“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?”
