John made one last, heroic tug, which made him start to fall over. Nicodemus rushed over and grabbed the big man’s arm in time to set him down gently.

John stopped struggling. He was bound as surely as if he were in chains.

“I’m sorry to do this, John,” Nicodemus said. “I’ll untie you when you’re calmer. But you must understand that we are in danger. Unless we take the Drum Tower boys away, they may be hurt.”

John was desperately shaking his head.

“I’m going to wake the boys now,” Nicodemus said. “I’ll come back, and we’ll get you ready to go too. All right?” He moved for the door.

Simple John made a sound then, a faint rumbling, as if a beehive were humming in his expansive chest. “Nnnn… no… nnn,” he growled. “Nnnn… nnn… Nico no.”

“John, you said something different!”

“Nnnnn… Nnnnico not go.”

Nicodemus shook his head. “I need to step out quickly. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.”

John flinched. “Sstsss… strange man tells Simple John not let Nico go.”

Nicodemus frowned. “Have you been talking to the foreign spellwrights?”

“No! Long before Simple John comes to… comes to here, Typhon tells Simple John not to let Nico go.”

“Typhon?” Nicodemus asked. “Do you mean typhoon? A storm talked to you?”

John had to work his lips to speak. “Typhon… Typhoneus, red hair, shiny black skin… old, old, old.”

Nicodemus studied John. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t know how it is you can say all these different things now. But John, we must hurry!”

Tears ran down the big man’s face and caught on his throat’s stubble. “Yes!” he suddenly said. “I will help. But I need… need to get the big parchments.”

“If I release you, you’ll gather your belongings so we can go? You won’t keep me from waking the boys?”

“Won’t,” John said, “block door.”

Satisfied, Nicodemus pulled his spells into his hands. He could always cast them out again.

John struggled to his feet and lumbered into his room. Meanwhile, Nicodemus retrieved his bedsheet-turned-satchel.

A moment later, the large man reappeared holding two parchments.

“John, how can you say all these things when no one has heard you say anything but your name, ‘no,’ and ‘splattering splud’?”

“Splattering splud,” John echoed forlornly. “Long before, Simple John was the son of a tailor in Trilli… Trillinon. But John was stupid so father says get out. Simple John lived on streets for years before Typhon comes. Typhon says he make Simple John unstupid. He can fix all brokenpeople. But says that depends on… Nico. He says Simple John must look after Nico and make sure he doesn’t leave south place… here. Typhon brings Simple John here. Tells me to say only three things. Typhon teaches me big alphabets and tells me to watch Nico. Typhon comes back with emerald every four years to visit Nico when he’s sleeping. And he says to use these”-he held up the parchments-”if Nico tries to go.”

“Emerald?” Nicodemus exclaimed. “John, what are you talking about? You know that someone came to watch me sleep? Did he steal my ability to spell?”

Rather than answer, John reached into his parchment and pulled out a spell that Nicodemus had heard about but never seen.

Written in silvery Magnus, its pumpkin-sized, two-part body resembled that of a spider, but its hundred multi-jointed legs were nothing like the relative tameness of arachnid appendages. These horrific limbs were twice as long as a man was tall and covered with sharp stony barbs. They rasped their tarsals across the floor.

It was a spell, Nicodemus knew, that had been written during the Dialect Wars, when the Numinous Order had entangled itself in the fall of the Neosolar Empire. It was a time when wizard fought wizard, when new magical languages and societies formed, when deceit and bloodspells killed thousands. And on the day the fighting ceased and the new magical societies agreed never to make war again, the aracknus spell-one of which John now held-was forbidden.

Judging from his eyes, Simple John had had no idea what he was about to pull from the parchment. When the bloodspell bloomed in the big man’s hand, he cried out and dropped the construct. With a whirl of legs, the bloodspell shot toward Nicodemus faster than an uncoiling snake.

Nicodemus dropped his satchel and instinctively cast the white spells he had previous used to bind Simple John. But a long leg flicked out and snapped the sentences like threads. And then the bloodspell was on him, gripping him with tens of its horrific legs, lifting him up. A sticky Magnus rope emerged from its abdomen.

Like a spider wrapping its victim in silk, the aracknus spell spun Nicodemus around with its claws. Within moments, all but his head and left arm were enclosed in a cocoon.

The bloodspell scampered up the wall onto the ceiling. After reaching down, it hoisted Nicodemus into the air and, with a second length of sticky rope, bound the cocoon to a rafter.

Then the bloodspell spread itself out, its hundred legs securing its grip: a nightmare on the ceiling. Below, Nicodemus swung helplessly imprisoned.

All the while Simple John yelled: “Uh’AAaaa, Uh’AAaaaaa.” Tears returned to his eyes and he shifted his large feet. “Uh’Aaaaa.” But when he saw Nicodemus hanging upside down and unhurt, he calmed.

Nicodemus was shocked to find himself still alive. “John, what have you done?” he asked with as much calm as he could muster. “Where did you get this construct? This is dangerous. Call the spell back into its parchment.”

John shook his head. “Typhon said Nico no go. Said use parchments to stop Nico until Typhon comes or until Typhon sends Fellwroth. Fellwroth is red-eyes-man. Typhon visit with emerald to watch Nico sleep every four autumns. This should be an autumn when Typhon comes to watch Nico sleep. And Typhon promised he’d come when I used big parchments. And if Typhon can’t come, he send Fellwroth of the red eyes.”

“John, you’re not making sense.”

John shook his head. “Typhon said Nico no go. He needs to watch Nico sleep every four years. Touches the scar with the emerald. Typhon said he would come, but there must be something stopping him. It’s Fellwroth red-eyes-man that’s coming, then. Typhon says use parchments to stop Nico until Fellwroth comes.”

“John,” Nicodemus cried, “you don’t know what you’re talking about! John, help me!”

The big man shook his head. “Red beard, black shiny skin, that’s Typhoneus… says also put this”-he held up the other parchment-“until he sends Fellwroth of the red eyes. He says he fix us; he makes Nico not go.” With that John reached into the second parchment and pulled out a spell.

At first, only golden Numinous runes could be seen, but then the spell congealed into a brown and green construct. The thing was as large as a man’s head. Its fat, mucus-covered body resembled a toad with its stomach torn out. Its bulging eyes shone with animal greed. A foot-long tongue flopped from its toothless mouth. Nicodemus yelled in wordless terror.

John was yelling too, but he did not let go of the spell. “Nico not cry. Simple John has to.” He grabbed Nicodemus’s free arm to stop him from struggling and held out the slimy text. Like an infant searching for a nipple, the construct reached for Nicodemus’s head.

Nicodemus jerked and twisted his neck, but to no avail. The creature slid its cold hind legs around his throat and dug the tiny claws of its forelegs into his scalp. The spell’s soft underbelly spread itself across his head like a gruesome hat.

“John!” Nicodemus exclaimed hoarsely. “This is a censorship spell! Get it off me! John, please!”

With a gurgling burp, the toadlike text converted its tongue back into Numinous runes and plunged it into Nicodemus’s head, censoring two common language sentences he had been writing. The glowing white runes stiffened and fell from his shoulder to shatter on the floor. “John! Get it off me!” Nicodemus shouted, struggling to free his arm from the big man’s grip. “Get it off me!”