“I followed the sentinels to the ground level then back up to the Spindle Bridge, where they met Shannon. They reported his trick to no one. Shannon, the boy, and the sentinels went into a library too well guarded for me to follow.” He glowered. “Deirdre, you should never have sent me away! I could have-”
“Ky, you’re not listening!” She pushed his hands away. “Why am I still alive? Why didn’t the beast kill me?”
“Our goddess must have manifested herself directly in you, so you could slay the beast.”
Deirdre sat up. “What are you saying? That Boann is controlling me during my seizures? Why would she do…”
Her voice died as her eyes fell on the body lying along one wall. It was covered with a ripped white cloak.
“Perhaps,” Kyran whispered, “we won’t need to find its true body? Perhaps you slew the construct before the author’s spirit could disengage?”
From her current angle, Deirdre could see nothing of the creature’s head save the clay neck, which a single sword stroke had cleaved in two.
STANDING ON A tower bridge in the Imperial Quarter, the creature looked down at the Stone Court and the wizards standing guard before the Drum Tower.
“Sentinels for guards, Shannon?” he asked the air. “And wards on the doors and windows?” That would stop him from luring the boys out of the academy with dreams.
Now bolder action was needed.
Perhaps a direct attack? In the Stone Court he could spellwrite. That would let him kill the guards, disspell the wards, and move into the Drum Tower with a blade. But the sentinels might raise an alarm, or a guarding construct might attack when he was inside.
It was too risky.
He thought again about rewriting more of Starhaven’s constructs. He had already rewritten a gargoyle on the Erasmine Spire to spy on the wizard’s colaboris spells. And he had drafted a ratlike gargoyle with a large ear on its back. Perhaps he could corrupt a war-weight construct?
No, that would take too long.
The creature thought again about Shannon and pulled the back of his hand across his lips. The old human had gone to the sentinels, gaining protection but sacrificing freedom; the sentinels would now watch everything Shannon did.
This was not the intriguing counterstroke the creature had hoped for.
He thought about attacking the Drum Tower with his true body; that would be less dangerous than using a golem. Still, it was too risky. He should be able to devise a safer plan, especially now that he had encountered that girl in the druid robes.
Somewhere among the towers, a raven began to cry. The creature remembered that he still had to run down to Gray’s Crossing. “Wretched village,” he grumbled.
Leaning on the bridge’s railing, he narrowed his eyes and began to think. It was time to remove Shannon from play.
DEIRDRE TURNED OVER the clay head with her boot. Its face had been squashed flat against the floor. No distinguishing feature remained. Long fragments of what looked to have been hair lay scattered around on the dusty ground.
Next to her, leaning on his wooden staff, Kyran grunted. “Perhaps you killed the author along with the body?”
She shook her head. “We must assume the fiend lives. We should take the Peregrine to our goddess’s ark as soon as possible. The creature is aware of my presence now and may become more desperate.”
“We can’t reach the boy now with the sentinels guarding him. But they will keep him safe for the night. We should sleep.”
Deirdre looked at her protector. “Do you really think he is safe?”
He regarded her for a moment, his brown eyes nearly black in the green light of his spells. “We must sleep.”
WHEN THE IDEA came, the creature laughed out loud.
A cold wind was blowing over the tower bridge. Far below, in the Stone Court, several torches fluttered and winked. The two guarding sentinels pulled their black cloaks more tightly about their frail bodies.
The creature laughed again; the plan was brilliant. By enlisting the sentinels, Shannon had forged the tool that would be his undoing.
During the creature’s first encounter with Shannon, he had fled with Nora Finn’s research journal, hoping to find the boy’s name inside. The woman had been prudent enough to avoid that. But the creature still had the journal, and now was the time to use it.
His new plan to trap Shannon would be a challenge; he could not spellwrite within the libraries. However, he could cast texts into the libraries from outside. Entering the old fool’s rooms would be more difficult. He would have to sacrifice his present golem to place the book. Worse was the issue of time: the creature had to run down to the miserable village and back.
Still, it would be possible if he cast the curses immediately.
The creature turned and started for the nearest tower. He did not need to remove Shannon; the sentinels would do that for him.
CHAPTER Twenty-three
When Nicodemus opened his common room door, the tapers were snuffed and the fire smoldering. Since leaving Shannon, his excitement and fear had faded. Now his empty stomach groaned, his wounded cheek throbbed, and his exhausted eyes stung.
“Fiery heaven,” he grumbled, picking his way across the darkened common room. What if he were not excused from apprentice duty in the morning? Would he have to avoid a golem while mopping-
His left shin slammed into something hard. Whatever it was clattered on the floor. “Blood of Los!” he swore. By feeling around with his hands, he discovered a chair’s square legs. The squeaking of a bed frame came from Simple John’s room.
Nicodemus righted the chair. “Bind those idiots for not cleaning up,” he growled. “When I-”
A door opened to spill a vertical beam of firelight into the darkness. “Simple John?” Simple John asked.
Nicodemus’s anger melted. “It’s all right, John. I just tripped.” The door swung wide to fill the common room with the shifting light of the big man’s fire. “John, I’m fine.”
Simple John inspected Nicodemus’s face with concern. “No,” he said while plodding over to his fellow cacographer. A powerful hand landed on Nicodemus’s shoulder.
“Really, John, the cut was just a research accident. There’s no need-”
“No,” Simple John said before enveloping Nicodemus in a hug. “Simple John,” Simple John said while mashing Nicodemus’s head into his chest.
At first Nicodemus leaned into the massive wall that was John and let his arms hang limp. But after a moment, he half-heartedly returned the hug. Simple John released him and said, “Splattering splud!”
“Splattering splud,” Nicodemus agreed. “That about describes my life: splattering splud.”
They exchanged goodnights and Nicodemus stumbled into his chamber. He’d forgotten to put the paper screen in the window and now the room was cold.
“Oh, hang it all,” he sighed and tossed the ignition words into the fireplace. Soon a flame danced among the logs and illuminated his room’s usual disarray. He untied his belt-purse and tossed it onto his cot.
At the sound of a knock, he turned to see Devin standing in the doorway. She was pinning a cloak about her shoulders and trying on different frowns.
“I heard you come in,” she grunted. “I’ve been put on nighttime janitorial duty. The bloody provost wants the refectory cleaned in the dark so that none of the foreign-blood and fire! What happened to your cheek?”
Nicodemus covered it with his hand. “Nothing. An accident during Shannon’s research.”
“Nico, don’t be stupid about wanting a linguist’s hood. If Shannon’s giving you work you can’t safely handle you should-”
“Dev, I’m fine.”
She held her hands up. “All right, all right. No need to be fussy. But it proves what I was saying about how Starhaven treats us. You think illiterates get cut up when doing their chores?”