The Dark Talent

“Fine,” Grandpa said. “You fetch your evil Librarian mother from the jail. I’ll go warm up the giant penguin!”

“Wouldn’t tennis be way more interesting with explosive balls?”

“Well, that was fun,” Grandpa said as he climbed to his feet. “Anyone dead?”“Does my pride count?” Draulin asked, dusting herself off.“I don’t think so,” Grandpa said. “I killed that years ago. Dif, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but shoving my grandson out of planes is usually my job. So next time, kindly refrain until I give the word.”“Sorry, sir,” Dif said, looking abashed.”

“Some of you have been waiting for years to read this, the final volume of my autobiography.”

“Imagine jumping off a high building into a sea of marshmallows, then reaching out with a million arms to touch the entire world, while realizing that every emotion you’ve ever had is connected to every other emotion, and they’re really one big emotion, like an emotion-whale that you can’t completely see because you’re up too close to notice anything other than a little bit of leathery emotion-whale skin. I”

“We must go. Leave the Smedrys to do what they do best.” “Save the world?” Grandpa asked. “Get into trouble?” Kaz asked. “Run around screaming?” I asked.”

“Colliding Kowals!” he yelled at us. “What took you so long? Get in, get in! Oh, and by the way, Shasta, I’m giving this penguin to you!” “Giving it to me?” she shouted up at him as we reached the base of the penguin. “Why in the world would you do that?” “Because I promised my grandson we’d steal a ship to ride out,” Grandpa yelled back, “and we can’t very well do that if we own the blasted thing. So it’s yours. Incidentally, we’re stealing it. Onward!”

“only seen a glimpse of it in the bright light: an outfit of Nalhallan design, with big epaulettes* on the shoulders and all kinds of ropes and ribbons and buttons and things, intended to make officers stand out on a battlefield and get shot first so the soldiers doing the real fighting are safe.”

“you know, eating bricks, glaring”

“wonder why I keep writing these chapter introductions. I spend a lot of time in these stories not actually writing these stories. There must be something to it. Something I don’t want to admit. These are another delay. To keep myself from writing the inevitable. As long as I’m waxing fanciful about bunnies and bazookas, I don’t have to make progress toward the ending. I don’t want to get there. Despite claiming I’m writing these autobiographies to set the story straight, I don’t actually want to do it. Deep down, I’d rather think of myself as a hero. Of course, I’m probably too much of a coward to include this section in the book.”

“You are worried I’ve started something dangerous,” I said. “You’re wrong. I’m not starting it, I’m finishing it.”

“The Talents aren’t alive—no more than your conscience is alive, or your anger is alive. You may feel like these things have a life to them, but that’s dangerous—it makes them external, Al. Like you don’t have responsibility for them. Your Talent is a piece of you.”

“The explosion, it seemed, had shocked the life into people.*”

“Your father never fit in here either. He never fit in anywhere. It’s part of what I like about him.” Troubled,”

“As for being young,” I said, kneeling down, “yeah, I’m aware. Doesn’t mean I haven’t figured out a few things.”

“So it’s time for you to stand up, stop whining, and either help or get out of my way.” I”