Aidan’s face must have been a treat. To his credit, the Englishman didn’t spray beer or choke. Whatever he did, though, made Doctors Abrabanel and Nichols suddenly look very professional. Frank’s dad grinned, Mike Stearns smiled and Father Mazzare shot Frank a sharp look.
Mister Piazza snorted, briefly, but without cracking his face. Frank Stone found that oddly satisfying, that all his student pranks hadn’t been wasted in keeping the old guy interested in his work back when he’d been a principal.
“So, young feller, I wouldn’t wait on your friend to introduce you prop’ly,” said Jackson. “And we don’t care much about fancy manners anyhow. Pleased to meet you, Aidan, and what are you going to do now you’re quittin’ school?”
Aidan leapt to his feet. “Sah! Private Southworth, Sah!” he bellowed, and came to quivering attention with a salute that practically echoed off the walls.
“I will get you for this,” muttered Frank under his breath, although he doubted Aidan heard him.
“At ease, Private,” said Jackson. “Aw, hell, siddown, son. I think you got your own back, there.”
Aidan sat down. “Much obliged, General, sir.”
“You been a soldier before?” asked Jackson, squinting suddenly in half-recognition.
“Sir, I was a private soldier after I got out of prison for a while, sir. I was a sergeant in Colonel Stanley’s Regiment in the Army of Flanders, sir. I took a leave of absence to get my letters again at summer school, sir.” Aidan picked up his beer and took a drink. It had been quite a long speech for the usually laconic soldier.
Frank seethed slightly. A moment of surprise was all he’d managed to inflict, damn it. He’d hoped to see Aidan in the grip of that no-trousers feeling, but then a man who had had to take cover from napalm in the line of duty was probably a little harder to faze than most.
“Ah,” said Jackson. “Frank said you’d graduated something—you’re looking to be a corporal?”
“Sir, yes, sir. As I said, sir, I was a sergeant with the Spani—” Aidan paused a moment, apparently realizing who he was addressing.
Stearns waved Aidan’s concern aside. “Don’t worry, son. Lots of folks in this town spent time, uh, elsewhere. It’s where you are now that counts.”
“Even some Americans,” said Jackson, “weren’t on the right side to begin with.” He exchanged a look with Stearns that Frank couldn’t read. “So, Private Southworth, how have you done with the rest of your training?”
Aidan shifted on his seat. At last, Frank thought, he’s having the good grace to be embarrassed. “Sir, I needed but the ticket of having my letters and I shall be fit to be a corporal of horse, sir, and to be an officer some day.”
“You go, son,” said Doctor Nichols, and the others around the table murmured assent, lifted their glasses or just nodded approvingly.
Mister Piazza beamed particularly widely. “Our adult literacy program,” he said. “Most folks hereabouts can read, but a fair few need a refresher or to read something that isn’t the Bible. Quite the success, and the best spend of a taxpayer dollar I have seen in some time. Actually, half the battle is teaching folks to read our script.”
“Eh?” Frank frowned, trying to pick out the right mental image.
“Fraktur,” Mister Piazza said, “Gothic script. If you grew up reading it, you need to learn any different alphabet you want to use all over again. We’re doing classes for up-timers to learn the other way around, of course, but Roman script is catching on here in Germany the way it did in our timeline.”
“Ah,” Frank nodded. He’d known that, actually.
“Venice,” his dad said. “We were talking about Venice. Father Mazzare is going to be our ambassador to the Most Serene Republic of Venice.”
“What?” said Frank, and realized immediately how that sounded. “I mean, cool, but that’s not your scene, is it? Your thing is chemistry, and growing stuff—”
Dad was grinning, as was—no, in fact, all of the adults were grinning. Adults. He was an adult, damn it. Legally, at least. It was just hard to think that way with your high-school principal across the table.