that Nora had supposed the man to be his father.
Shannon frowned at the phrase “Boy new to D.Tower” and thought about which cacographers had moved into the Drum Tower eleven years ago.
A sudden chill ran through his veins. Nicodemus was the only one.
Worse, that was the year the academy had judged Nicodemus’s cacography to be proof that he wasn’t the Halcyon.
“Creator be merciful,” Shannon whispered. Perhaps the academy had misjudged Nicodemus’s connection to the Erasmine Prophecy. If so, then these were the last days before the War of Disjunction—the final battle to save human language from demonic corruption.
Shannon continued to flip through the book. Two more entries, each four years apart, read “Master to see boy” and were followed by “Spirish Payment. ” The final entry, dated two days ago, read “Master’s msg confused? No meeting but Strange Dreams about such.”
Whoever had been bribing Nora had changed how he was to meet her. Had he then pushed her off the Spindle Bridge?
Shannon turned the final page and drew a sudden breath. Written hastily across the page was a sharply worded spell. The dangerous text shone with the brilliant silvery light of Magnus.
On their flat sides, Magnus runes were as hard as steel; on their edges, sharp as razors. Depending on their conformation, a Magnus sentence could become a nearly unbreakable rope or a deadly blade. Even a casual Magnus attack spell could kill, and the one before Shannon was far from casual. He had not seen such linguistic weaponry since the Spirish Civil War.
“Burning heaven, Nora,” he swore while closing the journal. “What viper’s nest did you wander into?”
He reached down to touch the wood that the research journal had lain upon. It was a bed chest. His hands felt around the object and found it unlocked.
The hinges creaked as the lid opened. His fingers felt for the chest’s contents and found coins of an unmistakable weight. There was enough gold to buy a Lornish castle.
After closing the chest, he stood and tried to think systematically. Nora had attached herself to an exceedingly wealthy nonacademic, one who wanted to see a sleeping Drum Tower boy, beginning just when Nicodemus had been declared a cacographer. That implied, but did not prove, that Nicodemus was the one Nora’s master wanted.
Shannon also knew that Nora’s master was either a Spirish noble or had convinced Nora that he was.
Shannon blinked. The only Drum Tower boy descended from Spirish nobility was Nicodemus.
This still did not prove that Nora had been selling access to Nicodemus, but it made it highly probable. And if the academy had been wrong and Nicodemus was indeed connected to the Erasmine Prophecy…
“Heaven defend us all,” Shannon whispered and turned to leave the library, but as he moved some instinct stopped him.
As before, the corridor of spellbooks appeared as a wall of multicolored light to his magically sensitive eyes, while the mundane world was black to him. He had received no warning from Azure, nor had he heard anything unusual. But somehow, he knew.
“Who’s there?” he whispered.
At first only silence answered him. But then came a slow intake of breath and a low, crackling voice: “Write not a sentence,” it rasped before drawing another breath, “or you’ll eat your words.”
SHANNON DID NOT move. Nora’s research journal was still in his hands.
“Lay the book down,” the voice said, “slowly.”
Shannon bent over to obey, but just before dropping the codex he let his hands slip so that he held only the back cover. He set it on the floor. “You are Nora’s murderer?” he asked and straightened.
“The shrew killed herself before I had the chance.” A grunt. “It’s a recurring problem for me. I killed my master before he named the boy. I won’t make the same mistake with you.”
Shannon tried to discern where the voice was coming from. “Your master was the noble who paid to see the sleeping cacographer?”
There came another whistling inhalation and a short, dry laugh. “So the old beast replenished the emerald when the boy was asleep? Yes, it was he who had an agreement with Magistra Finn. One she didn’t renew with me for…squeamish reasons.”
Shannon narrowed his eyes. The room’s echo made it difficult to guess the murderer’s location. “Squeamish because you’re not human?”
“How could you tell?”
“You inhale only before speaking,” Shannon replied as calmly as he could. “The rest of us find that difficult.”
The creature laughed. “Full marks for acumen, Magister. I am not human, nor was master. Though he could fool your kind into thinking so.”
“The subtextualization of your prose is impressive. Which faction wrote you?”
The creature laughed louder. “Perhaps I spoke too soon about your acumen. I am not a construct, nor do I care a whit for the wizardly factions.”
“You’re a demon, then?”
“Not a demon either, but I don’t have time for this. What matters now is your name. My guess is that you are Magister Agwu Shannon, Master of the Drum Tower. If so, I have an offer for you.”
“I am Magister Shannon,” he replied slowly. “And I’m afraid I might share Nora’s squeamishness.”
“I’d rather the boy lived,” the voice croaked. “The stronger he is, the more I gain from the emerald. I’m telling you this so you can understand how…lucrative it would be to align yourself with me. Tell me the boy’s name and you and I might continue as master and Nora Finn did. Let me visit the boy when he’s sleeping—as you put it—and I’ll pay you twice Finn’s wages. Refuse and I will kill you now. What’s more, I’ll cripple the boy or be forced to kill him outright.”
Shannon swallowed hard. He had not considered that Nicodemus’s life, as well as his own, might end tonight.
“You care for the boy,” the voice observed wryly. “More than I can say about the grammarian. She cared for what he is, not who.”
“And what is he? Is he the one of the Erasmine Prophecy?”
The murderer grunted. “Few things are more annoying than ignorance.”
Shannon laughed “And yet you are ignorant of the boy’s name.”
“I might not know his name, but I will kill every male cacographer in this academy to find him. I can wield dreams as you might wield a net. So unless you want every boy in the Drum Tower murdered, you’ll accept my offer.”
Shannon glanced down at Nora’s research journal. Its back cover lay open. The grammarian’s sharply worded spell glowed on the exposed page.
“Do you need more incentive?” the voice asked. “There are rewards brighter than gold. With the emerald, I am master of Language Prime. I could tell you how the Creator made humanity.” There was a pause. “You do know what Language Prime is, don’t you?”
Shannon responded automatically. “Language Prime is blasphemy.”
A dry laugh. “Magister, you lack conviction! You must know that the original language exists. Interesting. What might your connection to the first language be? I could teach you more.”
Shannon shook his head. “Villain, you have no spell written, no attack ready. My synaesthetic reaction is very sensitive. I would have felt you forging.”
There came a shuffling noise. “True; I haven’t a text ready, nor can I spellwrite within Starhaven’s walls. The Chthonics filled this place with too many metaspells. But it’s not words with which I threaten you; it’s a half foot of sharpened