Prayers

SEVEN

SEVEN:

It was with extreme trepidation that Hiccup went to the Prosecutor's Office, the click of his crutches loud as he made his way through the fine red marble lobby to the desk. Ahead, a twice life-size portrait of his father scowled down on him, the powerful shape of Stoick Haddock looking every bit as stern as he had in real life when he was chastising his son for another stupid escapade. The cold grey-green eyes were focussed on the young lawyer, looking over the big nose and the huge full flaming red beard, lightly streaked with grey. Dipping his head with a jab of grief, he made it to the desk.

"Hiccup Haddock-I need to speak to Prosecutor Mala Queen about my case," he said to the clerk at the desk and she smiled.

"Good to see you up and about, Hiccup," she said. "We were all very worried when we heard you had been attacked. How are things? He smiled.

"Improving, thanks Phlegma," he said honestly. "Glad to still be here." She smiled.

"Go on up," Phlegma said, her broad face cheerful. "I'll let her know you're on the way." She paused. "Elevator is to the left." He eyeballed the long sweeping magnificent stair and nodded gratefully.

"Thanks," he sighed and made his way to the elevator. Heading up to the second floor-as he had countless times as Defender and far fewer to visit his father...especially on that terrible day when Stoick Haddock had dropped dead at his desk after a choleric outburst, when a brain haemorrhage had felled the finest legal mind in Berk...Hiccup felt his pulse accelerate. Mala Queen-who had been Stoick's Deputy for three years before his death, a post the great man had always hoped his son would assume-was an impressive woman with a precise mind, a cool intelligence and an ability not to let emotion get in the way of the facts. A crime that Hiccup had allowed himself to commit.

The lift stopped with a slight jolt and the doors slid open, allowing Hiccup to exit and limp slowly down the hall-to see Mala waiting at the door. She was smiling and Hiccup felt worse. She was a tall, elegant woman with strawberry blonde hair in a page cut, a pointed chin and clear green eyes. She always dressed in black-currently in a knee length shift dress and jacket.

"How are you?" she asked warmly and Hiccup smiled.

"Getting there," he admitted.

"I've asked Phlegma for coffee, if that's okay?" she said, moving to her seat and closing the door. He nodded gratefully and manoeuvred into the chair, placing his bag by his side and resting his crutches securely.

"Perfect," he said and then he sighed. "But I need to talk to you about the case." Mala frowned.

"I was under the impression that the case was closed since your client, the man accused of killing your attacker, was now deceased," she said in a reasonable voice but Hiccup sighed and shook his head.

"I have to discuss the attack with you," he said quietly as Phlegma brought in a tray with two white china cups of coffee. Winking at Hiccup, she served him freshly brewed coffee and then quietly left as he sipped his drink and sighed. "I remember what happened, Mala."

Her eyes inspected him closely and she nodded, sipping her coffee.

"Tell me," she said.

She listened quietly as he told her what he recalled of the attack, of how he turned the knife on the attacker and how Tallyn Fury took the blame and claimed he had killed the man. How Hiccup had been puzzled and briefly doubted his own recollections. How he had seen the man and discussed it with him-and been persuaded to hold his peace until the trial.

And then he handed over the letter and Mala's eyes keenly scanned the words, her fine brows rising as she read the most personal portions and the man's admission. When he handed over the statement, she read it carefully, setting her coffee aside and thoroughly checking every line. And then she sat back.