Therrik’s prejudices about magic—and those who could wield it.
“Sir,” Lieutenant Pimples asked, “should I do something when they disrespect… an officer?”
General Ort had been staring pensively over the railing at the farmlands plodding past below and might not have heard the “disrespect,” but he faced the younger man now. “You have to earn their respect.”
“But they don’t even know me. The dirigibles have their own hangars, and I’ve barely seen them before. It’s one thing when Wolf Squadron harasses me—I’m used to that—but…” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
Tolemek supposed he should back up. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping on the conversation, and he didn’t care that much about the lieutenant’s problems. He just wanted to find Cas.
“I don’t know why we have to get such embarrassing nicknames,” Pimples said. “Not everybody does. Ahn gets to be Raptor. And what about Blazer? And Crash? Well, Crash probably isn’t that flattering, but I don’t get why we all can’t get respectful names when we’re up there risking our lives.”
Tolemek’s resolve to back away faded at the mention of Cas’s name, his curiosity roused as he wondered if they would speak about her and what they might say.
“It’s part of being accepted into the squadron,” Ort said. “You should know that. There are more embarrassing nicknames than not, I believe. I don’t think anyone dared peg Raptor with anything too unflattering, given who her father is. Also, she was one of the rare ones who performed admirably—more than admirably—on her first mission. She utterly destroyed four gunners on a pirate airship by herself, as I recall. Most people flub things early on, when their nerves get the best of them. Takes a while to grow out of that. Just be pleased you survived your early missions. Not everybody does.”
“I suppose. I’ve always wondered… how come General Zirkander doesn’t have a nickname, sir? Was he like Raptor? Too good to mock?”
General Ort snorted.
Tolemek leaned his shoulder against the flier. It might have been Cas’s name that had kept him here eavesdropping, but he wouldn’t mind some ammo to use against Zirkander at an appropriate moment.
“Let’s just say,” Ort said, “that he’s relieved that everyone who knew it has retired, passed away, or transferred out of a flight unit.”
“Oh, let’s say more than that, sir. Please? You know it.”
“Yes, and it’s a shame he doesn’t go by it anymore.” General Ort had struck Tolemek as a serious officer, not someone who made jokes or found much amusing in life, but he sounded like his eyes were gleaming now.
“What is it?”
“Don’t you have some paint left to apply, Lieutenant?”
Tolemek frowned, almost as disappointed as Pimples, no doubt. Sardelle had tried to teach him a few techniques for telepathic communication and sensing other people’s thoughts, but he didn’t know enough to try and read whatever Ort was thinking about yet. The king kept him too busy with his other research, the work where his talents flowed out naturally without conscious thought.
“Aw, sir. If you tell me, I won’t tell anyone else. And I’ll paint the scratches on your flier too. And oil the seat. And wipe down the control panel. And I’ll bring you lunch.”
“Weren’t you going to do that anyway?” Ort asked.
“Uhm. Maybe not the lunch part.”
“I see. Since you’ve made such a magnanimous offer, it would be rude of me not to accept it.” Ort lowered his voice and leaned close to Pimples.
Tolemek leaned around the nose of the plane, afraid he wouldn’t hear. He needn’t have worried. Pimples repeated the whispered word loudly and incredulously.
“ Puddles? ”
“Yes. I wasn’t stationed anywhere near the capital back then, but it’s in his records. Apparently, he was more scared than a dog in a thunderstorm when he took off on his first real assignment, and it was a killer. Cofah
“Sir,” Lieutenant Pimples asked, “should I do something when they disrespect… an officer?”
General Ort had been staring pensively over the railing at the farmlands plodding past below and might not have heard the “disrespect,” but he faced the younger man now. “You have to earn their respect.”
“But they don’t even know me. The dirigibles have their own hangars, and I’ve barely seen them before. It’s one thing when Wolf Squadron harasses me—I’m used to that—but…” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
Tolemek supposed he should back up. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping on the conversation, and he didn’t care that much about the lieutenant’s problems. He just wanted to find Cas.
“I don’t know why we have to get such embarrassing nicknames,” Pimples said. “Not everybody does. Ahn gets to be Raptor. And what about Blazer? And Crash? Well, Crash probably isn’t that flattering, but I don’t get why we all can’t get respectful names when we’re up there risking our lives.”
Tolemek’s resolve to back away faded at the mention of Cas’s name, his curiosity roused as he wondered if they would speak about her and what they might say.
“It’s part of being accepted into the squadron,” Ort said. “You should know that. There are more embarrassing nicknames than not, I believe. I don’t think anyone dared peg Raptor with anything too unflattering, given who her father is. Also, she was one of the rare ones who performed admirably—more than admirably—on her first mission. She utterly destroyed four gunners on a pirate airship by herself, as I recall. Most people flub things early on, when their nerves get the best of them. Takes a while to grow out of that. Just be pleased you survived your early missions. Not everybody does.”
“I suppose. I’ve always wondered… how come General Zirkander doesn’t have a nickname, sir? Was he like Raptor? Too good to mock?”
General Ort snorted.
Tolemek leaned his shoulder against the flier. It might have been Cas’s name that had kept him here eavesdropping, but he wouldn’t mind some ammo to use against Zirkander at an appropriate moment.
“Let’s just say,” Ort said, “that he’s relieved that everyone who knew it has retired, passed away, or transferred out of a flight unit.”
“Oh, let’s say more than that, sir. Please? You know it.”
“Yes, and it’s a shame he doesn’t go by it anymore.” General Ort had struck Tolemek as a serious officer, not someone who made jokes or found much amusing in life, but he sounded like his eyes were gleaming now.
“What is it?”
“Don’t you have some paint left to apply, Lieutenant?”
Tolemek frowned, almost as disappointed as Pimples, no doubt. Sardelle had tried to teach him a few techniques for telepathic communication and sensing other people’s thoughts, but he didn’t know enough to try and read whatever Ort was thinking about yet. The king kept him too busy with his other research, the work where his talents flowed out naturally without conscious thought.
“Aw, sir. If you tell me, I won’t tell anyone else. And I’ll paint the scratches on your flier too. And oil the seat. And wipe down the control panel. And I’ll bring you lunch.”
“Weren’t you going to do that anyway?” Ort asked.
“Uhm. Maybe not the lunch part.”
“I see. Since you’ve made such a magnanimous offer, it would be rude of me not to accept it.” Ort lowered his voice and leaned close to Pimples.
Tolemek leaned around the nose of the plane, afraid he wouldn’t hear. He needn’t have worried. Pimples repeated the whispered word loudly and incredulously.
“ Puddles? ”
“Yes. I wasn’t stationed anywhere near the capital back then, but it’s in his records. Apparently, he was more scared than a dog in a thunderstorm when he took off on his first real assignment, and it was a killer. Cofah
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