anempty boast, but now I remember history texts describing ancient spells that could invest sleeping minds with quaternary thoughts. It seems this nightmare was sent to you.”
“So, if it was sent to me, I couldn’t have caused the dragon to attack the city?”
“Correct,” Shannon said with a slight nod. “Quaternary thoughts change perception, not the world. It’s vital that you know you did not cause this.”
Nicodemus let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. “But why would he send me such a dream?”
“I don’t know. But it does imply there is a connection between the murderer and this dragon. Damn it, what if the creature is sending dreams to the other cacographic boys? How can I protect them from that? Regardless, tell no one of this. We will talk more in the compluvium.” He squeezed the younger man’s shoulder.
Azure stopped her grating roar, and Nicodemus fidgeted with his sleeve as a thought occurred to him. “Your family, Magister, has the Trillinon fire affected them?”
Shannon smiled. “An old friend sent a message in the last colaboris spell. My relatives are safe. Thank you for your concern. Now then, all of the deans and masters have been called to an emergency council, which is troubling because our lectures must continue. My boy, I need a favor.”
Nicodemus’s eyes widened. “You want me to teach a class? Magister, I’ve wanted…and I’ve practiced…but I don’t know if I can do my best under these circumstances.”
Shannon nodded. “I know, you’ve waited for so long to teach and get the chance now of all times. Today’s news might make this seem like a trivial task, but it is vital”—he squeezed Nicodemus’s shoulder meaningfully—“vital that you make a good impression. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Magister,” Nicodemus said, remembering what the grand wizard had said about the sentinels watching him.
“Good.” Shannon released Nicodemus’s shoulder. “Given today’s news, no one will object to your teaching. The neophytes are all squeakers; not a one over thirteen. Your disability won’t interfere. The classroom is in Bolide Hall, third floor, western side. Outline the basic concepts of composition. After class, go to my quarters and get as much sleep as you can before the midday meal. I keep an hour bell and the passwords for my door in the classroom’s closet. Use both. You must be rested for our work this afternoon.”
Though the terrifying news had fully awakened Nicodemus, his eyes still stung with exhaustion. “Yes, Magister.”
“When you wake, eat your midday meal and find me.”
Nicodemus exhaled. He really was going to have to teach a class despite the day’s terrifying discoveries.
Shannon laughed softly. “I know it may seem impossible, but you must forget everything happening today and become lost in the lecture. If you enjoy the teaching, they’ll enjoy the learning. Are you nervous?”
Nicodemus admitted that he was, though “shocked and overwhelmed,” he said, “would be a better description.”
Shannon grinned. “Understandably so, but don’t let the students know or they’ll devour you like a pack of lycanthropes. If anything, you want to err on the side of being cavalier.” Shannon was famous for his emphatic lecture style.
Nicodemus decided to emulate his mentor’s style. That meant somehow bottling up his growing fears and hopes about the prophecy.
“Well then,” Shannon said with a nod. “Off with you, then, or you’ll be late.”
Nicodemus turned for the stairs.
“Oh, I just remembered,” Shannon called after him. “You should know that one boy raises a bit of trouble and…” The old wizard’s voice died. Nicodemus stopped and looked back.
Shannon was frowning. “You should know this boy, he may be a cacographer.”
CHAPTER
Thirteen
Nicodemus jogged through shafts of sunlight that poured in from rectangular windows. Outside the hallway shone a sky so blue it might have been enameled. The crisp autumn air smelled of smoke from the breakfast fires.
His first composition class and he was going to be late.
He tried to focus on the upcoming lecture but his mind wandered. The real world did not seem real. Northern sentinels were investigating him for murder. An inhuman killer was hunting him for reasons unknown. His lost hope of fulfilling the Erasmine Prophecy was returning. And in response…
…in response, he was going to teach introductory spellwriting to squeakers.
It all seemed insane.
Magister knew what he was doing, he told himself while turning a corner and dashing up a broad staircase. After all, he was the cacographic apprentice, Shannon the grand wizard. Clearly he should handle the thirteen-year-olds while the old man dealt with the truly fearful forces of zealous sentinels,