laughing heartily. Another crash, more obscenities.
Nicodemus looked up to heaven and said, “Not since Los became the first demon has there been so much chaos as now exists on the other side of this door. Celeste, goddess, haven’t I had enough tribulations for one night? Perhaps you could put them to sleep. I promise to clean up whatever they’ve done.”
Crash, laughter, crash. “Drink goat piss, you slimy pigeon penis!”
Nicodemus frowned at the closed door. “Dev, do pigeons even have penises?”
Simple John bellowed a battle cry of “SIIIIMPLE JOHN!”
Sighing, Nicodemus opened the door and stepped inside. Immediately, he jumped back to avoid a Jejunus curse that shot past in a pink blur.
Of the common magical languages, Jejunus was the weakest—so weak, in fact, that it was used only for teaching. It had a simple syntax and its large pink runes were identical to mundane letters; this meant that it was almost impossible to misspell and hence safe for cacographers. Perhaps more important, their soft, muddy texture made them safe to handle.
The curse that had missed Nicodemus’s nose by inches had read, “FIND [John’s left butt cheek] and LABEL with (I’m a gelatinous poop sucker).” Nicodemus groaned.
“Simple John!” trumpeted Simple John. Another crash.
Peering into the room, Nicodemus saw a proud John holding up several sentences that read “ERASE [Devin’s spell].”
The big man had slipped his arms out of the slits sewn into the tops of his sleeves so as to better see the language forming in his giant muscles. All around John lay overturned chairs and scattered pages.
The big man forged another Jejunus sentence in his bicep and slipped it down into his balled fist. Laughing uncontrollably, he cocked his massive arm and with an overhand throw cast “FIND and HIT [Devin’s right butt cheek].”
Almost faster than Nicodemus’s eyes could follow, the gooey pink ball shot across the room.
Devin dove behind an overturned table, but John’s curse flew over the barricade and dropped into a dive attack. Devin screamed something—likely obscene—and popped up from behind the table.
Like John, she had slipped her arms out of her sleeves. From her right hand extended an octopus-like spell, each tentacle of which read, “Edit [Simple John’s incoming spell].”
John’s obscenity was caught among the tentacles and struggled like a minnow. Devin cackled as she began to edit the curse.
As a boy, Nicodemus had loved Jejunus cursing matches. He had hurled handfuls of dirty words with his classmates, had relished flicking obscenities into rivals’ faces, had giggled uncontrollably when filthy language had splattered onto another child’s back.
But that had been long ago, before the wizards had moved him into the Drum Tower.
“HEY!” he boomed. Both combatants looked at him. “WHAT IN THE BURNING HELLS IS GOING ON HERE?”
Even though Nicodemus was the youngest of the three by thirty years, he had long ago assumed the roles of housekeeper and disciplinarian.
Perhaps mistaking Nicodemus’s anger for irritation at being excluded, Simple John cast “FIND [Nicodemus’s ear] and SOUND (a sick donkey farting).”
Nicodemus quickly wrote “FIND and ERASE [any spell]” in the back of his hand and flicked the spell into the air. It careened into John’s curse and knocked both texts out of existence with a wet pop. If needed, Nicodemus could flood the room with similar censoring texts.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Nicodemus barked. “What if one of the younger cacographers had walked in just now? We’d be in a fine state then. There’d be cursing matches up and down the tower until spring. Or what if a wizard had stopped by? With the convocation on, the repercus-sions would be horrible.”
The other cacographers fell silent. Simple John swallowed his smile and hung his head.
“What’s it to you, Nico?” Devin sneered. “Afraid Shannon’ll find out? Afraid the old man won’t let you teach your precious class?”
“Devin,” Nicodemus said, leveling his gaze at the short redhead, “how many penitences do you have left for the flooded privy prank?”
She glared at him.
“Don’t you see that our place in Starhaven is not secure? As Magister Shannon just reminded me, our disability puts an extra burden on us. And we all know that in other academies cacographers aren’t treated so well. Astrophell censors magical language out of their cacographers.”
“As if that would be so bad, to leave this place,” Devin groused.
“Well excuse me, my lady. I was unaware of your noble blood.” Nicodemus dipped into a mock bow. “Because that’s what it’d take to find a life as comfortable and safe as we have here. As an illiterate, you might end up a scullery maid, but think of John. How would he get by?”
“No,” Simple John protested softly.
Devin lowered her eyes and dropped her spell. An uncomfortable moment passed.
In the awkward silence, Nicodemus felt a slow sinking sensation. Could he call his floormates reckless when, only an hour ago, he had misspelled a library gargoyle? If caught, his mistake would have damaged the reputation of cacographers far more than the discovery of a simple cursing match.
“Dev, John, I’m sorry,” he said in a softer tone. “I had a rough night in the library and disappointed Shannon. He’s worried about some of the convocation’s delegates. It might even be dangerous for us to be seen misspelling.”
Neither of the other cacographers spoke. John was looking at his boots, Devin scowling at the ceiling.
“I’ll help clean up,” Nicodemus said wearily.
They worked silently. Simple John righted the tables while the other two shifted chairs and retrieved the pages strewn about the floor. Twice Nicodemus saw Devin and Simple John smirking at each other, but when they noticed him watching they jumped back to work.
When finished, Nicodemus snuffed the tapers and trudged into his bedroom. It was cold for the first time since last spring. Autumn was growing old.
He forged the ignition words and tossed them into the small fireplace. A spark spell caught the text and then set the kindling aflame. Light flickered across the modest chamber and Nicodemus’s few possessions: a sleeping cot, a desk, two chests, a washstand, a chamber pot.
Under the bed sat a stack of mundane books. Among them was a knightly romance he had bought from a Lornish peddler. The fellow had promised that this particular romance, The Silver Shield, was the best one yet.
Nicodemus’s love for knightly romances sometimes followed him into his sleep. Since he had arrived in Starhaven, Nicodemus had spent countless hours imagining night terrors to populate the nearby forest. In both his dreams at night and daydreams, he would venture out to vanquish the imagined monsters.
He smiled now, thinking of the strange antagonists his young mind had imagined. Uro was a giant insect with a spiked carapace and scythelike hands. Tamelkan, the sightless dragon, possessed tentacles that grew from his chin. And of course there was Garkex, the firetroll, who spouted flame from his three horns and fiery curses from his mouth.
Dreaming of monsters and battles was a childish pleasure, Nicodemus knew, but it was one of the few he had known.
Looking at the book again, he sighed. His eyes were too weary to read.
He flopped onto his cot and began to untie his robe at the back of his neck. His hair could use brushing.
He was looking around for his comb when the sound of flapping wings came to his window. He turned to regard a large bird with vivid blue plumage. Bright yellow skin shone around