“That’s crazy, sir!” I shout, snorting flamestreams. “I’ve performed well this semester! I figured I’d receive an F. What about all the demons I defeated last week in the fiery pit? You saw how I ripped all their arms off!”
“Yes I did,” says Professor Nog. “You were a true barbarian in the fiery pit. This much I will admit. And I relished the screams of those demons as you ripped off their arms. On that day you were the cadet who comported himself with the most charm. But unfortunately this vid clip from your lair came vis-à-vis one of my micro-drones. And as you can imagine, this behavior I cannot condone!”
For a dead dragon, this scoundrel still has some ruthless rhyme skills. I have to admit, old Nog has a real way with words.
Then Professor Nog flicks his powerstaff and a holovid appears in the air and as soon as I see what it is I feel my giant heart sink. Because the holovid has been shot using a hidden micro-drone in the top right corner of my lair, and the footage is a little blurry but there’s still no doubt about what it is you’re looking at. And in the vid clip I’m lying in my nest with my talons covering my scaly green face and I’m sobbing and bawling and snuffling something awful.
I instantly realize this footage was shot last week. Right after I’d returned to my lair from Professor Nog’s class on that day when I’d ripped those demons’ arms off. I’d felt terrible after doing it, if you want to know the truth. I couldn’t shake the sound of their horrifying screams out of my skull. The whole escapade had left me feeling super guilty and downhearted.
So I’d crawled into my nest and had a good cry.
This is a problem that’s dogged me for years now. The tears. Sometimes when I do something real vicious that shows off my WILL TO POWER, then later I’ll go back to my lair and put my scaly head in my talons and bawl my eyes out.
It’s despicable, I know. And I always wind up hating myself for it afterward.
During my weekly sessions out at the Institute, my grandpa is forever flapping his beak at me about how my crying is the primary weak spot in my otherwise promising career as an Intergalactic Conqueror. Not counting my HORN DENSITY & IMPALABILITY rank of course, which is RemedialGore.
But the tears, well I blame them on my heinous cares-too-much heart.
I mean my HEART MASS INDEX rank is an off the charts DangerouslyJumbo.
Seems like I can never pull off even the most minor of ruthless acts without my stupid heart getting in the way. And out at the Institute, Dr. Terrible has warned me on multiple occasions that if I’m not able to cure my crying jags then he’ll be forced to take more drastic measures, like surgically removing my tear ducts.
[ 21 ]
HERE IN THE UNDERWORLD, PROFESSOR NOG TELLS ME ABOUT MY MOTHER AND FATHER, BOTH OF WHOM DIED WHILE ON THEIR FERTILITY MISSION TO PLANET EARTH
Anyway, now the holophoto floats over to Professor Nog and transforms into blacksmoke and then flies into his powerstaff.
“Frankly,” says Professor Nog, “I consider it very generous of me to give you an A. Considering the nature of your infraction. I think you realize your punishment could be much more severe than simply failing my course!”
We both know what Nog means. Because crying is the highest possible crime a WarWings dragon can commit. And any dragon seen or recorded crying is immediately sentenced to death by firestream.
And right then I know we’re both thinking of last night’s RageFest. Because we both know, what with my grandpa Dr. Terrible having humiliated Dean Floop last night by blinding him in his eye out on the campus quad, well Dean Floop would relish the opportunity to blast me with a firestream and reduce me to a pile of ash.
“Relish” probably isn’t even a strong enough word. For the demented and dangerous Dean Floop, the act of firestreaming me would surely be luscious.
“But,” says Professor Nog as he snorts firebolts, “I’m no fan of Dean Floop and his ilk here at WarWings. For one thing, Dean Floop is threatening to cut funding for our Underworld studies. And so you needn’t worry, Gork, I’m not going to turn you in.”
“Thank you, Professor,” I whisper.
“For what, Gork?”
“For saving my life, sir.”
I look with gratitude into Nog’s ancient scaly green face and he stares back at me for a moment before blinking and turning away.
“Never mind. It’s nothing,” says Professor Nog.
I know I’ve just made Nog uncomfortable. Because thanking someone implies that they care about you. Which is universally regarded as a major character defect, to care like that.
But since we are alone, I know Professor Nog will let it slide. Whereas if there were other cadets present to witness my thank-you then Nog would be obligated to attack me on the spot. In order to save face and preserve dragon order. But the truth is, old wise Nog understands that I’m simply a victim of my compassionate heart, and so I can’t curb my grotesque impulse toward verbal expressions of gratitude.
And what’s more, secretly I know that Nog really does care. But that doesn’t mean I have to disrespect him by rubbing his beak in it like this. Well I’ve still got a damn sight more to learn, in terms of growing up and becoming an insidious dragon fiend.
“Now you haven’t heard from Dr. Terrible, have you?” says Professor Nog. “Do you know where he is? I must confess his disappearance last night has caused quite a ripple among us faculty who are sympathetic to his cause.”
“No sir. I don’t know where he is.”
“I didn’t think so,” he says. “But of course it doesn’t hurt to ask, because you never know. I especially liked the mind-swap your grandpa did between a dolphin and a bumblebee. How that dolphin spent all day flying around in the garden as if he were a bee. Hovering in front of a rose. Going from flower to flower, collecting pollen on the end of its nose!”
“Yes sir,” I say, snorting blacksmoke out my nostrils.
But I’m thinking about how things turned out in the end for that poor worm who’d been mind-swapped with the lion. That deranged worm who through no choice of its own had been endowed with that insanely high ScalesOfMenace rank.
Because yesterday, Thursday, that worm surprised everyone by committing suicide.
The worm hung itself using a piece of thread.
One of the first-year cadets discovered the worm hanging over a sink in the Library bathroom.
And just this morning there had been a big article about the worm’s suicide posted on our school datastream, The Digital Fire-Breather. It was posted right under the article about Dr. Terrible’s disappearance and the fact that he was now wanted by the Council of the Elders for treason and was considered a fugitive at large.