Lost and Found

Prologue

The grey tabby meowed plaintively as he watched his human rush into the large airy kitchen, which looked very like a medieval hall, or at least what a medieval hall would have looked like if modern amenities had been invented in the Middle Ages. The man, a stocky fellow in his mid-forties, balding but with a luxurious blond mustache, looked as if he would have more comfortable in a rugby uniform than the Italian wool three-piece suit he was wearing. Indeed, Gobber (Gulliver) Bell had been a star for Eton's rugby team in years gone by. But those days had long passed and Gobber was now an advisor and 'right-hand man' for his oldest and closest friend-Stoick Vastley, the Duke of Berkshire.

"Of all days for Mabel Bly to take sick," he exclaimed, pulling on his suit jacket and tugging at his silk tie, and somehow managing to look even more rumpled than before. "Got to be in London by ten and now there's no time for breakfast. I ask you, Grump, how's a man supposed to survive meeting with the most pig-headed board of directors in the history of the world on an empty stomach?"

Grump yowled even more demandingly as he wove in and out between Gobber's feet. Whether the human ate or not was his own affair, but Grump was going to be most displeased if a tuna breakfast didn't appear in his food bowl in short order.

"Ah, hush up, you old moggie. I haven't forgotten you." Gobber knelt to set some food in the cat's bowl and scratched behind the tabby's ears. Feeling more cheerful now that he had been served his morning meal, Grump pushed his head against Gobber's large hand and purred in gratitude.

Gobber straightened. "Well, I'm having my coffee at any rate." He switched on the flat-screen television set into a wide space on the brick wall. "Let's see what the traffic's like on the M4 this morning."

He bustled over to fix a cup of coffee while a woman's cheery voice announced, "Welcome to "The Morning Show" and I'm Atali McIver. If you're just tuning in, today we have a very special guest. We're going to be talking about the incredible, true life, rags-to-riches story of young Hiccup Haddock, the author whose Dragon Quartet books have taken the world by storm."

There was loud applause and cheering from the studio audience as a young man came onscreen. Gobber spared a glance at the telly, just as it showed a close-up of the young man's face, and he almost dropped his coffee mug. Staring in open-mouthed amazement, he set the cup down on the counter and went to stand directly in front of the set, watching intently as the television host greeted her guest.

Hiccup Haddock looked obviously uncomfortable at his fans' wild acclaim, but he smiled shyly at the crowd and dipped his head towards them before shaking hands with the smart, well-dressed woman from the show. He was average height and very lean (an uncharitable person might have said 'scrawny'), with chestnut hair and a thin face. He wore black trousers with an emerald-green Oxford shirt that matched his eyes.

"The spitting image of Valka," Gobber murmured to himself.

"Good morning, Mr. Haddock. We're so glad you could be here," Atali said, as she seated herself in an armchair set on the stage and gestured for Hiccup to take the accompanying chair.

"Um, thank you for inviting me," Hiccup responded. "And um, you can call me Hiccup. No one calls me Mr. Haddock."

"So is Hiccup your real name?" Atali asked. "It's quite unusual, isn't it? I know a lot of people believe that you chose it as a nom de plume, for your books, to hide your identity."

"No, it's my real name," Hiccup answered quietly. "Yes, it is unusual. When I started the books, I never expected them to be successful, and I was pretty young then anyway, so it never occurred to me to use a false name."

"Let's come back to the books in just a minute," the host smiled. "I admit I'm very curious about your name. How did you come to be called Hiccup, if you don't mind my asking?"

Hiccup actually didn't look entirely comfortable at the question but he answered politely. "Mrs. Jensen told me that it was because I was so small as a baby. I was just a hiccup, you see, and no one knew my real name, or if I even had one, so everyone started calling me Hiccup and it became my name."

"And how did Haddock become your surname?"

"Well, apparently the Jensens were having haddock for dinner the night they were choosing my name, and so Mr. Jensen suggested it." Hiccup smiled wryly. "The Jensens are very nice people, but maybe not so great at names."

"And who are the Jensens?"

"Sven and Phlegma Jensen are the directors of the Forge Street Children's Home, where I grew up." Hiccup's voice was quiet.

Atali hesitated before pressing gently, "So it's true that you were found on-"

"On the doorstep of the London Police Department, Snow Hill branch, when I was approximately three months old. I was even wrapped in a blanket in a basket, just like a fairy tale. Except that there was no mysterious note with a clue to my real identity." Hiccup's smile had grown tight. "So I was taken to the Forge Street Children's Home. I lived there until six months ago, when I aged out of the system."

"It definitely does sound like something from a storybook," the morning show host remarked.

"Yes," Hiccup said quietly. "Except that it's my life, and being abandoned is not very exciting or fun in real life."

There was an awkward pause and then Atali moved on smoothly. "Speaking of storybooks, could you tell us how you came about writing the Dragon Quartet books?"

Hiccup seemed more relieved now that they were talking about his books. "Oh, well, it could be a little lonely growing up in the ChiIdren's Home and I've always had a crazy imagination. So as far back as I can remember, I made up a group of imaginary friends. And I loved dragons, so I pretended that my imaginary friends found a nest of dragon eggs, and the eggs hatched. Then I just made up all these wild adventures for the kids and their dragons."

"But every child pretends make-believe stories," Atali pointed out. "How did you go from being an imaginative child to a best-selling author?"

Hiccup considered. "Well, I don't know if you remember, but the summer when I was twelve, the weather in London was just really horrible. There were thunderstorms, and it poured buckets of rain almost every day, and we kids didn't get to spend much time outside. I guess because I was bored and having to spend so much time cooped up, that was when it occurred to me to try writing my stories down, to see if I could actually write them as books."

He gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. "So that's how it started."

"So you actually started writing the Dragon Quartet books when you were only twelve years old?"

"The first book, yes," Hiccup agreed. He smiled again, a real smile with a flash of genuine humour. "Obviously, it went through some revision and editing before it was published."

Watching from home in the little village of Eastbury, Gobber spoke aloud to himself again, "He's got Valka's smile, too."

Atali shook her head slightly. "It's certainly an impressive feat. Now, rumour has it that you wrote the books out by hand, in spiral notebooks."

"That's true," Hiccup agreed again. "I did."

"I guess the Children's Home didn't have computers?" Atali asked.

"There were a couple," Hiccup answered. "But they were mostly for schoolwork, and they were strictly monitored. So I wrote in notebooks."

"Those notebooks might be worth a lot of money someday," Atali commented. "The notebooks with the original Dragon Quartet stories."

"I don't know about that," Hiccup grinned again. "But maybe I'll hang on to them, just in case."

"I'm sure they will be," Atali continued. "After all, Book One became hugely successful, almost overnight it seemed. It's sold over a million copies in print, and been on top of all the bestseller lists. Book Two is on track to sell even more, which is amazing since it was only released a few weeks ago. And Warner Brothers is negotiating for movie rights, too, aren't they?"

Hiccup nodded. "It's been a whirlwind."

"It was just six months ago that The Dragon Quartet, Book One was published. Tell me, could you have ever imagined this kind of success six months ago?"

Hiccup immediately shook his head. "Oh no, I still can't believe it. I mean, six months ago I was about to age out of the foster care system and I didn't know what was going to become of me. I did have the option of attending a trade school, but I really wanted to be an author. I guess it had become a dream, to share my stories, to have a book published. But I was afraid that no one else would like them, and I knew the odds were against me. I almost didn't even try. You know, I almost didn't send the first book out."

"But then I thought that I didn't have anything to lose and when I looked up publishers and literary agents, I saw the Dragon's Edge Company. I thought that was a funny coincidence, with my books being about dragons and all. So I sent a manuscript in and then Eret—that's Eret Eretson, my agent—called to say that they liked it and they wanted to take a chance on it."

Hiccup shrugged slightly again. "It just seemed like it was meant to be, you know."

Atali smiled. "It's certainly paid off, for them and for you. And there's a third book as well?"

"I've written four books, actually," Hiccup explained. "The third one is due out next spring, and I'm not sure when the fourth one will be released yet. I'm still editing it."

"That is truly amazing," Atali remarked. "And you're still just eighteen, aren't you?"

Hiccup nodded. "Yes, my birthday will be next March. Of course, I don't know my real actual birth date, but I was left on the doorstep on the first of June, and since I was about three months old, the Jensens put down March first as my birthday."

In Eastbury, Gobber spoke to the boy on the television screen. "If you're who I think you are, then your birthday is February 29."

Then he realized that while he had been speaking, Atali McIver must have been saying good-bye to Hiccup Haddock, because they had both stood up and were shaking hands. Gobber leaned forward and watched closely as Hiccup walked off-stage.

"Hmm, he's not limping," he mused. "But I suppose that leg could have been taken care of."

Gobber reached for the remote and switched the television off, then took a sip of his coffee, making a face when he realized that it had gone cold.

He called a number on his phone while re-heating the coffee in the microwave. "Hey, George. Gobber here. Clear my schedule for today—and tomorrow too, while you're at it. Yea, I know they won't like it. But something's come up, something important, and I've got to deal with it. I should be back in the office Monday. Thanks, George."

Taking the mug of warm-once-more coffee, Gobber walked into the adjoining keeping room and sank down into a beige leather armchair. He drank his coffee slowly, staring thoughtfully into space, until Grump jumped into his lap and pushed at his hand, demanding attention.

"Hey watch it, Your Majesty. You almost made me spill hot coffee on you." Gobber set the mug aside and patted the cat's head. "What am I supposed to do now, Grump? It's impossible, it's got to be. Little Hamish died in that fire."

Gobber absently scratched Grump behind the ears, before speaking again. "But they never found the baby's body, and that boy looks exactly like Valka-well, if Valka had been a boy, that is. But it isn't just that. He's the right age, abandoned with no family, no history. It's got to be him. It's just too suspicious. Isn't it?"

"And how do I tell Stoick?" Gobber asked the cat. "I can't just ring him up and say, 'Oh, by the way, I think your dead son isn't really dead and I just saw him on the telly', can I? But he needs to know. If that boy really is Hamish, it would mean everything to Stoick, everything. And to the boy too." am

Gobber stared into space for a long while, before slowly reaching for his phone again. He punched a number and waited until a hearty voice greeted him.

"Well, top of the morning to you too, you old Viking." Gobber's smile vanished as he took a deep breath and continued.

"Hey, Stoick, there's a reason I'm calling…"

Author's Notes: I really didn't need to begin another story, but this idea occurred to me and I couldn't resist. I'm a huge Anglophile. It developed in childhood from reading Frances Hodgson Burnett and Noel Streatfeild, and has continued well into adulthood with a variety of Gothic mysteries and the incomparable Harry Potter books. Since this story is set in England, I'm trying to make it more authentic with British spellings and terms—but as the old saying goes, I know just enough to be dangerous! Please forgive any mistakes in this area.

And if you enjoy reading, please leave a review! It makes an author happy!