Chapter 17

"Toothless! Come on, boy!"

I squawked at my oblivious dragon, and pretended he was listening to me rather than following Dad, who was baiting him with a fish. Astrid had lured Sneaky within arm's reach, not that he put up much of a struggle. He seemed eager to explore The Forbidden Room, or as it was known by my kin, The Captain's Quarters. Astrid shooed him inside, Dad tossed the fish in for Toothless, and then the door slammed shut.

I climbed up the door and tested the knob. Locked. Good. Some dragons, especially the Terrors, were smarter than they looked. There was a small opening between the door and the deck, but it was too small for Sneaky or I to fit through, and all I could see through it were feet. Apart from the locked door, the only possible exit was a shuttered window. Or, I guess, through the walls themselves if one of us felt an overwhelming need to breathe fire.

Dad was a man of simple pleasures. His quarters were sparse. No fancy decorations here, although there was a rather superb sword mounted against the wall. Nearby, there was a small imperfection in the wood from where the blade of his axe had dug in. His shield, too, was missing.

Sneaky whined when Toothless refused to share his fish. Buzzing furiously, he flew around the ceiling. He passed over the shuttered window, where a stray beam of light bounced off his scales for a bright instance, and settled on a table in the middle of the room. He stuck his snout into a goblet, and then knocked it onto the ground when it proved to be empty. The action rustled a corner of the map spread across the table. It was pinned in place by a knife, because it's not like Dad could have used a paperweight or anything.

Toothless sniffed my Dad's bed. Then he sniffed a much skinner one, and correctly determining it was mine, sprawled across it. He snapped at Sneaky when he tried to join.

"Play nicely," I scolded him. I painstakingly made a small tear in the shutters, and peeked outside. Lots of water. How unusual. Never seen that one before. If I leaned out, I probably would have been able to see the island ahead, but I was trying to stay hidden.

Eventually, we felt the boat start to slow. Footsteps echoed through the wooden floor as Vikings ran about, preparing to dock. From outside, the first scents of land (it has a very distinct smell – especially when you've spent the last few days at sea) trickled in. A huge splash marked the dropping of the anchor, and the boat jerked as it bumped against something solid.

We were here.

I ran back to the door, and looked under again. A big shoe darkened the slit, but then it was gone. I saw the metal of Gobber's peg leg, and that black shoe near him was probably Dad's. There were other shadows and feet nearby, but those were the only ones I could identify.

Thump. A new pair of feet appeared. These were brown shoes, and the ankles above them were wrapped with a long, brown, cloth strip. I pointed my ears forward.

"Chief Stoick the Vast." The man's voice was deep and powerful. Every time he moved, chainmail rattled.

"Chief Hagan the Barbaric. It is good to see you again."

I could picture the handshake in my mind, the first test. A handshake between Vikings, especially Chiefs, was meant to break the bones of a lesser being. Any flinch, any expression other than one of mutual respect or indifference, was a failure. Part of the reason I used to be so unpopular in my tribe.

"You, as well. Where's your son?"

Dad cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, there's been a terrible sickness going around . . ."

I closed my eyes and tried to remember what Chief Hagan looked like . . . Hey, don't make fun of me. There are so many things to remember in the world, and when you've stuffed your head full of plans and ideas, faces tend to take a backseat. Not that I'm saying I don't like people; I just like inventing.

Anyways, from what I remembered, Chief Hagan was a scruffy man. He had black bangs that touched his eyelids and a beard that was just short enough so that it didn't move much in the wind, and was just long enough to give you the urge to touch it.

Hagan was saying: "You left him in charge, or you left him in charge?"

He said that in a way I couldn't quite place, but left me bristling. Dad didn't sound too amused either when he answered, "Yes, I left my son in charge."

Hagan said, "Settle down, Stoick. No need for that face. Two years ago, it would have been a genuine question."

A throat cleared. Gobber's peg-leg made a very distinct sound as he walked across the deck. "It's been a while since we've seen this place. Love what you've done with it!"

"It is quite . . . decorative," Dad said.

With a laugh, Hagan said, "All thanks to the Romans. They appear to be going through a golden age of art. Pity the same can't be said for their warriors."

Roman art? Where! I had never seen any in person before, but I had heard plenty of their marble statues and ivory carving. Too excited to cope, I forced my head through that hole in the shutters and looked out. But instead of my darling marble, the first things I saw were stone, grotesque, screaming gargoyle perched on the end of the docks.

Beautiful.

I turned my head, and met Chief Hagan's eyes.

He had been leading my Dad onto the docks when he saw me. I didn't get to see more than his eyebrows raise before I dove backwards into the safety of the cabin. He saw me. He saw me. This couldn't possibly –

"Cute cat," I heard him say.

Or it could. Alright then.

Yes, Astrid, I know. You don't need to kick the door like that.

I couldn't resist another peek. Apart from those statues and the pier, I couldn't see much as there were other ships blocking the way. The one right in my line of sight belonged to the Hysterics. I could tell by the emblem on their flag: an overly muscular woman squeezing a puny invader so hard that his head had popped off. Were they actually capable of such an astonishing feat? In all honesty, they just might be.

I allowed myself to wallow in pity as I watched the others leave the ship. Yes, I had done this before. The memory of – and stench – of dozens of Vikings gathered in one place was well-engraved into my brain. But this was different; this was the home of the Rabid Raiders. They were different than the rest of us; stepping into their world was like jumping back into the past. And even if raiding the Roman Empire wasn't my cup of tea, I still wanted to see my origins.

"Well, this sucks," I said to Toothless.

He purred and snuggled into the blankets.

"I'm bored!"

I shouted that while rolling on the floor, showing all my teeth. Astrid just sighed and rubbed her forehead, while Fishlegs nervously asked, "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Astrid said. "I'm not enjoying this either, Hiccup. Apparently, you not being within eyeshot of me means that I'm single again."

I huffed and crossed my legs over my chest. Looks like the vultures have descended.

"Come on, there's got to be some way you can smuggle me out. I mean look at this place! I have to go see it!" I pointed wildly at the window.

"I don't know . . ."

Okay, time to bring out my secret weapon.

"Astrid!" Fishlegs tugged on her sleeve, and hissed loudly into her ear, "Astrid, he has a cute face."

She laughed. "I didn't think that was your style, Hiccup . . . Okay, you can stop. Hiccup, seriously. We're not going to change our minds just because you look . . . cute. Really cute."

I shuffled my paws together and whined.

"Astrid! I can't take it!" Poor Fishlegs was trying to shield his eyes, but he couldn't seem to resist peeking through his fingers.

"Hiccup, no. Bad dragon! Stop doing that!"

"I give up!" The sheer despair in his cry made Fishlegs drop to his knees, as if in rapture. "You can hide in my vest."

Heh. Gets them every time.

"My vest is covered with fur," he was explaining to Astrid. "No one's going to notice a little lump."

She actually looked thoughtful. "That's probably true. And if you cut a little slit in it, he'll be able to see."

"Cut it?!" he squawked, drawing every dragon's attention.

"Relax," Astrid said. "You can just sew it back together. What's a couple more stitches after all the times Meatlug used it as a toy?"

"She doesn't mean to destroy it. Sometimes, she just gets lonely and it smells like me . . ."

"I'm not judging. Just take him."

She scooped me up and shoved me into Fishlegs' chest. I set to burrowing up his sleeve until I found a nice, comfy spot near the shoulder.

"Hiccup, is that you?" Through the fabric, a hand covered my face.

"Yes."

"Okay, stay back, I'm going to cut . . ."

A silver blade cleaved through the vest. I watched as she hacked at the spot, once, twice, five times before finally withdrawing. A finger followed shortly afterwards, curving and bending like a worm on a hook.

"How's that?" she asked.

I crooned my satisfaction.

We tried to leave then, but a confused Toothless tried to follow us out. He stared blankly at Fishlegs and Astrid when they tried to tell him to stay put.

"Here." Astrid led Toothless away. She sat down on my bed, and scratched him under the chin. Apparently, he was okay as long as somebody was with him. "You two go ahead. It'll be nice to hang out with a couple of boys who don't care whether or not I have a boyfriend."

As she said that, Sneaky came over and curled up in her lap.

Fishlegs waved. "Okay, see you later."

Next stop, land. I could feel the difference between the steadiness of the earth and the rocking of the boat right away, even if my feet weren't actually on the ground. Vikings generally adapted quickly, but just in case I got dizzy, I focused on the heat rising from Fishlegs' skin. He was a naturally anxious guy, and me hiding under his vest wasn't helping matters.

"Hello!" He pivoted on his heels, staying face-to-face with some strange Viking as he walked past. "How's everything? Nothing unusual happening here. I'm just your regular Viking –"

I kicked him in the ribs.

"Oww," he whined, rubbing the spot. The strange action attracted the attention of some neighbouring Vikings, who hooted and began to saunter over.

"Hey, Fishlegs."

Oh joy. It was some guys from the Meatheads. The type of guys that Snotlout used to hang out with. That should give you a good indication of their personality.

"Hey, guys." Fishlegs was already backing away.

But, we were surrounded. One of them put their arm over Fishlegs' shoulders, trapping him in place, while another, a Raiders and not a Meathead, circled from the front. "So, where's your buddy, Hiccup? Snotlout says he's stuck back at Berk."

"Yeah. There's an epidemic back home. He's in charge."

"That sucks. People are saying that he has a sword that lights on fire . . . Is that true?"

"Do you mean Inferno? He covers it with Nightmare saliva and –"

Out of nowhere, the Raider pulled out a very spiky flail and asked, "Do you think he could make this light on fire, too."

"Uh . . . maybe? He's the expert on it, not –"

"Because that would be awesome!" The Raider shoved the other Viking's arm off Fishleg's shoulder so he could replace it with his own. With a sweeping motion, he gestured toward the distant Romans. "Imagine it: sailing up to the villages in our longboats, then leaping onto shore and spinning these over our heads. Ha, we could scare off the entire Roman army!"

"Uh, that sounds pretty cool, but Hiccup's really into peace –"

The Raider laughed. "He doesn't have to know."

I sniffed. That's what he thought.

"Okay . . ." I was a little surprised to hear Snotlout's voice. The last couple of years, I hadn't seen him hanging out with his old friends. "That's great and all, but Hiccup isn't here. Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure . . . what's with this whole dragon thing?"

My ears flattened as most of the other Vikings scoffed or otherwise reacted badly. This was not a good omen.

Fishlegs started to say, "I don't think . . ."

No. I kicked him in the ribs again. This was something I needed to hear.

"Berk's trying to convince everyone that we should stop killing dragons," someone complained. "It's stupid!"

"It's not stupid!" Fishlegs protested. "Dragons are really nice, and –"

"They burned down our village!"

"They ate our sheep!"

"They melted my favourite axe!"

"They killed my father."

The heat rising off Fishleg's was nearly unbearable, and he smelt so strongly of sweat that I wouldn't be surprised if the other Vikings could smell it.

This is what I need to deal with, I realized. It wasn't just a case of people sticking to tradition for no reason; it wasn't even a case of them not understanding that dragons weren't mere animals. These people had only ever seen the dangerous side of dragons. They had every reason in the world to only see the darkness in them.

"Hey, just think of it this way," Snotlout said. "Bears kill people all the time, but it would still be awesome to have one as a pet."

"That's true," the Raider said.

"That's different," a Meathead said. "Dragons are born evil. You can't train them."

His words echoed in my mind. Evil. No, dragons weren't evil. The Red Death might have been, but dragons themselves were good. I knew that. I just didn't know if I – if Dad – would be able to prove that. But for the Meatheads at least, it seemed that the idea that they couldn't be trained followed from the idea that they were evil. If we attacked one idea, maybe we could loosen their conviction on the other. It was the only plan I had.

A silence followed. From us, at least. The other Vikings in the village were still pretty noisy. Finally, Thuggory, heir to the Meathead throne, turned to Snotlout and asked, "So, since Hiccup isn't around, are you taking his place at the Council?"

"No." The word seemed to be forcefully yanked out of Snotlout's throat. "Astrid's going."

"Bummer. I used to always see you there."

Quietly, as if he didn't mean for anyone to hear, he answered, "Yeah . . ."

"Chief Hagan the Barbaric!"

Fishlegs spun around so fast that I nearly lost my hold and dropped a few inches. I peeked out through the slit. Yep, Chief Hagan the Barbaric was there. His grey coat of chainmail glinted and rocked just above his knees, almost like a dress. His helmet, carved from steel, had horns that curved down and in toward his neck. It looked shiny and new. From what I had heard, the Raiders refused to wear their horned helmets into battle. Something about humans having hands and liking to grab things with said hands.

"Hey, Chief Hagan!" Fishlegs stuttered.

Snotlout was bolder. "Hey, dude. Nice place you got here."

Hagan gave him an onceover, as if trying to place where he had seen Snotlout before. "Right. You, Fishface, right?"

Fishlegs raised his hand. "Actually, it's Fishlegs."

"Hiccup's really back at Berk?"

" . . . Yes?"

"Oh, pity." Hagan sighed heavily. "I was looking forward to meeting him."

Meeting me? I scrambled to get a better look, making Fishlegs squirm.

"What did you want with Hiccup?" Snotlout demanded.

Hagan smiled toothily. "I wanted him to show me how to light my sword on fire."

Review Responses:

Guest choking on laughter: Should I get you a doctor?

Guest (from chapter 5): According to the internet at least :)

FIF: Cute Night Fury face in the right hands is a very potent weapon.

Jazz: Haven't gotten the inspiration for one.

a random person: You're welcome!

Flicker Guest: Haha, maybe he will eventually. But he enjoys sleeping in a nice comfy bed too much. I actually haven't finished exams yet; give me a couple more weeks.