Snart's Saga, Part I Chapter 21
The move to Berk was uneventful. Snart brought his belongings by other people's dragons, as he'd suggested. But it took three wagons, air-lifted by two dragons each, to bring his harvested crops, which he gave as a much-appreciated gift to the village. He settled into the room provided for him, and began adjusting to his new life as a full-time dragon trainer.
Even though he'd spent many days at the Academy, he had no idea how much was going on there, until it became his only concern. On his first day, he had to break up a dispute between two fishermen who both claimed to have trained the same Nadder (it actually preferred neither of them). He spent hours with Fishlegs, sorting through contradictory facts and rumors to make sure the Book of Dragons was as accurate as possible. He often cast the deciding vote whenever Ruffnut and Tuffnut couldn't agree on something, which was distressingly often. He took his turn with the others when it was time to refill the fish trays to feed dozens of hungry dragons. And he had multiple requests from Dragon Friends who wanted him to write poems about their own dragons. He tactfully put those requests off until some unspecified future date.
He'd been there about eleven days when Hiccup pulled him aside. "I've got a real bad situation, Snart, and I don't know what to do about it. Kneebiter's Gronckle isn't acting normal. She says she doesn't do anything."
"As lazy as Gronckles are, how can she tell the difference?"
"Kneebiter says she's not eating, and she spends most of her time lying on her side. I've never heard of this happening before. You're the dragon doctor, and you're also the lucky guesser; maybe you want to handle it?"
"Hmmm," Snart thought out loud. "Let me get our Gronckle expert and I'll take a look at her."
The Gronckle, Porkfire, was exactly as Hiccup had described her. She lay on her right side, her eyes half-closed. "She's been like this for days now," Kneebiter sobbed.
"Okay, I'll have a look. Fishlegs, use the dragon-nip." A few whiffs of the grass, and the dragon was out cold. Snart began feeling and pushing on her in various places, trying to find anything out of the ordinary.
"Fishlegs, look at this. There's a place just below her ribs that's kind of swollen and hot. Does Meatlug have a place like that?"
"No, I've given her tummy-rubs lots of times, and I never felt anything like that." Snart pressed on the spot; the dragon woke with a bellow, and Fishlegs had to move fast with the dragon-nip to knock her out again.
"Okay, it's safe to say the problem is there. Now the question is, what should we do about it?"
"Can you save my dragon?" Kneebiter begged.
"Frue, if there's anything I can do, I promise I will do it. Right now, I have to think." He and Fishlegs walked away slowly.
"Please don't think too long," she called after them.
They came back that afternoon. "We've talked it over in the Academy," Snart began, "and we want to try something. It's never been done before, but it might save your dragon. We want to cut into that sore area and find out what the problem is."
"Cut into a living dragon?" Kneebiter was shocked. "That would kill her!"
"Gronckles are really tough," Fishlegs reassured her. "We've seen healthy ones with scars from terrible wounds that they recovered from. This wouldn't be as bad as that."
"And we can't think of any other way, Frue," Snart added. "If we cut into your dragon, I can't promise she'll live. But if we don't, I can promise you that she won't live. This operation will give her a chance, at least."
"What do you think you're going to find if you..." Kneebiter was reluctant to say it.
"We don't know. Maybe she ate a rock and it went down the wrong tube. The only way to find out is to do it. And we won't do it unless you give your permission. She's your dragon."
For a long minute, Kneebiter rested her hand on Porkfire's upraised front foot. Then, in a very small voice, she said, "Please save my dragon."
"We'll do it tomorrow morning. Fishlegs, let's go. I've got some stuff we need to gather, and I have to see Gobber about a really sharp dagger."
The next morning, a small crowd had gathered in Kneebiter's yard. The seven Academy trainers approached the dragon, which had not moved since yesterday. Its breath was shallow and strained.
"Okay, here's what I want to see happen," Snart began, trying to sound a lot more confident than he was. "Astrid, Lout, you're on crowd control. Keep everyone from getting too close while we're doing this, and I'm sorry to say, that includes Kneebiter. Fishlegs, you write down everything you see and hear. Whether this works or not, we need a complete record of it. Ruff, Tuff, you're my assistants; you pass me the stuff I need when I ask for it. I've already divided my stuff into two piles, so there's nothing for you to fight over. Hiccup, you're the dragon-nip man. Keep this Gronckle subdued, no matter what. If she wakes up and sees me carving her with a knife, it's all over. Any questions? Okay, let's do this." He donned an old leather apron and stepped up to the dragon's abdomen.
"Ruff, wet rag." She dipped a rag in a water bucket and passed it to him. He used it to clean off the dirty skin all around the swollen area. "Ruff, take the rag. Tuff, knife." The dagger was the best work Gobber could do on short notice, which meant it was very good indeed. Snart carefully drew a thin cut across the swollen region, then deepened it with repeated cuts. "Ruff, wet rag." He dabbed away the blood from the cut, then continued. He'd guessed that the sight of blood would mesmerize the twins so they wouldn't fight, and it looked like he was right.
At last the tough skin parted, revealing a layer of fat, a layer of extraordinarily tough muscle, and a dark, tightly-stretched membrane underneath.
"That's the problem, whatever it is. Here we go." He cleaned the knife and drew it across the membrane lightly, then did it again. On the third cut, the membrane burst, dousing Snart from head to foot in foul-smelling dark yellow liquid.
Snart just stood there, dripping wet and stinking to high heaven. He held out a hand. "Ruff, dry rag." She passed him the rag and whispered to her brother, "Chances of him getting a girlfriend are dwindling into single digits now." Tuffnut snorted into his hand.
Snart dabbed his eyes and face dry, then turned, trying to sound dignified. "Fishlegs, make a note: now we know where a Gronckle's bladder is." A ripple of nervous laughter passed around the crowd.
"Did that fix the problem?" Kneebiter called nervously.
"That relieved the pressure. Now I have to find out what caused the pressure in the first place. Ruff, dry rags." He sponged out the bladder, took a deep breath, and reached inside. To his surprise, his hand found an odd-shaped stone. With a bit of pulling and wiggling, he removed it. Its color was dark and unpleasant, but the shape was something like a snowflake.
"How did that get in there?" demanded Tuffnut.
"Like I said, maybe she ate a rock and it went down the wrong tube," Snart answered. He was beginning to feel a little better about this entire process. "Let me make sure that's the only one." He felt around, and removed three smaller rocks as well.
Suddenly, Porkfire stirred. "Hiccup, keep that dragon asleep!" Hiccup quickly applied dragon-nip to the Gronckle's nose, and the stirring stopped.
"Good. I think that will do it. Ruff, wet rag. Tuff, small needle and thread." He cleaned up the wound and slowly, carefully, stitched the bladder back together. It took a lot longer than it had taken to open it up. "There, that's done. Ruff, take the small needle. Tuff, sailmaker's needle and sinew." Stitching up the skin was much harder, and took even longer. By the time he was done, his hands were shaking.
Snart exhaled deeply. "That's it," he said. "Kneebiter, Porkfire will probably be woozy for a while. If she wants to eat, feed her. If she wants to fly, let her. The one thing she must not do is rub her belly on the ground. If she wears those stitches off, that won't be good."
"How will I know if she's going to be okay?" Kneebiter asked.
"Like Fishlegs said, Gronckles are really tough. She ought to be eating by tonight, tomorrow at worst; she'll probably be very hungry after not eating for days, so be ready with the fish. If she doesn't want to eat by sunset tomorrow, come and tell us. That's the best guess I can offer you. And now, if nobody minds, I'm going to burn these clothes and take a bath."
Snart stopped by the next day to see how Porkfire was doing. She wasn't there! He looked around, and saw the dragon and her rider flying up from where the fish trays were. The Gronckle made its usual ungainly landing, and Kneebiter rushed over to take both of Snart's hands.
"Look at her — it's like that stone never happened! She just ate fourteen fish, and she's flying again, and... oh, Snart, I don't know how to thank you!"
"Everything the Academy does is free for the village," Snart smiled. "I don't expect huge thanks. I'm just glad everything worked out well."
"I couldn't have asked for better! You saved my dragon's life! I'll never forget this," she exclaimed.
The unprecedented operation was the talk of the town for days. Porkfire's illness had cast a pall over the mood of the village; when it was known that she was recovering, everyone seemed more upbeat, even those who had nothing to do with dragons. Stoick was especially pleased.
"Snart, even if you never do anything else for Berk or for the Academy, you've earned a life-long position for what you did on that dragon. Some people thought it was a mistake for me to bring you here, but no one is complaining now. You made my decision look good, and that makes your chief happy."
Making the chief happy is a good thing, Snart decided.