7 I’m Getting Married in the Morning

7. I'M GETTING MARRIED IN THE MORNING The Hooligans mended The Fat Penguin, and carried on with the fruitless search for Camicazi for a day or so more (this time being very careful to camp on the Island of the Quiet Life, in a camping-spot with loads of jellyfish but no ghosts, Berserks or Uglithugs). Stoick the Vast then sent a Carrier-dragon to Big-Boobied Bertha with the sad news that they couldn't find Camicazi anywhere, and they returned home to Berk. UG the Uglithug hadn't said that Hiccup had to collect the honey all on his own, so Stoick the Vast decided that the chances of the Quest to Collect Honey from the Island of Berserk being successful would be greatly improved if all the Warriors in the Hooligan Tribe joined Hiccup in a midnight Dragon-riding raid on the island. So this is why the next evening all twelve Vikings

on the Warrior Training Programme were standing to attention in a raggedy line in front of Gobber the Belch, the teacher in charge of the Pirate Training Programme on Berk, dressed in their black night-time flying gear, in front of the Almost Wood around Huge Hill, the highest point on Berk. 'LISTEN UP, GUYS!' roared Gobber the Belch, 'on account of young Hiccup here being a Fiancé…' Jeers and smoochy noises from the line. 'Hiccup and Tantrum up a tree… K-I-S-S-I-N-G…' taunted Clueless, an ignorant young bruiser with ears that stuck out like a jug. 'Hey, Hiccup, what's it like to be in lu-u-urve…?' sneered Tuffnut Junior. 'Your eyes are like two pools of green… Your hair's the reddest I've ever seen,' chanted Speedifist. 'HA HA HA HA HA!' Everybody roared with laughter, as Hiccup turned blood scarlet. 'I don't see why

we ALL have to risk our lives just because the Useless is weak enough to fall in lu-u-urve…' sneered Snotlout. 'He should be ashamed of himself, writing poetry that soppy… and his poetry is pants!' 'SILENCE!' yelled Gobber. 'This is a good chance to practise your Dragon-riding skills, Snotlout. Now, Berserk is one of the most dangerous places in the Archipelago, because Berserks are the most terrifying Warriors in the world. We must avoid capture at all costs. So you will be riding your dragon AT SPEED in the darkness while trying to avoid trees. Not as easy as it sounds.' The young Warriors hadn't been Dragon-riding in the air for long. Dragon-riding is a very complicated skill, and it has to be learnt in stages. You had to learn not only to direct your dragon to the left and right, but also up and down

vertically through the air, often at extraordinary speed. Dragons are such magnificent flyers that it takes years to master gliding, diving, flying backwards, flying in formation, looping the loop, and all the other aeronautic stunts that a dragon performs naturally in the wild. 'NOW!' roared Gobber. 'This is a training exercise! I have hung gourds from the trees to represent honey that you have to collect. You have to weave through the trees, collecting as much honey as you can, and then return here to the finishing line. Meanwhile I will be pretending to be a Poison- Darting-Scarer-cum-Berserk.'* *Poison-Darters and Scarers were dangerous dragons that were known to be living in the Berserk Forest. 'Nice disguise, sir,' said Fishlegs. 'Thank you, Fishlegs,' said Gobber. Gobber the Belch's Berserk disguise consisted of covering himself in war paint and putting a large pair of his own furry underpants on his head. He was

carrying a bow loaded with arrows tipped with sticky blue woad. 'Now,' said Gobber, frowning pompously. 'If I catch you, or you get hit by one of these arrows, you can consider yourself deader than dodos if you were in a real-life Berserk Honey-Collecting Situation.' He cleared his throat. 'ON TO YOUR DRAGONS!' roared Gobber the Belch. Hiccup's Riding-Dragon was an anxious, untidy Windwalker with raggedy ears and even more raggedy wings. 'Toothless got a tummy-ache,' whined Toothless. He WAS looking a little greener around the face than normal, but of course it was quite difficult to tell, because he was as green as the green green grass already, and he had just done five cartwheels in the air in a row, because he was feeling a little bored with all this TALKING going on. 'Well stop doing somersaults then,' Hiccup suggested. 'GO!!!!' roared Gobber, blasting on his horn. Hiccup did all right in the exercise. The Windwalker was a little clumsy, but very fast at flying through the trees. Poor old Fishlegs had some difficulties. His

Chickenpoxer was a cross little thing and reared around all the time, trying to buck Fishlegs off. Not to mention the fact that Fishlegs was allergic to it, so kept sneezing like a maniac. And then Gobber, who was really enjoying himself, his red pork-pie face screaming like a banshee underneath those ridiculous furry underpants, sneaked up behind Fishlegs and let out an ear-splitting, rib-cracking, head-ringing HOWL that would have done credit to a REAL Poison-Darter, Scarer or Berserk. 'Aiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeee!' screeched Fishlegs and with a cross little Shetland- pony snort the Chickenpoxer careered wildly out of control through the Almost Wood, ploughing through branches and narrowly avoiding bushes and completely flattening a tender young rowan tree that had survived the Great Storm by a whisker, and eventually charging head-first SPLAT into the trunk of a really-quite-sturdy