7 A Truly Scary Bedtime Story

7. A TRULY SCARY BEDTIME STORY– DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE ABOUT TO GO TO BED The little dark-haired girl called Eggingarde showed Hiccup where to sleep, in a corner of one of the dungeons of Prison Darkheart, which served as the slaves' dormitory. 'It looks like someone's already sleeping there,' said Hiccup doubtfully. 'No,' the little girl shook her head firmly and mournfully. 'It used to be Loserkid's bed. But he doesn't sleep there any more.' Hiccup settled the Wodensfang and Toothless in the bed underneath a tattered blanket he had brought with him in his rucksack. He then had a whispered argument with Toothless under the blanket. 'What have I said, Toothless, about not eating inedible objects? Look, you've eaten a large hole out of my shirt…' Toothless widened his greengage eyes, and

innocently batted those preposterously long eyelashes. 'Wasn't T-t-toothless…' he mumbled in between a large mouthful of shirt, and he pointed a hopeful wing at the Wodensfang. 'Must have been the W-w-wodensfang…' 'I can see you're eating it right now!' whispered Hiccup in exasperation. 'You might as well own up!' Toothless protested. 'No, n-n-no, no...' But as he did so… …he accidentally spat out one of the buttons. Both Hiccup and Toothless looked at the button. Even Toothless had the grace to look slightly guilty.

'S-s-sorry, shirt,' said Toothless. 'Look, T-t-toothless owned up!' Toothless swallowed the remains of the mouthful of shirt. 'Sorry, b-bbelt. Sorry, top-of-trousers. Sorry, w-wwaistcoat pocket… Ooh, Toothless is g-ggood at this owning-up business…' Hiccup sighed. At this rate he was going to have nothing left that didn't have bite marks in it. Hiccup popped up from underneath the blanket to ask Eggingarde a question. 'Where does Loserkid sleep now then?' asked Hiccup. Eggingarde frowned. She didn't answer the question, she just counted on her fingers the previous occupants of the bed Hiccup was about to sleep in. 'And before Loserkid, it was Goggle-eyed Gertie's, and before that it was the funny looking kid with the big ears, and then there was Bobblehands– that's his candle you're holding on to there.' Hiccup took his hands off the candle as if it was poisoned.

'And Littlearms the Brave and—' 'What happened to all these people?' asked Hiccup in horror. Eggingarde did not answer. 'Are you quite sure that there was never a boy called Fishlegs sleeping in this bed?' asked Hiccup. Eggingarde looked startled. 'Was Fishlegs a tall skinny boy with curly hair, smashed glasses and a face like a haddock who wanted to be a bard, just like me?' 'Yes,' said Hiccup eagerly. 'That's Fishlegs!' 'No,' said Eggingarde. 'I don't think I've ever seen anybody like that around here. But if I had,' she added wistfully, 'I think I would have liked him.' 'Eggingarde, you just described him!' said Hiccup in exasperation. 'You must have met him! Please, you have to tell me. He's my very great friend– what happened to him, where is he?' Anxiously, Eggingarde shook her head. 'Sshh, I can't tell you. I'm not allowed to tell you about the Lost, it's bad for morale.' She looked over her shoulder at the dungeon filled with whispering that was dying away as people settled down for the night. Eggingarde put up the hood of her bearsuit, and

peered out from underneath. 'But I can tell you a story,' said Eggingarde determinedly, drawing down her thick dark eyebrows into a straight line and sucking in the air through the gap in her teeth. 'A very scary story. 'This story isn't about your friend Fishlegs.' Eggingarde shook her head violently. 'No, no, no, no, no. It's about… somebody else. The story is called: The Slave-Boy, the Slave-Girl and the Monster of the Amber Slavelands.' POUF! Someone blew out the last candle in the dungeon, and in a doomy alarmed and alarming whisper, the little girl insisted on telling the story. You have to imagine this story being told in the huge, echoing dungeon with the whispering voices in it sounding like spirits of the dead. You have to imagine Eggingarde, lying back in her bearsuit, conjuring up the story with wild wavings of her arms, and the moonlight making shadows of those arms on the dungeon walls.

THE STORY or THE SLAVE-BOY, THE SLAVfrGlRL, AM) THE MONSTEB; OF THE AMBER SLAVELANt)S