Spellwright

CHAPTER FOUR

Magister Shannon, sitting behind his desk, looked in the direction of Smallwood’s voice. “Thank you for coming so late, Timothy.”

“Quite all right; I’m always up,” Smallwood said with his usual warmth. Shannon could not see the other wizard, but judging by his voice, he was standing by the bookshelves.

“But I’m surprised you’re awake,” Smallwood added. “I didn’t think you were a night owl.”

Shannon grunted. “I’m not. Two hours ago, I was in bed. A relay text from one of my research projects woke me with a report of unusual guardian activity around the Drum Tower. Seems they’ve been chasing something around on the roofs.”

“Guardian spells,” Smallwood said with a disdainful sniff. “Sloppy prose, if you ask me, written with too much sensitivity. Likely they were chasing a feral cat that wandered in from the uninhabited quarters.”

“That was my first thought. I came here to look up a few things about editing the guardians’ sensitivity. But then my apprentice appeared; seems he heard someone running across the roof of the Stacks.”

When Shannon looked at his bookshelf, his eyes saw through the leather bindings to the radiant paragraphs contained within the books. As he watched, a rectangle of green text separated from the rest and unfolded into two smaller rectangles. Smallwood had pulled a book and was browsing through it. “Timothy, are you listening?”

“What? Yes, yes, of course,” Smallwood replied and clapped the green rectangles together. “So you think one of the delegates might be sneaking about the roofs?”

Shannon shrugged. “Could be a foreign spellwright. Could be a wizard.”

“But spying on the Drum Tower? I know the cacographers are close to your heart, but shouldn’t intrigue focus elsewhere? The Main Library, say, or the provost’s quarters?”

“Precisely what worries me.”

Smallwood coughed. “Agwu, might you be overreacting? I know you were more… involved in Astrophell, but this is Starhaven.”

Shannon rubbed his mustache to hide his frown.

Smallwood continued. “Perhaps the Astrophell delegates have put you on edge? Brought back the old instincts?”

“Perhaps but unlikely,” Shannon insisted. “I’ve two guardian spells in the linguistics library. I’d like them cast to patrol around the Stone Court. But first I need you to rewrite their protocols to communicate with the gargoyles sleeping there.”

It sounded as if Smallwood were shuffling his feet. “Tonight?”

Shannon crossed his arms and looked where he thought his colleague’s face might be. “It would help me focus on our research spell tomorrow.”

“Tonight it is, then. I am grateful you’ve included me in this research.”

Shannon let out a breath he had not known he was holding.

The rectangle of green prose floated back up to its proper place: Smallwood was reshelving the book. “Is Azure about?”

Shannon shook his head. “She’s delivering a message for me.” He did not mention that she was also flying about the rooftops searching for anything unusual.

“Pity,” Smallwood said, his voice heading for the door. “I wanted to see her Numinous dialect again. Agwu, before I go… do I remember correctly that your apprentice was thought to be the Halcyon?”

“You do.”

Smallwood continued hesitantly. “Your fear that… I mean, perhaps you’re jumping to conclusions.” He paused. “Let me ask it this way: Do you think Nicodemus is the one of prophecy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good, good, of course.” The door latch clicked. “I’ll have the guardian spells cast within an hour. I’ll see you tomorrow after midday?”

“Indeed,” Shannon said and then waited for the door hinges to creak before adding, “Timothy, truly, thank you.”

“Quite welcome, Agwu. Quite welcome.” The door clicked shut.

Puffing out his cheeks, Shannon retrieved his research journal from his desk. It was a leather-bound codex about two hands tall. Its spine and face were each embossed with three asterisks, allowing him to identify the book by touch. He opened it and began to write a few notes about the day. He worked for a quarter hour before an unexpected light made him look up.

He could not see his door physically, but he knew exactly where it was. It usually formed a dark rectangle amid the glow of his bookshelves. Where the darkness should have been, there now shone a cloud of golden paragraphs.

Experience told Shannon that he was looking through the door to an incandescent flamefly spell being cast in the hallway.

His first thought was that Smallwood had returned. But Timothy knew the hallways; he rarely cast a single flamefly paragraph, much less a swarm. The author of this spell wanted a good deal of light when navigating Starhaven’s hallways.

Most likely a foreigner.

Shannon squinted at the text. It was written with bold words and complex sentences. The author favored compound appositives, an unusual structure.

Shannon grimaced in recognition. It had been a long time since he had seen this spellwright. “Creator save me, what else is going to happen tonight?” he muttered, waiting for the author to knock.

But she did not knock. He closed his research journal. Moments passed. He could see her prose but not her body. Strangely, she let the flamefly paragraphs deconstruct into heatless cinders that snowed down to the floor. What was she waiting for?

Affecting his warmest tone, he called out, “You may come in, Amadi.”

Slowly the door hinges squeaked. A woman’s calm voice said, “I see that old Magister Shannon isn’t as blind as rumor claims.” The door clicked shut.

Shannon smiled as he stood. “Old? I’m not so antique as to forget your sharp tongue. Come and embrace your ancient teacher.”

Memory guided him around the desk. Amadi’s approaching footsteps were light, hesitant. But her embrace was strong and quick. He had forgotten how tall she was. “But the rumors are true,” he said while stepping back: “I’m as blind as a cave fish.”

She paused. “You don’t look old enough to have lost sight.”

He chuckled dryly. “Then it’s your eyes we should worry about. I’m nearly done with my second century.”

“Magister, I’ll be sorely disappointed if it’s only age that stole your vision,” Amadi said in the same teasing tone she had used as a girl. “I’ve heard stories, legends even, about how you blinded yourself by reading forbidden texts in the Spirish Civil War or by combating twenty mercenary authors while your beard was on fire.”

Shannon had been counterfeiting good humor, but now a genuine laugh escaped his lips. “The truth is nothing so scintillating.”

“But you don’t seem that old.”

“You always were a stubborn one.” He laughed again and shook his head.

In Astrophell, Shannon had made several powerful enemies who might have planted an agent in the Northern delegation. For this reason, any Astrophell wizard was a potential threat; and yet, despite the danger, he enjoyed talking to his former student and remembering a past life.

“Amadi, I plan to begin ghostwriting in five years,” he said in a more playful tone. “So don’t bother with flattery about how young I might seem; it only reminds me of your advantage. My familiar is not about to look at you for me. And I’m curious to see you after… how long has it been? Fifty years?”

Amadi’s leather soles whispered against the floor. “Your fingers may look,” she said, suddenly closer.

This was unexpected. “That…” His voice died as she took his hands and placed them on her brow.

An uncomfortable pause.

Then his fingertips flowed onto her brief eyebrow ridge; down over her deep-set eyes; up the sharp nasal promontory; softly over the two pursed lips; along the delicate chin.

His memory provided color: ivory for her skin, sable for her hair, watery blue for her eyes. Imagination mixed touch with recollection to produce the image of a pale wizard with fine dreadlocks and an impassive expression.

Shannon swallowed. He hadn’t thought seeing an old student would be like this. “Your hair must show a little white by now,” he said more quickly than he would have liked.

“More than a little,” she said, stepping away. “Will you tell me how you recognized me through your door?”

“With my natural sight gone, my spellwright’s vision now pierces the mundane world to see magical text. Through the door, I recognized your compound appositives.”

“You still remember my prose style?”

He shrugged. “I also heard your name among the Astrophell delegates; I was expecting to run into you sooner or later. This turns out to be sooner indeed.”

“Magister, I want to talk about-”

“Please, call me Agwu,” he interrupted. “Or Shannon-it’s what my friends use when they have trouble with a Northern first name.”

“I don’t think I can,” she said and then giggled. “Do you remember catching me and the other acolytes out of bed? How can I call you Shannon remembering that?”

He joined his laugh to hers and walked back to his chair. “I had nearly forgotten. What were you little monsters sneaking into the academy? A pair of muddy pigs? Please, take a seat.”

“Pigs? In Astrophell?” she asked. Her chair creaked. “It was only one, very clean, goat.”

“Whatever it was, you certainly can call me Shannon now that you may carry a grand wizard’s staff.” He settled into his chair.

“Well then, Shannon, I bring word of your granddaughter.”

Shannon’s stomach tightened. Her tone was still playful, but her words marked the end of pleasantries, the beginning of politics.

“You do?” he said, forcing his smile to neither broaden nor wilt.

Amadi cleared her throat. “She married a wealthy Ixonian merchant last year.”

“Wonderful,” he heard himself say. “What else can you tell me?”

“Little more, I’m afraid. I’ve the merchant’s name written down somewhere.” She paused. “Forgive me. It must be difficult discussing the life exile took away.”

Shannon waved away her comment. “Bah, it was no exile; I accepted this position. Besides, wizards swear off family for a reason. In the beginning, it was difficult getting only fragmented news of my son. But now I’ve promising research and dedicated students. We are discovering such fascinating things. Just this morning I received permission to begin casting my primary research spell.”

Amadi’s chair creaked. “And you’re content with such a… calm life?”

Shannon raised his eyebrows. So she suspected that he still harbored political ambitions? That might be dangerous, especially if she were reporting back to Astrophell.

“Amadi, sometimes it feels as if another author lived that bustling career in the North. Starhaven is a smaller academy, and we’re so very far from civilization. But here…” He made a show of running his gaze across his books. “Here I enjoy a slower life.”

When she did not reply, he changed the subject. “I just moved into new quarters above the Bolide Garden. Janitorial is renovating the gardens; it’s not much now, heaps of dirt and clay, but it will be beautiful. I could show you.”

Amadi’s chair creaked again. “Some Astrophell wizards have been quoting your ‘Complaint to the Long Council.’”

His grin faded. “It was my best speech.”

“Many still find it inspiring.”

“I am glad to hear it, but that life is over. There’s no use baiting my appetite for it. I stay clear of Starhaven’s intrigue. As a researcher, I can’t be completely apolitical. But because of my past, the provost and his officers are happy to leave me out of most entanglements.”

Amadi said nothing. The parchment on the table began to crinkle, likely from a breeze coming through the window.

“But never mind me,” Shannon said. “How have you spent the past four decades? Studying diplomacy perhaps? Is that where this talk of my past comes from?”

“My hood has a purple lining.”

“A sentinel? Yes, you must be wonderful.”

She cleared her throat importantly. “I command Astrophell’s lead sentinel expeditions. In fact, I led the delegation down here. I even have a personal secretary: a young Ixonian named Kale-only a lesser wizard, but bright and capable.”

“Pardon the observation, but it seems odd that Astrophell should send sentinels to our convocation.”

“The journey from the North was long. And heaven only knows why our order ever occupied this gargantuan stronghold out in the middle of nowhere. Granted, it makes a fine sight from the Westernmost Road-the highest tower spiring up from the mountainside to dwarf the peaks behind.”

Shannon rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “But Amadi, why should Astrophell send sentinels with its delegation?”

“The diplomats needed protection.”

“I see.”

“Shannon, is this room safe from prying ears?”

He nodded. “Quite safe. Do you bring news from abroad?”

“News from within.”

Shannon leaned forward. “Go on.”

Amadi shifted in her seat and half-whispered: “Murder in Starhaven.”

Shannon’s heart began to strike. “Who?”

“This is a sensitive issue, one that must be hidden until the convocation is over. The delegates must renew the treaties.”

“I’m aware of that. Now will you tell me who has been killed?”

“Bear with me, Magister. Five hours ago a janitorial gargoyle working beneath the Spindle Bridge discovered what he thought to be a dying woman.”

“What he thought was a dying woman?”

“She was already dead, but her body was still filling itself with a virulent Numinous misspell. The gargoyle, having secondary cognition, assumed she was still alive and took her to the deputy provost of libraries. She, in turn, reported to the provost, who related the information to me.”

Shannon paused. “You said this woman fell from the Spindle?”

“So it seems. What can you tell me of the bridge?”

Shannon wondered how much information he should share. Amadi had leaped to the top of the sentinel ranks, and such a feat would be impossible without the support of several factions that despised Shannon. He decided to share only common knowledge until he knew more.

“You seem troubled,” Amadi said. “Is it odd that this woman was on the Spindle?”

“Surpassingly odd,” he said at last. “According to the historians, the Chthonic people built the bridge not long after they finished Starhaven. But it leads nowhere. Spans nearly a mile of air only to run into a cliff. The Chthonics did cut beautiful designs into the rock. Just north of the bridge’s end is a foliate pattern-ivy leaves, I believe-and south is a hexagonal pattern.”

“Any explanation for the carvings? Or the bridge itself?”

Shannon shrugged. “Folktales about the Chthonics building a road to a paradise called Heaven Tree Valley. Supposedly when the Neosolar Empire began to massacre the Chthonics, their goddess led them to the Heaven Tree and dropped a mountain on the road. Some say the Spindle once led to that road.”

“Any evidence to support such a tale?”

“None. But every so often, the historians probe the mountainside with text, trying to open the way to the Heaven Tree. They’ve found only rock.” He paused. “Do you think the murder is connected to any of this?”

The soft swish of moving cloth told Shannon that Amadi was shifting in her seat again. “Not that I can see,” she said and then sighed.

Shannon paused before he spoke again. “Amadi, I am shocked and grieved by this tragedy. And yet… please don’t think me heartless, but I don’t want to become involved. I must think of my research and my students. Helping you might drag me into political situations. As I said, I am a different man than I was in the North. But if you refrain from mentioning my name, I’ll give whatever advice I can. But I’d still need to know the victim’s name.”

A long pause. She spoke: “Nora Finn, the grammarian.”

“Sweet heaven!” Shannon whispered in shock. Nora had been the Drum Tower’s dean and his fiercest academic rival.

Instantly his mind spun with the possible implications of the murder. It might be an indirect attack by old enemies. It might also be connected to the restless guardian spells and Nicodemus’s prowler on top of the Stacks. That would make the Drum Tower the focus of the intrigue.

Shannon fingered the asterisks on the spine of his journal. His enemies might hope to exact revenge by harming his students. His thoughts jumped to Nicodemus. The boy’s cacography had proven he was not the Halcyon, but Shannon’s enemies in Astrophell might have heard his name and so marked him as their target.

Or, far less likely but more frightening, the boy might have some unknown connection to the Erasmine Prophecy. If that were so, then the fate of all human language would be in jeopardy.

“Did you know Magistra Finn?” Amadi asked.

Shannon started. “I’m sorry?”

“Did you know Finn?” Amadi repeated patiently.

Shannon nodded. “Nora and I both took care of the Drum Tower’s students. As the Drum Tower’s master, I see to our students’ residential matters. As the dean, Nora governed their academics. But these students don’t often study. I end up counseling the few who do advance to lesser wizards. Nora had little contact with them. Nora and I were both being considered for the same Chair. Rivals for it, I suppose.”

“Go on.”

Shannon paused. He dared not share more information with Amadi until he was certain of her allegiances.

So he did what academics do best: he threw his hands in the air and began to whine. “This couldn’t come at a worse time, what with the convocation. How can the murderer be caught when everything’s in chaos? And my poor research! I can’t stop it now; I just sent a message to my apprentice.”

Amadi exhaled slowly. “As I said, we hope the investigation will not disrupt the convocation.”

“We? Amadi, shouldn’t the provost’s officers be conducting this investigation?”

She cleared her throat. “Provost Montserrat himself instructed me to lead this investigation.”

Shannon fingered the buttons on his sleeves. “Why should the provost appoint an Astrophell wizard to lead a Starhaven investigation?”

“I carry a letter of recommendation from the arch-chancellor.”

“I don’t doubt your qualification,” he said, though he did doubt her intentions.

Amadi continued, “We must conceal this investigation from the delegates. They won’t be inclined to renew the treaties if they think a murderer is-”

“Yes, Amadi, as you said. But why come to me? No doubt the provost’s officers could have told you about the Spindle Bridge.”

A creaking came from Amadi’s chair once more. “Do you have a familiar?”

“I already told you that I do.”

“I would like to see the creature.”

Shannon nodded. “Certainly. She’ll soon return from delivering a message to my apprentice. But Amadi, you’re investigating a murder; why do you want to see my familiar?”

A long silence stretched out between them. At last the sentinel spoke in a low, controlled tone: “Because you are our primary suspect.”