Tiil is right, she thought. Something is going on. However, that was no reason to let him stay up—especially because the longer he stayed awake, the longer it would be before she’d be able to go out and investigate the commotion herself.

“It’s nothing,” Matisse said, looking back at the children. Though some of them had begun to bed down in their brightly colored sheets, many had perked up and were watching Matisse deal with the two troublemakers.

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” Teor said.

“Well,” Matisse said, sighing. “They’re writing Aons. If you’re that interested, I suppose that we could make an exception and let you stay up … assuming you want to practice writing Aons. I’m sure we could fit in another school lesson tonight.”

Teor and Tiil both paled. Drawing Aons was what one did in school—something that Spirit had forced them to begin attending again. Matisse smiled slyly to herself as the two boys backed away.

“Oh, come now,” she said. “Go get your quills and paper. We could draw Aon Ashe a hundred or so times.”

The boys got the hint and slipped back to their respective beds. On the other side of the room, several of the other workers were moving among the children, making certain that they were sleeping. Matisse did likewise.

“Matisse,” a voice said. “I can’t sleep.”

Matisse turned toward where a young girl was sitting up in her bedroll. “How do you know, Riika?” Matisse said, smiling slightly. “We just put you to bed—you haven’t tried to sleep yet.”

“I know I won’t be able to,” the little girl said pertly. “Mai always tells me a story before I sleep. If he doesn’t, I can’t sleep.”

Matisse sighed. Riika rarely slept well—especially on nights when she asked for her seon. It had, of course, gone mad when Riika had been taken by the Shaod.

“Lie down, dear,” Matisse said soothingly. “See if sleep comes.”

“It won’t,” Riika said, but she did lie down.

Matisse made the rest of her rounds, then walked to the front of the room. She glanced over the huddled forms—many of whom were still shuffling and moving—and acknowledged that she felt their same apprehensiveness. Something was wrong with this night. Lord Spirit had disappeared, and while Galladon told them not to worry, Matisse found it a foreboding sign.

“What are they doing out there?” Idotris whispered quietly from beside her.

Matisse glanced outside, where many of the adults were standing around Galladon, drawing the Aons in the night.

“Aons don’t work,” Idotris said. The teenage boy was, perhaps, two years older than Matisse—not that such things really mattered in Elantris, where everyone’s skin was the same blotchy grey, their hair limp or simply gone. The Shaod tended to make ages difficult to determine.