Lighting and Death Itself Chapter 20
"We've gone as far as we can go," Spitelout reported. "Without the right tools, we can't make the kinds of ship repairs we need. All our heavy tools are all back on Berk. It looks like we're stuck here."
That was not the kind of report Stoick wanted to hear. He much preferred reports about how Vikings can do anything if they put their minds to it. His second-in-command was an unimaginative man; putting his mind to a problem was not his strongest suit. Stoick might have to take charge directly if he and his warriors were ever going to get off this desolate island, and that would undermine the people's confidence in his second-in-command.
"What kinds of tools do we need to repair ships?" he asked. "We have hammers, we have axes, we can use our shields as hull patches. What else is there?"
"Derricks tall enough to step a mast with," Spitelout answered. "Hundreds of feet of heavy cable so all our men can pull together to move large pieces of ship. More hundreds of feet of line to mount sails with. We could make some small launches with what we've got, but if we don't want to spend the next month shuttling ourselves home, ten at a time, we need some war vessels. We just don't have the tools to build those here!"
Spitelout's voice dropped. "And another thing, Stoick. Those dragons are making me nervous. I know the black ones say they're peaceful, but I've never seen a peaceful dragon in my life! I don't dare put all our men to work on the ships; I've kept half of them near their weapons, just in case the lizards get out of control."
Off to the side, a small group of spectators was quietly viewing the scene. The group was small; the spectators themselves were not. They consisted of four Deadly Nadders, three Gronckles, a Monstrous Nightmare, and a Night Fury. Stoick was beginning to recognize the three black dragons, and he thought this one was the Astrid-dragon.
Vikings liked things to be stable and unchanging; it was easier to deal with life that way. Spitelout was a classic Viking. The idea that the dragons might no longer be hostile was taking its sweet old time sinking into his brain. Stoick was farther along in that process; it helped that one of those dragons was really his son, and that this fact had been beaten into his brain with all the subtlety of a hammer blow. But it was still a novel concept.
"I think the Night Furies have the other dragons under control, Spitelout," Stoick said.
"Right. But who keeps the Night Furies under control?"
They paused to watch some of their men trying to raise a mast. If they were at home in Berk's harbor, they had a crane that would do the job in five minutes. They had no such equipment here. They were trying to raise it with ropes, but they didn't have enough leverage, and the mast was too heavy.
"Do you need more men?" Stoick called to Crabtail, the team leader.
"More men, more rope, and a little luck would be nice, too!" he called back. One of the ropes came untied, and they quickly lowered the mast before it fell.
The black dragon rumbled and growled for a few seconds, making the Vikings nervous. They got even more nervous when the Monstrous Nightmare flapped into the sky and flew over to where the mast lay on the ground. The men scattered in terror; some of them ran for their weapons.
"No, don't! Wait!" Stoick called. Something in his gut told him this wasn't a threat. All the men stopped where they were.
As they watched, the Nightmare grasped two of the ropes in its back claws and lifted the mast off the ground. It flapped toward the ship. Stoick suddenly realized what was going on.
"Spitelout, get some men on deck to help step the mast!"
Spitelout was frozen in place, staring, uncomprehending.
The chief took action. "Crabtail! Get your men up there so they can guide the mast in!" The team leader hesitated, then snapped out some quick orders. Three men nervously climbed into the hull of the ship as the dragon lowered the mast into position. It was about a foot too far forward; they pushed it into place.
One of them looked up at the huge dragon overhead. "Uhh, that's good! Let it go!" he shouted. The black dragon roared quickly, and the Nightmare released the ropes. The mast fell a foot and landed in its foundation. Crabtail got the rest of his team moving, and they soon had the mast fixed in place.
"I... don't believe it," Spitelout said out loud. "The dragons are helping us repair our ships!"
Stoick came to a sudden realization. Their world was changing rapidly around them, and some Vikings might not be able to keep up with the changes. He needed a second-in-command who could function in any situation, not one who would be dumbstruck and immobilized when confronted with the totally unexpected.
He saw Gobber limping toward him to make a report. Good timing, old friend, he thought. I have a new challenge for you. Let's see if you're up to it.
"Stoick, we've found the back end o' one ship that's in pretty good shape, an' the front end of another, but bringin' them together... they're four hundred yards apart, an' this rocky beach is rough for ship handlin'."
"Don't tell me about it, Gobber," the chief smiled. "Tell Astrid."
"The dragon?" Gobber almost scratched his bare head with his hook-hand, which would not have been pretty.
"She can tell the other dragons what to do," Stoick said. "She's good at giving orders, they're strong, and together, we may be able to rebuild this fleet."
Gobber walked away, shaking his head. "Sure, talk to the dragon," he muttered. "Dragons know all about buildin' ships, don't they? And girlie-warrior dragons know more about it than the rest of 'em! 'Talk to the dragon,' he says! Maybe his helmet is on too tight." He stopped at a respectful distance from the black dragon and explained his problem.
The Night Fury looked into the distance for a few seconds, then let out a string of growls and grunts. She and two of the Gronckles lifted off. She growled and made a head gesture that had to mean "lead the way." He turned and hobbled toward the good stern section; they followed him in the air. "Now I'm takin' orders from a dragon!" he muttered. "What'll I be doin' next? Cleanin' their teeth?"
He led the three dragons to the shattered stern. "This has to wind up over there –" he pointed "– and it has to be facin' in this direction." He gestured. The black dragon growled out what must have been instructions. The two Gronckles landed, set their massive heads against the ship's hull, and began pushing it across the rocky landscape.
Gobber stared in utter amazement, but that didn't last long. He quickly realized – this was like driving a team of draft horses, except with a lot more power, and he needed a translator to get his commands across. That, and there wasn't much chance of draft horses breathing fire on the job.
"More to the left!" Gobber shouted. The Night Fury rumbled something, the Gronckles adjusted their pushing, and the hull swung ponderously to the left. Gobber got out in front of the whole operation, called out corrections to Astrid who passed them to the other two dragons, and in about twenty minutes, the back of the ship was up against the front half of the other ship. It would have taken the Vikings all day to move it that far, if they could have done it at all.
"Well done, Gobber!" Stoick clapped the smith on the back.
"Thank ye, though I didn't do much," he replied. "And that's somethin' ye don't see every day, for sure."
"What's that?" the chief asked. "Dragons helping people?"
"No, a lassie workin' as the foreman in a shipyard."
The Vikings set to work with the only two saws they could find, cutting the boards of the two half-ships so they would mate together and form one complete hull. When they were ready, Gobber asked Astrid for one more push from the Gronckles, which they did (after she woke them up). Now they just had to splice the two halves together and waterproof the joints. This was work that did not require dragons. The Gronckles and the Night Fury returned to the small group that was watching.
Back on the first ship, they had another problem. They had mounted the yard to the mast with some of the last of their remaining rope, and they'd found a sail that wasn't too badly burned. But how would they mount the sail to the yard? There just wasn't enough unburnt rope left.
Gobber didn't bother asking Stoick. He just limped over to Astrid and explained the problem. After a moment, she scratched some runes in the rocks.
MOUNT IT TEMPORARILY
AND GET OUT OF THE WAY
The smith returned to the ship and gave the orders. Soon the sail was bravely hanging from the mast, held in place by a handful of fire-softened nails that would snap under any kind of pressure. The Night Fury gave some instructions to the Nadders, which strutted over to stand in front of the ship.
The rattling sound of their tail spines snapping into position made every warrior tense up. Those poisoned spines had been the death of many a Viking. More than a few of them reached for their weapons out of instinct. But Vikings were not the dragons' targets anymore. One of the Nadders whipped its tail and sent a line of spines straight into the yard, nailing the sail to it. The other three did likewise. When they were done, the sail was spiked firmly enough to withstand anything short of a full gale. The Night Fury growled something (she actually said "Very good shooting!"), and they all returned to watching the Vikings' progress.
"I never thought I'd see a positive use for those awful spines," Gobber muttered. "But, after all the other impossible things I've seen today, why not?"
By the end of the day, the Vikings had two seaworthy ships ready to launch. The Gronckles made short work of the launching process.
Also by the end of the day, the Vikings had a new second-in-command. "Spitelout, I'm not saying you aren't brave or loyal," Stoick explained. "But I need a man who can think as well as fight."
"That's not the Viking way," Spitelout protested.
"That's the new Viking way," Stoick countered. "Things are changing all around us. Dragons can be our friends. Dragons are in our families, for some of us. We won't be raided any more. Our leaders have to be able to handle changes like these. I'll be the first to admit, it's hard, and it's going to be hard for quite a while. Some of us are going to find it harder to change than others; I expect that. But the ones in charge have got to be flexible."
"Who are you putting in my place?" Spitelout wondered.
"Someone who can change his attitude almost as fast as he can change his left arm," the chief replied.
He turned to Gobber. "It will take four – no, five trips for those two ships to carry all of us. Choose some crews for them, preferably volunteers, and divide everyone else into five groups. The wounded will go in the first group.
"We're going home."