7 High in the Murderous Mountains

7. HIGH IN THE MURDEROUS MOUNTAINS Fishlegs would have felt gloomier still if he could have seen what was happening high in the sinister crags of the Murderous Mountains, where the Murderous Tribe had their hide-out. The Murderous Tribe did not often receive visitors. Perhaps it was their uncomfortable habit of sacrificing intruders to the Sky Dragons at the point of Mount Murderous that kept people at bay. Or maybe it was their SMELL. They lived on a repellent diet of month-old rotten haddock stuffed with pickled onions and bad eggs, all washed down with enormous quantities of BEER, which, as you can imagine, would make anybody pong a bit after a while. Whatever the reason, the Murderous Tribe were generally left to enjoy the peace and quiet of their sinister mountaintop home. And such was their reputation, nobody came in a friendly way to nick their sheep, or burgle their reindeer, in that neighbourly, Viking-ly manner that was the fashion all over the rest of the Archipelago.

So Bertha's cheeky burglary of Madguts's newest military weapon took them entirely by surprise. Madguts's henchman, Gumboil, knelt in the dust before the open stable door, peering at the muddle of footprints, and poking at the soil with one black- gloved finger. He was joined in this exercise by five gigantic Sniffer Dragons, their enormous nostrils pushing through the dirt like bloodhounds as they searched for a scent.

Gumboil was carrying Madguts's terrifying arsenal. Fifty Murderous Warriors, and Madguts himself, were watching Gumboil poke. 'Stolen!' Gumboil hissed in disbelief. 'By the Beard of Great Stinking Hairy- Knuckled Thor, Your Violence's Stealth Dragon has been STOLEN!' One of the scariest things about Madguts the Murderous was that he never spoke. Nobody quite knew why. Some say he had no tongue, and others say he had lost his voice-box, but whatever might be the reason, he was never heard to do anything more than grunt. He grunted now. Gumboil leapt sycophantically to his feet and stood on his tiptoes as Madguts grunted furiously into his oily ear. 'Chief Murderous is VERY ANNOYED,' spat Gumboil at the silent Murderous Warriors gathered all around. 'He orders you to track down the perpetrator of this outrage before nightfall, or he will be selling the lot of you to the Ugli-thug Slavelands!' There was an excited hiss and bark, and a swish of forked tails from the Sniffers as they finally picked up the scent of the stolen Stealth Dragon. 'After them!' yelled Gumboil, running to mount his own dragon.

'And by the orders of his Viciousness, Madguts himself, the one that catches the burglar red-handed shall have extra rotten eggs with his haddock tonight!' The Murderous Tribe raced to their dragons, and they took off after the Sniffers towards the east, and the distant silhouette of the little Isle of Forget Me.