3-第五章：回到伯克岛

当希望海雀号停止打转时，雾已经开始稍稍散了。半小时后，雾完全散了，他们可以看到方圆数英里的海面。
罗马船不见了。
海水又冷得像冰一样，所以再也不用担心鲨虫龙了。他们并没有像小嗝嗝想象的那样偏离航线太远。他们朝遥远的北方伯克岛的轮廓出发。小嗝嗝太沮丧了，什么也不想做，鱼脚司就去掌舵。
小嗝嗝坐在那里，盯着自己那一半的《如何讲龙语》。所有的努力，所有在野龙崖上观察所得来的成果，都被撕成两半了。他尽量不去想，在罗马船上，无牙会被怎么处置。
无牙很讨厌被困住，所以小嗝嗝睡觉的时候都会把门敞开。现在他就在那里，很可能被关在那只可怕的铁笼子里。
‘我们吵了一架，’小嗝嗝痛苦地想，‘但它却飞过来救我们…现在我可能再也见不到它了。’
恐怖牛终于从沉睡中醒来。“你拿到头盔了吗？”它打了个哈欠。

“没完全拿到，”鱼脚司冷冷地回答，“说来话长。”
这只希望海雀号以它那奇怪的、旋转着的、曲折回环的方式向伯克岛靠近。
伯克岛似乎永远都是毛霍里根部落的家园。它是野蛮人群岛中最小的可居住岛屿之一，也许对那座岛最好的描述是“潮湿”。在毛霍里根部落的语言中，有28个词形容“雨”。伯克岛是那种海水经常漫上陆地的地方。即使在岛上最高的地方，你也能找到扇贝壳和海豚的骨头，那些东西是被一些巨大的潮汐或风暴抛上来的。
因此，由于雨水不断地从上面倾泻而下，海水从下面潜行而上，这些毛霍里根人们在浑浊的海水中度过了他们的大半生。
当他们靠近伯克岛时，他们没有时间为自己感到难过。那只希望海雀号陷入了困境。那艘船一直都不是一艘适合航海的船，船遭受了两次大撞击，第一次是被鼻涕粗的雀鹰号撞到，第二次是小嗝嗝从罗马船跳下来撞到，船的漏水速度比平时更快了。

尽管小嗝嗝和鱼脚司尽可能快地用头盔把水舀出来，但当他们到达港口时，船已经完全沉了下去。
图片来自系列电影《加勒比海盗》——船到桥头自然沉最后几百米他们必须自己游回去，小嗝嗝托住鱼脚司（对于维京人来说不太寻常），鱼脚司还没有学会狗刨。
更糟糕的是，高伯正站在港口岸壁上看着他们上岸，双臂交叉，眉毛低得像雷神的乌云。当那只希望海雀号消失在水下时，他看上去好像要炸毛了。
高伯不太高兴“今天好像不太顺利，是不是？”鱼脚司一边呻吟，一边挣扎着上岸，爬上了岩石。“至少我们没有遇到鲨虫龙……”
“我不确定那里有没有鲨虫龙，”小嗝嗝咬着牙说。他悲伤地回头望着希望海雀号，只剩下了三圈涟漪和泡沫。那从来都不是一艘最漂亮的船，但对他来说，那艘船就是最好的。
他们在长满海草的岩石上踉踉跄跄的走，不情愿地爬向高伯那儿，站在他面前，浑身湿透，低着头。鱼脚司胆怯地把罗马头盔递给了他。

高伯不太高兴。
“什么，”他吼道，愤怒地指着那顶罗马头盔，“这到底是什么？”
“罗马头盔，长官，”鱼脚司承认道。“我们不小心登上了一艘罗马船……我们迷路了，先生……”
“你们迷路了？”高伯咕咕叫道，他不敢相信自己的耳朵。“维京人是不会迷路的。你怎么可能不小心登上罗马的船呢？一艘罗马船看起来一点也不像一艘宁静部落的渔船！”
“是的，我知道，先生。”鱼脚司结结巴巴地说。“可我们以为有鲨虫龙，所以就——”
“还有，”高伯打断了鱼脚司的话，他的声音平静得可怕，“你们的船在哪儿？”
“啊，这个，那个，”鱼脚司痛苦地说。“船好像沉了，先生。”
“好像沉了？”高伯吼道。“你们称自己叫维京人，却在风平浪静的一天在离岛200米的地方把自己的船弄沉了？你们到底是哪门子的毛霍里根人？你们不会造船，不会驯龙，这个鱼脚司连游泳都不会……”

“海水让我长湿疹……”鱼脚司喃喃道。
“你理应成为一个海盗！”高伯吼道，“事实上，这是我这辈子听到过的连蝌蚪屎都不如的最没用、最可悲、最可怜的借口！我形容不下去了……”
在接下来的十分钟里，尽管高伯已经形容不下去了，他还是对着他们大吼大叫，说他们是部落的耻辱，是他有生以来招募过的最糟糕的新兵。他让他们在接下来的三个星期里吃限量配给，并且说，下次再发生类似的事情，他们就会被踢出这个项目。
在家里，情况也好不到哪里去。
晚饭期间，小嗝嗝对他的父亲解释他们不幸地意外登上罗马船的事，还有关于无牙被绑架，还有那个提督拿着一半的《如何讲龙语》，还有建议史图依克应该派一支战队来营救无牙和那半本书。小嗝嗝向他的父亲展示了《如何说龙语》的残骸和罗马头盔，用来证明他的故事是真的。

“嗯。”史图依克若有所思地说。史图依克是一个巨人，他的红胡子和大桶状的肚子足以对抗至少两个普通大小的维京酋长。
他并没有认真听小嗝嗝讲，因为他在看小嗝嗝的海盗训练报告，那是他读过的最糟糕的报告。‘我的雷神啊，’他在想，‘谁能在进阶野蛮课上得个负4分啊？’初级打嗝课（Beginner Burping）和扔锤子课（Hammerthrowing Studies）竟然都是0分，这都是史图依克小时候最喜欢的科目啊。
史图依克正在读小嗝嗝的报告史图依克努力着不想对自己的儿子感到失望。他一直告诉自己小嗝嗝只是发育得慢而已，很快就会有肌肉和鼻毛，在撞球大赛（Bashyball）中拿到奖牌，就像史图依克自己一样。但他到底在搞什么鬼，得了个诸如“小嗝嗝是我二十年来教过的最糟糕的水手”这样的报告？他怎么可能在一个非常简单的训练中回来，却把他的龙和船都弄丢了？还有他怎么可能迷路并意外登上一艘罗马船而不是一艘宁静部落的渔船呢？

小嗝嗝的报告伯克岛海盗训练计划报告单
学员姓名：小嗝嗝哈伦多哈达克三世
课程 教师报告 分数（满分10分）
初级打嗝课 他不能鼓起勇气把这门课学好 0分
吓唬外邦人 必须停下满嘴的法语，在喊叫上多加练习 1分
进阶野蛮课 *！*！*！（可能是骂人的话） -4分
扔锤子课程 在他可以拿起锤子之后应该多加练习 0分
斗剑课程 反应迅速，脚法灵活，给我留下的印象很深刻，在攻击方面要多加练习 9分
造船课程 我很怀疑希望海雀号能不能浮起来 0分
登入敌船课 小嗝嗝是我这二十年来教过的最差的新兵 哈哈哈
撞球运动课 大部分时间都坐在泥地上 1分
维京人不会迷路的。
史图依克张开嘴想对他的儿子大吼。

然后他又闭上嘴。
小巧、瘦弱、满脸雀斑、精神萎靡的小嗝嗝把忧虑的脸抬头望着他。他显然对他那只小得可笑的龙感到极度焦虑。史图依克不忍心生气。他用一只大拳头把那份报告捏成一团。
“儿子，”他温和而严肃地说，“我很抱歉你失去了无情（Ruthless）——”
“Toothless！”小嗝嗝愤怒地打断他。“他叫Toothless。”
“Toothless，”史图依克急忙纠正自己。“但我要告诉你一件非常重要的事。”
史图依克抓住小嗝嗝的肩膀，看着他的眼睛。“你，”他严肃地说，“是首领的儿子。你失去了你的宠物，但你必须勇敢。在这方面你必须是个男子汉。还会有别的龙……”
“不会再有像无牙的龙了！”小嗝嗝悲痛地反驳道，“那条龙信任我，我让它失望了！”

“闭嘴！”史图依克严厉地说。“当一个首领是什么感觉，儿子？”
“首领不会感到痛苦，”小嗝嗝顺从地回答。“但是爸爸——”
史图依克刚准备好做“思想教育”。“首领不会感到痛苦。首领不会感到恐惧。首领必须不受软弱的个人感情的支配。组建一支战队来拯救你的龙是没有问题的。这会是在浪费我们战士的时间。罗马人现在大概已经在回罗马的半路上了，他们会把无用（Useless）做成手提包——”
“Toothless，”小嗝嗝又纠正道，“这就是我想要告诉你的，爸爸，我听到他们的谈话，我想他们不是路过这么简单。”
“听到他们谈话？”史图依克怒吼道，眉毛垂了下来。“你这话是什么意思？你怎么听得懂那些罗马人的？”
“呃，”小嗝嗝承认道。“老威力教过我一些拉丁语，你知道的——”

“拉丁语吗？拉丁语？”史图依克炸毛了。他的拳头重重砸在桌子上，他们吃的牡蛎在空中翻了两个筋斗。“我的儿子，我的儿子，说拉丁语了！”
他努力控制住自己。“毛霍里根人不准，我再说一遍，不准，说拉丁语。他们恐吓外邦人课程中还教了你什么？当毛霍里根人遇到外邦人时，要大声而且慢慢地吼出来。那是外邦人唯一听得懂的语言。毛霍里根人也不跟龙说话。或者写一些关于它们的书。你花太多的时间写关于龙的东西，却没花足够的时间去准备成为一个首领。”
史图依克从小嗝嗝手中抢过那一半本《如何讲龙语》，扔到火堆上。小嗝嗝倒吸一口气。那本书里有他所知道的关于龙的一切。没有它，他怎么能再和龙说话？
史图依克跺着脚离开了。
当史图依克离开后，他把书从火焰中拉了出来，手指被烧伤了。幸运的是，书还相当湿，只是边缘轻微烧焦了。

那天晚上，小嗝嗝在很长很长时间以来，第一次在没有无牙的陪伴下上床睡觉。那条小龙是一只扭动着、打着呼噜的热水瓶。现在，小嗝嗝躺在床上直到凌晨都在醒着，他在薄薄的被窝里无法控制地颤抖着，手脚像北极一样冷，他的耳朵在冰冷的气流中颤抖。最后，当他在狂躁睡眠中渐醒渐睡时，夜龙、风和狼似乎都在一起嗥叫：“你失去了Tooooothlesss！你永远地失去了它！失去了Toooooooothless！永远永远永远失去了它，”这些话一直在脑海中响起。
5. BACK ON BERK
By the time The Hopeful Puffin had stopped turning round in circles, the fog had started to lift a little. Half an hour later, the mist had vanished entirely, and they could see for miles in every direction.

The Roman ship was nowhere to be seen.
The water was as cold as ice again, so there was no further danger of bumping into any Sharkworms. They had not gone as far off course as Hiccup had thought. They set off toward the distant silhouette of Berk to the north. Fishlegs took the rudder because Hiccup was too depressed to do anything.

Hiccup sat staring at his half of How to Speak Dragonese. All that work, all that time spent dragonwatching at the Wild Dragon Cliffs, ripped in two. He was trying not to think of what might be happening to Toothless on board the Roman ship.
[Image: Hiccup.]
Toothless hated the idea of being trapped so much Hiccup even had to leave the door open when they went to bed. And now there he was, most likely locked up in that horrible iron cage.

We'd just had an argument, too, thought Hiccup in total misery. And he flew to our rescue ... and now I might never see him again.
Horrorcow finally woke up from her deep sleep. "Did you get that helmet?" she yawned.
"Not exactly," replied Fishlegs grimly. "It's a long story."
In her strange, spinning and zigzagging fashion, The Hopeful Puffin drew nearer to the little Isle of Berk.

The Isle of Berk has been home to the Hooligan Tribes for so long as to seem like forever. It is one of the smallest inhabited islands in the Barbaric Archipelago, and perhaps the best way to describe it is "wet." There are twenty-eight words for "rain" in the Hooligan language. And Berk is the kind of place where the sea is always wandering up onto the land. Even at the Highest Point you can find scallop shells and dolphins' bones, thrown up by some gigantic tide or storm.

So, what with the rain pouring down constantly from above, and the sea sneaking up from below, the Hooligans spend most of their lives up to their knees in muddy saltwater.
As they got nearer to Berk they didn't have time to feel sorry for themselves. The Hopeful Puffin was in difficulties. Never a very seaworthy boat, she had taken two big knocks, first when she was rammed by Snotlout's boat Sparrowhawk, then when Hiccup jumped down onto her decks from the Roman ship. She was taking on water even faster than normal.

Despite Hiccup and Fishlegs bailing out the water as quickly as they could with their helmets, by the time they reached Hooligan Harbor, she sank entirely.
They had to swim the last hundred meters, Hiccup holding Fishlegs up because (unusual for a Viking) Fishlegs had never quite mastered the doggy paddle.
To make matters worse, Gobber was standing on the harbor wall watching them come in, arms folded, brows as low as Thor's thunderclouds. When The Hopeful Puffin disappeared beneath the water he looked as if he might explode.

"It hasn't been a very successful day, has it?" moaned Fishlegs as they struggled out of the sea and
[Image: Gobber was not amused.]
onto the rocks. "At least we didn't meet any Sharkworms, after all..."
"I'm not sure there ever were any Sharkworms," said Hiccup through gritted teeth. He looked back sadly at the three circles of ripples and bubbles that were all that remained of The Hopeful Puffin. She had never been the most beautiful of boats but to him she was the best.

Slipping and sliding on the seaweedy rocks, they clambered reluctantly toward Gobber and stood before him, soaking wet, heads bowed. Fishlegs timidly offered him the Roman helmet.
Gobber was not amused.
"WHAT," he bellowed, pointing furiously at the Roman helmet, "WHAT in the name of Woden is this?"
"A Roman helmet, sir," admitted Fishlegs. "We sort of accidentally boarded a Roman ship by mistake ... we got lost, you see, sir ..."

"You got LOST?" boomed Gobber, not believing his ears. "Vikings don't get LOST. And how could you possibly board a Roman ship by mistake? A Roman ship doesn't look anything like a Peaceable fishing boat!"
"Yes, I know, sir," stammered Fishlegs. "But we thought there were these Sharkworms, you see --"

"And WHERE," Gobber interrupted Fishlegs, his voice dangerously calm, "WHERE is your boat?"
"Ah, yes, well," said Fishlegs miserably. "The boat sort of sank, sir."
"THE BOAT SORT OF SANK?" roared Gobber. "YOU CALL YOURSELVES VIKINGS AND YOU SORT OF SINK YOUR OWN BOAT ON A PERFECTLY CALM DAY TWO HUNDRED METERS FROM YOUR OWN ISLAND? WHAT KIND OF HOOLIGANS ARE YOU, ANYWAY? YOU CAN'T BUILD BOATS, YOU CAN'T TRAIN DRAGONS, FISHLEGS HERE CAN'T EVEN SWIM ...."

"Saltwater brings out my eczema ..." mumbled Fishlegs.
[Image: A man and a woman.]
"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE A PIRATE!" howled Gobber. "AS IT IS, YOU ARE THE MOST USELESS, MISERABLE, PATHETIC EXCUSES FOR TADPOLE POOS I HAVE EVER MET IN MY ENTIRE LIFE! I AM LOST FOR WORDS ..."
Despite being lost for words, Gobber yelled at them for the next ten minutes, telling them they were a disgrace to their Tribe and the worst recruits he had ever had. He put them on limpet rations for the next three weeks, and said the next time anything like this happened they would be expelled from the Program.

At home, it wasn't much better.
During supper, Hiccup explained to his father about the unfortunate accident of boarding the Roman galley by mistake, and about the kidnapping of Toothless, and how the Prefect had got hold of half of How to Speak Dragonese, and how Stoick really should send a war party to rescue Toothless and the book. Hiccup showed the sad remains of How to Speak Dragonese and the Roman helmet to his father to prove his story was genuine.

"Mmmmmmm," said Stoick thoughtfully. Stoick was a great giant of a man with enough red, haystacky beard and barrels of belly to equip at least two decent-sized Viking chieftains.
He wasn't really concentrating, because he was reading Hiccup's Pirate Training report, which was the worst report he had ever read. Thumbnails of Thor, he was thinking, how can anybody get --4 for Advanced Rudery? And nothing at all for Beginner Burping and Hammerthrowing Studies, which had been Stoick's favorite subjects when HE was a boy.

Stoick was trying very hard not to feel disappointed in his son. He kept telling himself that Hiccup was just a slow developer, and would soon start getting muscles and nose hair, and scoring the winning goal in Bashyball games like Stoick had himself. But what was he doing, earning reports like "Hiccup is the worst sailor I have ever taught in twenty years"? How could he have come back from a perfectly straightforward training exercise having misplaced both his dragon and his boat? And how could he possibly have got lost and accidentally boarded a Roman ship rather than a Peaceable fishing boat?

Vikings didn't get lost.
Stoick opened his mouth to bellow at his son.
And then he closed it again.
Small, skinny, freckled and unsatisfactory, Hiccup's worried face looked up at him. He was clearly desperately anxious about that laughably tiny
[Image: Report card.]
dragon of his. Stoick didn't have the heart to be angry. He crumpled up the report in one gigantic fist.

"Son," he said gently and gravely, "I am sorry you have lost Ruthless --"
"Toothless!" Hiccup interrupted indignantly. "He's called Toothless."
"Toothless," Stoick corrected himself hurriedly. "But I am about to tell you something very important."
[Image: Stoick the vast reading Hiccup's report.]

Stoick took Hiccup by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "You," he said solemnly, "are the son of a Chief. You have lost your pet, but you must be brave. You must be a MAN about it. There will be other dragons ..."
"Not like Toothless!" objected Hiccup, in distress. "That dragon trusted me and I let him down!"

"Silence!" said Stoick sternly. "What does a Chief feel, son?"
"A Chief feels no pain," replied Hiccup obediently. "But Father --"
Stoick was just getting into his stride. "A Chief feels no pain. A Chief feels no fear. A Chief must be above mere weak, personal feelings. There is no question of putting together a War Party to rescue your dragon. It would be a waste of our warriors' time. The Romans are probably halfway back to Rome by now and they'll have turned Useless into a handbag -- "

"Toothless," corrected Hiccup again, "and that's what I'm telling you, Father, I overheard them talking and I think they're not just passing through."
"Talking?" roared Stoick, his eyebrows lowering. "What do you mean TALKING? How did you understand these Romans?"
''Ah," admitted Hiccup. "Old Wrinkly's been teaching me some Latin, you see --"

"Latin? LATIN?" Stoick exploded. He crashed his fist so hard on the table that the oysters they'd been eating did a couple of cartwheels in the air. "My son, my son, has been speaking LATIN!"
He controlled himself with an effort. "Hooligans do not, I repeat, DO NOT, speak Latin. What are they teaching you in your Frightening Foreigners lessons? When a Hooligan meets a foreigner he shouts at it loudly and slowly. That's the only language a foreigner understands. Hooligans don't talk to dragons either. Or write books about them. you're spending far too much time scribbling about dragons and not enough time preparing to become a Chief."

Stoick took the half of How to Speak Dragonese out of Hiccup's hands and threw it onto the fire. Hiccup gasped. That book had everything he had ever learned about dragons in it. How would he ever talk to dragons again without it?
Stoick stomped off.
[Image: A chair.]
As soon as he was out of sight, Hiccup burned his fingers pulling the book out of the flames. Luckily it was still quite damp, and the edges were only very slightly burnt.

That night, for the first time in a long, long while, Hiccup had to go to bed without the company of Toothless. The little dragon was a small, wriggling, snoring hot-water bottle. Now Hiccup lay awake till the early hours of the morning, shivering uncontrollably under the thin covers, his feet and hands as cold as the North Pole, his ears trembling in the icy draft. And when eventually he slipped in and out of a feverish sleep, the nightdragons and the wind and the wolves seemed to be howling all together, "You've lost Tooooothlesss! Lost him forever! Lost Toooooooothless! Lost him forever and ever and ever" over and over and over again.