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This thick journal is half-undecipherable. The parts that can be read are splattered with ink, as if the author had written them in a hurry:
There were years of notes in that book. Years! Who could have taken it? Or deciphered it? Did someone follow me from the Circle? I bet it was Wernam or Clariss! They always were jealous little busybodies. If they saw what I've done, the demons I've harnessed, they'd be green with envy. Who's afraid of spirits now, you simpering ewes!
But I must have my book back. I will write down the cipher again, before I forget. Again. These demons are clever. I can't have them demanding a price for decrypting my own notes. The concoctions I can make with the plants here, in safe amounts, will open my mind to vistas past the Fade. The demons hint it is beyond me, because they wish to undermine me. It's so clear. It's so very clear.