The Rithmatist

CHAPTER




The next morning, Joel rose early and left for Fitch’s office. As he crossed the dew-wetted green, he heard a clamor coming from the direction of the campus office. He rounded the hill to find a small crowd outside the building.

A crowd of adults, not students.

Frowning, Joel walked to the edge of the crowd. Exton stood to the side, wearing a red vest with dark trousers and a matching bowler. The rest of the people were dressed similarly—nice clothing, with bright, single-piece dresses for the women, and vests and trousers for the men. None wore coats in the summer heat, but most wore hats.

The adults muttered among themselves, a few shaking fists toward Principal York, who stood in the doorway of the office.

“What’s going on?” Joel whispered to Exton.

The clerk tapped his cane against the ground. “Parents,” he said. “The bane of every school’s existence.”

“I assure you that your children are safe at Armedius!” the principal said. “This academy has always been a haven for those chosen to be Rithmatists.”

“Safe like Lilly and Herman?” one of the parents yelled. Others rumbled in assent.

“Please!” Principal York said. “We don’t know what is happening yet! Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Principal York,” said a woman with a narrow face and a nose pointy enough it could poke out someone’s eye if she turned in haste. “Are you denying that there is some threat to the students here?”

“I’m not denying that,” York said. “I simply said that they are safe on campus. No student has come to harm while on school grounds. It was only during visits outside the walls that incidents occurred.”

“I am taking my son away!” one of the men said. “To another island. You can’t stop me.”

“The ordinary students can leave for the summer,” said another. “Why not ours?”

“The Rithmatic students need training!” York said. “You know that! If we act rashly now, we could undermine their ability to defend themselves at Nebrask!”

This quieted them somewhat. However, Joel heard one father muttering to another. “He doesn’t care,” the man said. “York isn’t a Rithmatist—if they die here or die in Nebrask, what is it to him?”

Joel noticed a few sharply dressed men standing quietly to the side, making no complaints. They wore vests of muted colors and triangular felt hats. He couldn’t make out any signs of emotion on their features.

York finally managed to break up and dismiss the group of parents. As the people trailed away, the men walked up to Principal York.

“Who are they?” Joel asked.

“Private security,” Exton whispered back. “The ones on the left are employed by Didrich Calloway, knight-senator of East Carolina. His son is a Rithmatist here. I don’t know the other ones, but I suspect they’re employed by some very influential people who also have Rithmatist children here at Armedius.”

The principal looked troubled.

“He’s going to have to let them go, isn’t he?” Joel asked. “The children of the very important.”

“Likely,” Exton said. “Principal York has a lot of influence, but if he butts heads with a knight-senator, there’s little doubt who will win.”

A small group of Rithmatic students watched from a hillside a short distance away. Joel couldn’t tell if their miserable expressions came from the fact that they were worried about the kidnappings, or if they were embarrassed at having their parents show up at school. Probably both.

“Very well,” Joel faintly heard Principal York say from the office doorway, “I see that I have no choice. Know that you do this against my wishes.”

Joel turned to Exton. “Has anyone sent for Inspector Harding?”

“I don’t believe so,” Exton said. “I couldn’t even get into the office! They were here before I was, crowding the way in.”

“Send Harding a messenger,” Joel suggested. “He might want to hear about the parents’ reactions.”

“Yes,” Exton said, watching the security men with obvious hostility. “Yes, that’s a good idea. This isn’t going to do much to ease tensions on campus, I’d say. If those students weren’t afraid before, they will be now.”

Joel moved away toward Fitch’s office, passing James Hovell being walked by his parents to class. He walked with shoulders slumped, eyes toward the ground in embarrassment. Perhaps there were advantages to having a mother who worked all the time.

Fitch took a long time to answer Joel’s knock. When he did pull open the door, he looked bleary-eyed, still wearing a blue dressing gown.

“Oh!” Fitch said. “Joel. What hour is it?”

Joel winced, realizing that Fitch had probably been up late studying those strange patterns. “I’m sorry for waking you,” Joel said. “I was eager to find out if you discovered anything. About the patterns, I mean.”

Fitch yawned. “No, unfortunately. But it wasn’t for lack of trying, I must say! I dug out the other version of that pattern—the one copied from Lilly’s house—and tried to determine if there were any variations. I drew a hundred different modifications on the theme. I’m sorry, lad. I just don’t think it’s a Rithmatic line.”

“I’ve seen it somewhere before,” Joel said. “I know I have, Professor. Maybe I should go to the library, look through some of the books I’ve read recently.”

“Yes, yes,” Fitch said, yawning again. “Sounds like … a capital idea.”

Joel nodded, heading toward the library and letting the professor go back to sleep. As he crossed the green toward the central quad, he noticed one of the parents from before—the woman with the sharp nose and pinched face—standing on the green, hands on hips, looking lost.

“You,” she called to him. “I don’t know the campus very well. Could you tell me where might I find a Professor Fitch?”

Joel pointed toward the building behind him. “Office three. Up the stairwell on the side. What do you want him for?”

“My son mentioned him,” she said. “I just wanted to chat with him for a short time, ask him about things here. Thank you!”

Joel arrived at the library and pushed open the door, passing out of the crisp morning air into a place that somehow managed to be cool and musty even during the warmest summer days. The library didn’t have many windows—sunlight wasn’t good for books—and so depended on clockwork lanterns.

Joel walked through the stacks, making his way to the familiar section dedicated to general-interest books on Rithmatics, both fiction and nonfiction. He’d read a lot of these—pretty much everything in the library that he was allowed access to. If he really had seen that pattern somewhere, it could have been in any of these.

He opened one book he remembered checking out a few weeks ago. He only vaguely recalled it at first, but as he flipped through, he shivered. It was an adventure novel about Rithmatists in Nebrask.

He stopped on a page, reading—almost against his will—paragraphs on a man being gruesomely eaten by wild chalklings. They crawled up his skin under his clothing—they only had two dimensions, after all—and chewed his flesh from his bones.

The account was fictionalized and overly dramatic. Still, it made Joel feel sick. He’d wanted very badly to be involved in Professor Fitch’s work. And yet, if Joel were to face an army of chalklings, he wouldn’t be able to build himself a defense. The creatures would crawl right over his lines and get at him. He’d be no better off than the man in the book.

He shook himself free from imaginings of chalklings scrambling up and down his body. He had wanted this. If he was really going to become a scholar of Rithmatics—if that was his goal—he’d have to live with the idea that it could be dangerous, and he would not be able to defend himself.

He put the novel away—it had no illustrations—and moved to the nonfiction section. Here, he grabbed a stack of books that looked familiar and walked to a study desk at the side of the room.

An hour of searching left Joel feeling even more frustrated than when he’d started. He groaned, sitting back, stretching. Perhaps he was just chasing shadows, looking for a connection to his own life so that he could prove useful to Fitch.

It seemed to him that his memory of the pattern was older than this. Familiar, but from a long, long time ago. He had a good memory, particularly when it came to Rithmatics. He gathered his current stack of books and walked back toward the shelves to return them. As he did so, a man in a bright red Rithmatic coat walked into the library.

Professor Nalizar, Joel thought. I sure hope that someday, some upstart young Rithmatist challenges him to a duel and takes away his tenure. He …

The first student hadn’t disappeared until Nalizar arrived at the school. Joel hesitated, considering that fact.

It’s just a coincidence, Joel thought. Don’t jump to conclusions.

And yet … hadn’t Nalizar talked about how dangerous the battlefield in Nebrask was? He thought the students and professors at Armedius were weak. Would he go so far as to do something to make everyone more worried? Something to put them all on edge and make them study and practice more?

But kidnapping? Joel thought. That’s a stretch.

Still, it would be interesting to know what books Nalizar was looking at. Joel caught sight of a swish of red coat entering the Rithmatic wing of the library. He hurried after Nalizar.

As soon as Joel reached the doorway to the Rithmatic wing, a voice called out to him.

“Joel!” said Ms. Torrent, sitting at her desk. “You know you’re not supposed to go in there.”

Joel stopped, cringing. He’d hoped she wouldn’t be paying attention. Librarians seemed to have a sixth sense for noticing when students were doing things they weren’t supposed to.

“I just saw Professor Nalizar,” Joel said. “I wanted to go mention something to him.”

“You can’t enter the Rithmatic section of the library without an escort, Joel,” Torrent said, stamping pages in a book, not looking up at him. “No exceptions.”

He ground his teeth in frustration.

Escort, he thought suddenly. Would Fitch help?

Joel rushed out of the library, but realized that Fitch might still not be dressed or might have returned to bed. By the time Joel got the man back to the library, Nalizar would probably be gone. Beyond that, he suspected that Fitch would disapprove of spying on Nalizar—he might even be afraid to do so.

Joel needed someone who was more willing to take a risk.…

It was still breakfast time, and the dining hall was just a short distance away.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thought, but took off at a dash for the dining hall.

* * *

Melody was sitting at her usual place. As always, none of the other Rithmatists had chosen to sit next to her.

“Hey,” Joel said, stepping up to the table and taking one of the empty seats.

Melody looked up from her plate of fruit. “Oh. It’s you.”

“I need your help.”

“To do what?”

“I want you to escort me into the Rithmatic section of the library,” he said quietly, “so I can spy on Professor Nalizar.”

She stabbed a piece of orange. “Well, all right.”

Joel blinked. “That’s it? Why are you agreeing so easily? We could get in trouble, you know.”

She shrugged, dropping her fork back to the plate. “Somehow, I appear to be able to get into trouble just by sitting around. How much worse could this be?”

Joel couldn’t refute that logic. He smiled, standing. She joined him, and they rushed from the room back across the lawn.

“So, is there any particular reason why we’re spying on Nalizar?” she asked. “Other than the fact that he’s cute.”

Joel grimaced. “Cute?”

“In an arrogant, mean sort of way.” She shrugged. “I assume you have a better reason?”

What could he tell her? Harding was worried about security, and … well, Melody didn’t seem the safest person to tell a secret.

“Nalizar got to Armedius right about the same time those students started disappearing,” Joel said, sharing only what he’d figured out on his own.

“And?” Melody replied. “They often hire new professors before summer elective starts.”

“He’s suspicious,” Joel said. “If he was such a great hero back at the battlefront, then why did he come here? Why take a low-level tutor position? Something’s going on with that man.”

“Joel,” she said. “You’re not honestly implying that Nalizar is behind the disappearances?”

“I don’t know,” Joel said as they reached the library. “I just want to know what books he’s looking at. I’m hoping Ms. Torrent lets me use a student for an escort.”

“Well, all right,” Melody said. “But I’m only doing this because I get to take a peek at Nalizar.”

“Melody,” Joel said. “He’s not a good person.”

“I never said anything about his morality, Joel,” she said, opening the door. “Only his face.” She swished into the room, and he followed. Ms. Torrent looked up as they passed her desk.

“He,” Melody said, pointing dramatically at Joel, “is mine. I need someone to carry books for me.”

Ms. Torrent looked like she wanted to protest, but—thankfully—she decided not to do so. Joel hurried after Melody, but stopped in the doorway to the Rithmatic wing.

He’d spent years trying to find a way to get into this room. He’d asked Rithmatic students before to bring him in, but nobody had been willing. Nalizar wasn’t the only one who was stingy with Rithmatic secrets. There was an air of exclusion to the entire order. They had their own table at dinner. They expressed hostility toward non-Rithmatic scholars. They had their own wing of the library, containing all the best texts on Rithmatics.

Joel took a deep breath, following Melody—who had turned toward him and was tapping her foot with an annoyed expression. Joel ignored her, reveling. The room even felt different from the ordinary library wing. The shelves were taller, the books older. The walls contained numerous charts and diagrams.

Joel stopped beside one that detailed the Taylor Defense—one of the most complicated, and controversial, Rithmatic defenses. He’d only ever seen small, vague sketches of it. Here, however, its various pieces were dissected and explained in great detail, along with several variations drawn smaller to the sides.

“Joel,” Melody snapped. “I didn’t abandon half my breakfast so you could stare at pictures. Honestly.”

He reluctantly turned his attention to their task. The bookshelves here were high enough that Nalizar wouldn’t be able to see Joel or Melody enter the room—which was good. Joel hated to contemplate the ruckus Nalizar would cause if he caught a non-Rithmatist poking around these texts.

Joel waved to Melody, quickly moving down the rows. They seemed placed more haphazardly than back in the main wing, though the library wasn’t really that big. He should be able to find—

Joel froze midstep as he walked past an aisle between shelves. There was Nalizar, not five feet from where Joel stood.

Melody pulled Joel aside, out of Nalizar’s line of sight. He stifled a grunt and joined her in the next row. They could peek through a crack between bookshelves and catch a glimpse of Nalizar, though the poor view didn’t let Joel read the title of the book the professor had.

Nalizar glanced up toward where Joel had been. Then he turned—never noticing Joel and Melody peering through the small slit at him—and walked away.

“What books are shelved there?” Joel whispered to Melody.

She rounded the other side—it wouldn’t matter if Nalizar saw her—and took one off the shelf. She wrinkled her nose and held the book up toward the crack for Joel. Theoretical Postulations on Developmental Rithmatics, Revised Edition, with a Foreword by Attin Balazmed.

“Dry stuff,” she said.

Theoretical Rithmatics, Joel thought. “I need to know the exact books Nalizar is carrying!”

Melody rolled her eyes. “Wait here,” she said, then walked off.

Joel waited nervously. Other Rithmatic students poked about. Those who saw him gave him odd looks, but nobody challenged him.

Melody returned a few minutes later and handed him a slip of paper. On it was written the titles of three books. “Nalizar gave these to the librarians,” she said, “then left for class, instructing the staff to check the books out to him and deliver them to his office.”

“How’d you get this?” Joel asked with excitement, taking the paper.

“I walked up to him and mentioned how much I hated my punishment running errands.”

Joel blinked.

“It made him give me a lecture,” Melody said. “Professors love giving lectures. Anyway, while he was chastising me, I was able to read the titles on the spines of the books in his arms.”

Joel glanced again at the titles. Postulations on the Possibility of New and Undiscovered Rithmatic Lines, the first one read. By Gerald Taffington. The other two had more vague titles having to do with theoretics, but that first one seemed an absolute gem.

Nalizar was researching new Rithmatic lines.

“Thank you,” Joel said. “Really. Thank you.”

Melody shrugged. “We should get going. I just got a lecture from Nalizar—I don’t want to get one from Fitch for being late.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Just a second.” He glanced at the shelves full of books. He’d tried for so long to get in. “I have to get a few of these,” he said. “Will you check them out for me?”

“You can take one. I’m determinedly impatient today.”

He decided not to argue, and instead looked over the nearby stack where Nalizar had been idling.

“Come on,” she said.

Joel grabbed a volume that looked promising. Man and Rithmatics: Origins of Power. He handed her the book and they left. Ms. Torrent gave them another dissatisfied glance, but reluctantly checked the book out to Melody. Joel let out a deep breath as they walked out onto the green.

Melody handed him the book, and he tucked it under his arm. At the moment, however, it seemed far less important than the little slip of paper. Joel had proof that Nalizar was interested in new Rithmatic lines.

Of course, Fitch was convinced that the looping swirl was not Rithmatic. This was really just another suspicious connection—it wouldn’t prove that Nalizar was involved. I need to get that book, Joel thought. If it contains anything like this looping pattern, I’ll have evidence.

That sounded extremely dangerous. Perhaps it would be best for Joel to simply go to Harding and express his concerns. Undecided, he folded the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. Melody walked beside him in her white skirt, binder held against her chest. She had a distant expression on her face.

“Thank you again,” he said. “Really. I think this is going to be a big help.”

“Good to be useful for something, I suppose.”

“Look, about what I said the other day. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes you did,” she said, voice uncharacteristically soft. “You were only being honest. I know I’m no good at Rithmatics. My reaction only makes me doubly a fool for trying to deny the truth, right?”

“You’re not being fair to yourself, Melody. You’re really good with chalklings.”

“For all the good it does me.”

“It’s a great skill,” Joel said. “You’re way better at that than I am.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, you’re laying it on thick. There’s no need to be so melodramatic—I know you’re just trying to make yourself feel better. I forgive you, all right?”

Joel blushed. “You’re an annoying person. You know that?”

“Okay,” she said, holding up a finger. “Now, see, you’ve gone too far the other direction. If you try really hard, you should be able to find a happy medium between patronizing me and insulting me.”

“Sorry,” Joel said.

“Regardless,” she said, “the fact of the matter is that no matter how good I am with Lines of Making, I still can’t build myself a decent defense. One good shot with a Line of Vigor will take me out of a duel.”

“Not necessarily,” Joel said. “You know, for all Professor Fitch’s talk about keening, maybe that strategy isn’t right for you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously, apparently expecting another insult.

“Have you ever tried the Jordan Defense?”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s advanced,” Joel said. “One of the most advanced I’ve ever read about. But it could work. You have to draw a Forbiddance net, then…” He hesitated. “Here, I’ll just show you. You have chalk?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I have chalk. During your first year at Rithmatic school, if any professor catches you without chalk, they’re allowed to make you scrub floors for two hours.”

“Really?”

She nodded, handing him a piece. The quad was nearby, and it didn’t look like anyone was using it. Joel rushed up the hill, Melody following. “Hey,” she said. “Aren’t we going to get into trouble for being late to Fitch’s office?”

“I doubt it,” Joel said, reaching the concrete-covered top of the hill. “Fitch was up late last night, and he got interrupted a couple of times this morning. I’ll bet he’s still dozing. Okay, here, watch this.”

Joel set his book aside and knelt, doing a rough sketch of the Jordan Defense. It was an ellipsoid defense, with a line at each bind point to stabilize it. The main feature of the defense wasn’t the primary ellipse, however, but the large cage made from Lines of Forbiddance around the outside. It reminded Joel a little bit of what Herman Libel had tried.

“That boxes you in,” Melody said, squatting down beside him. “You can’t do anything if you surround yourself with Lines of Forbiddance. That’s basic Rithmatics—even I know that.”

“That’s a basic rule of thumb, true,” Joel said, still drawing. “A lot of advanced Rithmatic designs break with early wisdom. The really good duelists, they know when to take a risk. Look here.” He pointed with his chalk to a section of the design. “I’ve made a large box on either side. The theory with the Jordan is to fill these boxes full of offensive chalklings. If you’re good with chalklings, you should be able to instruct them to wait and not attack your own line from behind.

“So, while your opponent is wasting time blasting away at your front, you are building a single overpowering attack. When you’re ready, you let out the burst of chalklings, then quickly redraw that Line of Forbiddance. You use Lines of Vigor to destroy any enemy chalklings that got inside while your defenses were down, then you build another wave of chalklings.

“While you might be slower than your opponent, it doesn’t matter because your attacks come in huge rushes that leave him confused and unable to respond. Matthew Jordan, the one who designed the defense, won a couple of very high-profile duels with this and caused an uproar among academics because of how unconventional it was.”

Melody cocked her head. “Dramatic,” she said.

“Want to give it a try?” Joel said. “You can use my little sketch as a pattern.”

“Probably shouldn’t,” she said. “I mean, Professor Fitch…”

“Come on,” Joel said. “Just once. Look, I got you into the library so you could ogle Nalizar, didn’t I?”

“And get yelled at by him.”

“That was your idea,” Joel said. “Are you going to draw or not?”

Melody set down her notebook and knelt on the concrete. She took out her chalk, eyed Joel’s miniature drawing, then began to draw an ellipse around herself.

Joel began to draw as well. “I’m going with the Ballintain,” he said, drawing a circle all the way around himself. “But with your Jordan Defense, you don’t need to pay much attention to what I’m doing. Just draw as fast as you can.”

She got into it, doing a defensive rectangle around the Circle of Warding, then quickly beginning her chalklings.

Joel drew, hoping his instincts were right. The big weakness in the Jordan Defense was the chalklings. Controlling them in this way was difficult; it was only possible because it was a formal duel, and she could orient them right at her target.

For some reason, chalklings were difficult to control if you wanted them to just wait around. That was why most Rithmatists either sent them out to attack or stuck them on a bind point.

I really need to study more chalkling theory, Joel thought as he finished his defense. Maybe I can get Melody to check out a few books on it.

“Okay,” he said, reaching out to draw a few Lines of Vigor. “This is going to take some imagination, since I can’t make my lines do anything. Pretend that I’m good at drawing Vigor Lines—which I am, by the way—and that each of these is hitting your defense at the same point, weakening it. A well-drawn Line of Warding can take about six hits from a Vigor; a Line of Forbiddance can take ten. When you see where I’m shooting, draw another Forbiddance line behind your first to slow me down.”

She did so, drawing a line.

“Now I have to get through two lines of Forbiddance and one Line of Warding. That means that with this defense, you have about twenty-six Vigors to get your chalklings done. That’s not much time, with how—”

He fell silent as she whipped her hand forward and laid her chalk against the inside of her Line of Forbiddance to release her chalklings.

So fast! he thought. I only got through six of my Lines of Vigor! True, he hadn’t been going as quickly as he could, but even still …

Melody’s line puffed away—it took four seconds to dismiss a line—and a wave of eight complete chalklings rushed across the ground toward him.

“Wow,” he said.

Melody looked up, brushing a bit of curly red hair from her eyes. She blinked in surprise, as if shocked that she’d actually done it. Joel scrambled to draw a few more Lines of Vigor and defend himself against the creatures.

But, of course, that did nothing. In the heat of battle, Joel almost forgot that he wasn’t a Rithmatist.



The chalklings reached his defenses and hesitated. For a moment, he felt a stab of fear—similar to what he assumed Herman Libel must have felt while sitting defenseless against an attacking group of chalk monsters.

Joel doubted that Herman had been forced to face down unicorns though.



The creatures finally tested Joel’s defenses—which, of course, didn’t stop them. They rushed forward eagerly, surrounding Joel, then running about in circles. Joel cringed, imagining them stripping off his flesh. Fortunately, these chalklings were harmless.

“Unicorns?” he asked sufferingly.

“The unicorn is a very noble and majestic animal!”

“It’s just an … undignified way to be defeated, particularly with them prancing about like that.”

“Well,” she said, rising, “at least I don’t have any pink chalk. They won’t let us use colors until we’re juniors.”

Joel smiled. “You did really well. I can’t believe you drew those so quickly!”



She walked over and placed her chalk against one of the unicorns. It stopped prancing immediately, freezing in place as if it had become simply a drawing again. Four seconds later, it was gone. She repeated the process with the others. “That wasn’t hard,” she said. “I just had to get my chalklings to wait before attacking.”

From what little Joel had read, it hadn’t sounded that easy. If you didn’t give the chalklings precisely correct instructions, they’d attack your own Line of Forbiddance. Then, when you dismissed it, they’d be confused and mill about instead of rushing your opponent.

“I told you Jordan would work for you,” Joel said, standing.

“You went easy on me,” she said. “Plus, my lines weren’t that great. I’ll bet you could have broken through my Forbiddance wall with half as many shots as it would otherwise have taken.”

“Maybe,” Joel said. “I didn’t expect you to work so quickly. Your ellipse was a disaster—but that didn’t matter. You did a great job, Melody. You can do this. You just need to find patterns and defenses that work for your skills.”

She smiled hesitantly at that. “Thanks.”

“It’s true.”

“No,” she said. “Not for the compliment. For showing me this. I doubt it’s going to revolutionize my style—I’m never going to be a good Rithmatist unless I can learn circles. But, well, it’s nice to know I can do something right.”

Joel smiled back. “All right. Well, maybe now we should get to class. Professor Fitch…”

He trailed off, noticing a figure in the distance—a figure in a policeman’s uniform and hat, sitting astride a large horse. Remembering that he’d asked Exton to send for the inspector, Joel waved.

“Joel?” Melody asked.

“Just a moment,” he said. “You can go on ahead. I need to talk to that policeman.”

She turned. “Dusts! Is that an Equilix Stallion?”

As she spoke, Joel noticed that she was right. Harding trotted his mount forward, but that mount was not a horse. It was shaped like one, true, but it was made of metal, with glass sides that showed the twisting gears and clicking springs.

“Joel, son,” Harding said as he walked his mount up, its metal hooves leaving deep prints in the soil. “How goes the academic front?”

“It goes well, Inspector,” Joel said.

Joel had seen springwork horses before, of course. They were expensive, but by no means uncommon. An Equilix, however, wasn’t just any springwork. Built from the newest of springwork technologies out of Egyptia, they were said to be amazingly intelligent. They had a woman there, a genius scientist, who had figured out new ways of winding springs to pull energy through the harmonic winds.

Joel looked into the machine’s clear glass eyes, and could see the tiny springs and rotors moving inside, miniature arms popping up and down like the keys of a typewriter, driving the functions of its complicated clockwork brain.

“Now, who is this pretty young lady?” Harding asked. His tone was civil, but Joel could sense the hesitation.

Pretty? She annoyed him so often, he forgot how cute she could be when she smiled. Like she was doing right now. “She’s a student of Professor Fitch’s,” Joel said.

“Miss…?”

“Muns,” she said.

Wait, Joel thought. Muns. I’ve heard that name somewhere recently. For someone other than Melody.…

“Miss Muns,” Harding said, tipping his blue helmet. Then he turned to Joel. “Thank you for the tip about the parents, Joel. We need to secure this campus; I’ve ordered that from this point forward, no students are to be allowed out for the evenings or weekends. I’ve asked for reinforcements, making this our base of operations and front line of defense!”

Joel nodded. “I thought it would be a bad idea for the parents to start running off with their children. Anywhere they go, the … person could follow.”

“Agreed,” Harding said.

Melody glanced at Joel, her eyes narrowing.

“By the way, soldier,” Harding said to Joel, “have you seen a blonde woman, five foot seven, hair in a bun, about thirty-five years old, wearing a blue dress? She has sharp features and a narrow face.”

“I saw her,” Joel said. “She’s a parent of one of the Rithmatist students.”

Harding snorted. “Hardly. That’s Elizabeth Warner—reporter.”

“A woman reporter?” Joel asked.

“What’s wrong with that?” Melody said with a huff.

“Nothing,” Joel said quickly. “Just … never heard of it before.”

“Times are changing,” Harding said. “Women Rithmatists fight on the battlefield, and I’ll bet there comes a day when even ordinary women join the ranks of soldiers. Regardless, women or not, press are the enemy. If they have their way, this entire island will go into a panic! Where did you see her, son?”

“She was heading toward Professor Fitch’s office.”

“Blast it all,” Harding said, turning his mount. Joel could hear clicks and springworks moving inside. “Watch my retreat!” Harding called.

He took off in a gallop toward the Rithmatic campus.

“And what exactly was that all about?” Melody asked.

“Uh … nothing.”

She rolled her eyes with an exaggerated expression. “I’m sure.”

“I can’t tell you,” he said.

“You’re going to relegate me to continued ignorance!”

“Uh, no,” Joel said, shuffling. “Look, I really don’t know anything.”

“Is that a lie?”

Joel hesitated. “Yeah.”

She sniffed in annoyance. “And I thought we were starting to get along so well.” She grabbed her notebook and stalked away. “My life,” she snapped, holding her hand aloft, “is a tragedy! Even my friends lie to me!”

Joel sighed. He picked up the book she’d checked out for him, then rushed after her toward Fitch’s office.