and flipped the book to the beginning. Indeed, the tale of Burp was worth a repeat reading.
Not all events in the city were performances. On the northern edges of the city were competitions of every color. Horse and wagon races, foot races, dog races, frog races, even snail races. Weight lifting alongside tug-o-war, archery contests next to boxing contests. Some likened it to a miniature, informal Olympics, with the addition of gambling on the side.
Two things intrigued Qiao – the archery and the gambling.
"See, this is the one time that my skills can pay off without any laws getting broken," said Qiao, standing off to the side of the archery contest next to Saga and the rest of the onlookers, watching the latest round of amateur archers fire off their five designated arrows. A very pathetic bunch this time out, hitting everything around the bull's eye – grass, hay bales, a bee with suicidal tendencies – but rarely the target.
Qiao wasn't about to belittle them. Everyone started out by missing their target. Then again, the time to work on your aim was during practice and not out in public.
"All you have to do is just place the bet for me," she said, handing Saga her money purse, one of her few possessions not impounded by Arc. She pointed at a shady fellow surrounded by other shady fellows away from the crowd. "That's the bet taker for the Cutthroat gang. They gamble for bigger stakes than most money lenders, but they also cut off your ears if you don't pay up."
"More thieves, I take it," said Saga disapprovingly. Qiao obviously meant to follow through with this plan, what with the new armband on her left arm proudly proclaiming the number 53 in bold white coloring. It was her contestant designation, as well as her place in the shooting lineup.
"Yes, they're thieves. But look at it this way. If this works, and it will, I'll be taking money from those thieves. They have to honor their bets or they lose respect with the other gangs. Does that meet with your approval?"
"Barely," said Saga. "Have you tried this before?"
Qiao shook her head. "You can't bet on yourself. They always cry cheat if you do that. And after today, they won't fall for our routine again. We have to make the most of it this time before they close their coffers to me. I'll even split the proceeds with you, thirty-seventy."
"I do not care about money."
"Then you can give it to Arc or spread it around as you want, and this'll keep me from stealing for a long time." Qiao applied her charming smile. "C'mon, what do you say?"
Saga glanced at the bet taker and his crew, perhaps assessing how dangerous they would be if they thought they were being had. Then a wry smile found its way to her lips. There didn't appear to be any downside to this plan. If Qiao failed, she'd be taught a lesson in humility. If she succeeded, the money she brought in would aid their mission. And if Qiao tried anything underhanded, Saga would finally have a reason to punish her.
"What do I tell the bet taker?"
Qiao smiled widely. "Tell him to put the money on Contestant 53 at twice regulation range, five consecutive dead-center shots." Qiao held up a black scarf. "Blindfolded."
Once he was a proud dragon, flying high and fast across the endless heavens. Once upon a time, he would have caught an eastern wind current and gone sailing over the earth for hours on end, just for the adventure. He'd travel across mountain and prairie, desert and forest, sand and water, sending the birds into a tizzy as he barreled past their formations. He was master of one, undefeatable in the sky, unanswerable to any save his own whims and desires.
Toothless didn't miss it at all.
With a tailwind propelling him and cotton ball clouds beneath him, Toothless tried to rekindle that old fire of independence within him… and found the flame sputtering on the wick.
The dragon performed a high-speed turn, vapor trails sprouting from his wings as he held the turn to the point of stalling. He released it and let himself fall for a bit, angling down to pick up speed until he was right on top of the clouds, then pulling out and climbing back towards the sun, whirling around several times for effect.
The dragon sighed. Just wasn't the same without Hiccup's cry of excitement.
A master of one was another name for being alone. Once you got a taste of companionship, you couldn't go back to old habits, old ways of thinking. Certainly his instincts were there, and they'd take over again if the need arose. But to what end?
Just to be alone again?
Toothless understood some of what was going on. There was something important everyone was doing in the place with all the humans, the place that was far bigger than the little place that was now his home. Hiccup told him so, and Toothless believed him. He knew that most humans were not thrilled with his kind, even though the people of that other little place that was not his home had not been scared of him. But there were too many people in that big place. Too many people with too many weapons.
Hiccup made a promise that things would change, and he would be a part of the action once again. Toothless knew the word promise to mean an act that had to be done, and so Toothless believed Hiccup. Sadly, it didn't make solitary travel through the sky less bothersome.
He almost didn't see it, as full of self-pity as he was. As he ascended once again, something off to his right gave off a tiny trail of vapor, as if it had just banked hard while trying to keep up with Toothless. The vapor faded away and the "something" was hidden from sight, but the ruse was up.
The unknown adversary was flying with him. So much for solitary travel.
Toothless kept his head forward, resisting the temptation to look at the adversary's last known position. He knew better than to go after the invisible flyer. It could match him in speed and knew how to evade him. Hopefully it hadn't yet realized it had been noticed. The dragon wagered that if he acted like everything was normal, the flyer would assume Toothless remained ignorant, and it would grow overconfident and careless in its actions.
He flew steadily for a time, contemplating all the possible ways he could expose the threat or even corner it. This would be an easier task with Hiccup around – the boy had more cleverness in him than a hundred dragons put together. He had to lure the threat into a trap of some kind, one it wouldn't see as a trap until it was too late.
Passing over a set of mountains many miles east of the big human place, Toothless began to fear that he had eaten more than he could swallow. He knew clouds could reveal the flyer, but he didn't believe the flyer was stupid enough to follow him into a cloudbank. The rain clouds were keeping away today, though a few scattered dark clouds floated lower to the ground, near the peaks of the white-capped mountains…
Inspiration. No, the flyer wouldn't willingly follow Toothless into a cloud, so he had to remove the willing part.
Toothless scanned the mountains below him, hoping to find the right combination of terrain and weather to enable his plan. He didn't search for long, as one proper opportunity presented itself a few miles to his right. He shifted direction until he was aimed at a more mountainous section of the range, a spot with a thin gap between two towering peaks, and began dropping altitude. Thanks to his long years of flying and eagle-like eyesight, he judged the gap as adequate to fit him. With Hiccup onboard, it would have been too dangerous to try navigating the gap, especially at the speed he was about to go.
A gray cloud drooped behind the gap, swallowing up the landscape beyond. Nice and moist-looking. It would hide him from the flyer if he entered it.
Toothless deepened his dive, bending back his ears as the wind shrieked out a long warning. To the mystery flyer, it should look like more Night Fury daredeviling. He aimed for the midpoint of the gap, halfway down the height of the mountain. Too far down to pull up and avoid the cloud, not without stalling or crashing.
The flyer might not take the bait. But if it didn't follow, Toothless could lose him around the mountains or in the cloud. This flyer was tailing him for some reason, and it would have to stay close to him.
Toothless believed this flyer was much like him – a being born to rule the air. It would follow.
The mountains fast approached, looming like a pair of rocky tidal waves. The gap was very small… maybe too small. Night Furies made mistakes like any other dragon, and it would be embarrassing to die splattered on the rocks like a dumb hatchling.
Grimacing with determination, the dragon sped into the gap, legions of windswept stone speeding by him at a disorienting rate. Colliding with the walls would rip the scales from his flesh faster than he could gulp a trout. Toothless focused on the puffy grayness about to greet him, desperately denying any thought of slowing down or ascending.
Seconds screamed by with the wind. The gap narrowed too much to allow for any error, his wingtips practically scraping the walls. One little mistake…
Then the grayness collided with him, taking the rest of the world away from his sight, and for one terrifying breath of life Toothless thought he had badly misjudged the situation, that the cloud was deeper in the gap, blinding him to a hidden outcropping or cliff. He almost couldn't see the walls, the clouds shielding the stone, hiding it.
Then the tone of the wind changed, the echo of his passage against the rocky walls instantly fading as he exited the gap. The world remained a gray blob of moisture, but that had always been the plan.
Toothless decelerated, swinging his nubile neck below him to stare back the way he came. He watched for a sign, any sign, of pursuit. He wasn't disappointed.
The misty distortion rushed through the gap, not even trying to slow down or divert course. The moisture in the mist either clung to it or parted in front of it, revealing part of the flyer – wings, a tail, claws or talons dangling below it. Too little detail to recognize, but it was definitely a natural flyer. Having seen Toothless slow down, perhaps even noticing the dragon's rear-facing posture, it tried to slow down or change direction but instead writhed in panic. It sped past Toothless and had almost gotten itself back in control when Toothless unleashed a trio of fireballs right in its path.
Toothless wasn't out to kill it, even though he could have at that moment. Night Furies had two great talents – flying and fireballs. The art of the fireball was just as vital as the science of flying, because there was a difference between baking your prey into dinner and frying it into ashes. Toothless could make little baby fireballs that popped as harmlessly as bubbles, but he also could put more air than gas into the mixture and create a blast more showy than flaming.
The fireballs he sent against the flyer exploded one after the other, sizzling the mist and expanding in great gouts of weak blue flame. The fire coated the invisible voyeur, outlining it in its entirety. The flyer let out a cry of surprise… a growl, in fact.
So did Toothless.
It may have been a long time since he'd seen one, but there was no mistaking the panther-like contours and sleek profile of a Night Fury.