Joel looked around the workshop. “I find it comforting.”
“Whatever. You’re taking a break. Come on.”
“But—”
“No excuses,” she said, grabbing his arm and yanking. He let her pull him to his feet. It was Wednesday; tomorrow was the Fourth of July and the inception ceremony. There was still no word from the vicar about whether or not Joel would be able to attend, and the Scribbler had yet to strike again.
Many in the media were claiming Inspector Harding’s lockdown to be a success, and the last few holdouts on keeping Rithmatist students away were giving in.
Joel didn’t feel their same relief. He felt like an axe was hanging over them, just waiting to fall.
“Come on,” Melody said, towing him out of the basement and into the afternoon light. “Honestly, you’re going to shrivel up and turn into a professor if you don’t watch yourself.”
Joel rubbed his neck, stretching. It did feel nice to be out.
“Let’s go to the office,” Melody said, “and see if the vicar has sent you anything yet.”
Joel shrugged, and they began walking. The days were growing warm, New Britannia humidity rolling in off the ocean. The heat felt good after a morning spent down in the workshop.
As they passed the humanities building, Joel eyed a group of workers busy scrubbing the building’s side where the phrase “Go Back to Nebrask” had been scrawled two nights ago in the darkness. Harding had been furious that someone had managed to penetrate his security.
I wouldn’t be surprised if it was done by members of the student body, Joel thought. There had always been tensions between the rich, non-Rithmatic students and the Rithmatists.
Melody saw it too. “Did you hear about Virginia and Thaddius?”
“Who?”
“Rithmatists,” Melody said. “Students from the class ahead of us. They were out yesterday after church services. Ran into a mob of men who chased them and threw bottles at them. I’ve never heard of such a thing happening.”
“Are they all right?”
“Well, yes.…” Melody said, growing uncomfortable. “They drew chalklings. It made the men scatter in a heartbeat.”
Chalklings. “But—”
“No, they don’t know the Glyph of Rending,” Melody said quickly. “They wouldn’t have used it if they’d known it. Using that against people is quite a sin, you know.”
“That will still be bad,” Joel said. “Stories will spread.”
“What would you have them do? Let the mob catch them?”
“Well, no.…”
The two walked, uncomfortable, for another few moments. “Oh!” Melody said. “I just remembered. I have to stop by Making Hall.”
“What?” Joel said as she spun about.
“It’s on the way,” she said, adjusting the shoulder strap on the book bag and waving him along.
“It’s on the other dusting side of the campus!”
She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “What? A little walking is going to kill you? Come on.”
Joel grumbled, joining her.
“Guess what?” Melody said.
Joel raised an eyebrow.
“I finally got to move on from tracing,” she said. “Professor Fitch is having me work from a pattern now.”
“Great!” That was the next step—drawing the Rithmatic forms from a small design to use as a reference. It was something Melody should have mastered years ago, but he didn’t say that.
“Yes,” she said with a flip of the hand. “Give me another few months, and I’ll have this Rithmatics thing down. I’ll be able to beat any ten-year-old in a duel.”
Joel chuckled. “Why do we need to drop by Making Hall, anyway?”
Melody held up a small folded note.
“Oh, right,” Joel said. “Office deliveries.”
She nodded.
“Wait,” Joel said, frowning. “You’re doing deliveries? Is that why you came down to get me? Because you were bored doing deliveries alone?”
“Of course,” Melody said happily. “Didn’t you know that you exist to entertain me?”
“Great,” Joel said. To the side, they passed Warding Hall, where a large number of staff members were moving in and out.
“The Melee,” Joel said. “They’re getting ready for it.” It was coming up on Saturday.
Melody got a sour look on her face. “I can’t believe that they’re still holding the thing.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“Well, considering recent events…”
Joel shrugged. “I suspect Harding will limit attendance to students and faculty. The Scribbler attacks at night anyway. An event like this would be too well attended by Rithmatists to be a good place to try anything.”
Melody grumbled something unintelligible as they walked up the hill to Making Hall.
“What was that?” Joel asked.
“I just don’t see why they have to have the Melee in the first place,” Melody said. “I mean, what’s the point?”
“It’s fun,” Joel said. “It lets the students get some practice in with real duels and prove themselves Rithmatically. What’s your problem with it?”
“Every professor has to send at least one student to the thing,” Melody said.
“So?”
“So, how many students does Fitch have?”
Joel stopped on the side of the hill. “Wait … you’re going to duel in the Melee?”
“And be thoroughly humiliated. Not that that’s anything new. Still, I don’t see why I have to be put on display.”
“Oh, come on. Maybe you’ll do well—you’re so good at chalklings, after all.”
She regarded him flatly. “Nalizar is fielding twelve students to fight.” It was the maximum. “Who do you bet they’ll eliminate first?”
“Then you won’t be humiliated. Who would expect you to stand against them? Just enjoy yourself.”
“It’s going to be painful.”
“It’s a fun tradition.”
“So was witch-burning,” Melody said. “Unless you were the witch.”
Joel chuckled as they reached Making Hall. They walked along to one of the doors, and Melody reached to pull it open.
Joel froze. It was Nalizar’s office. “Here?”
“Yeah,” Melody said with a grimace. “The office had a note for him. Oh yeah, I forgot.” She reached into her bag, pulling out the book Origins of Power, the one that Joel had borrowed a few weeks back. “He requested this, and the library contacted me, since I’d checked it out.”
“Nalizar wants this book?” Joel asked.
“Uh … yeah. That’s what I just said. I found it at Fitch’s office, where you left it. Sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Joel said. He’d been hoping that once he’d spent some time studying his father’s texts, he’d be able to figure the book out.
“Be back in a sec,” Melody said, opening the door and rushing up the stairs.
Joel waited below—he had no desire to see Nalizar. But … why did the professor want that book?
Nalizar is involved in this somehow, he thought, walking around the building to look up into the office window. I—
He stopped short. Nalizar stood there, in the window. The professor wore his red coat, buttoned up to the neck. He scanned the campus, eyes passing over Joel, as if not noticing him.
Then the professor’s head snapped back toward Joel, regarding him, meeting his eyes.
Other times when he’d seen the professor, Joel had found the man haughty. Arrogant in a youthful, almost naive sort of way.
There was none of that in the man’s expression now. Nalizar stood in the shadowed room, tall and straight-backed, arms clasped behind him as he stared down at Joel. Contemplative.
Nalizar turned, obviously hearing Melody knock on the door, then walked away from the window. A few minutes later, Melody appeared at the bottom of the stairs, lugging a stack of books, her bag full of others. Joel rushed over to help her.
“Ugh,” she said as he took half of the books. “Thanks. Here, you might be interested in this.” She slid one book across the top of her stack.
Joel picked it up. Postulations on the Possibility of New and Undiscovered Rithmatic Lines, the title read. It was the book he’d wanted to steal from Nalizar, the one the professor had borrowed a few weeks back.
“You stole it?” Joel asked with a hushed tone.
“Hardly,” Melody said, walking down the slope with her stack of books. “He told me to return these to the library as if I were some glorified errand girl.”
“Uh … that’s what you are, Melody. Only without the ‘glorified’ part.”
She snorted, and the two of them continued down the hill. “He sure is checking out a lot of books,” Joel noted, looking over the titles in his arms. “And they’re all on Rithmatic theory.”
“Well, he is a professor,” Melody said. “Hey, what are you doing?”
“Looking to see when he checked them out,” Joel said, balancing the books as he tried to flip to the back cover of each one, looking at the stamp on the card. “Looks like he’s had these for less than two weeks.”
“So?”
“So, that’s a lot of reading,” Joel said. “Look, he checked out this one on advanced Vigor reflecting yesterday. He’s returning it already?”
She shrugged. “It must not have been that interesting.”
“Either that, or he’s looking for something,” Joel said. “Skimming the books for specific information. Perhaps he’s trying to develop another new line.”
“Another?” Melody said. “You still insist on connecting him to the disappearances, don’t you?”
“I’m suspicious.”
“And if he’s behind it,” Melody said, “then why did all of the disappearances happen off campus? Wouldn’t he have taken the students easiest to reach?”
“He wouldn’t have wanted to draw suspicion to himself.”
“And motive?” Melody said.
“I don’t know. Taking the son of a knight-senator changes so much, transforming this from a regional problem to a national crisis. It doesn’t make sense. Unless that’s what he wanted in the first place.”
Melody eyed him.
“Stretch?” Joel asked.
“Yeah. If this were about creating a national crisis, then he could have just taken the knight-senator.”
Joel was forced to admit that she was right. What were the Scribbler’s motives? Was it about Rithmatists, or about driving a wedge between the islands? If it was just about killing or kidnapping students, then where had the new Rithmatic lines come from, and why were the wild chalklings involved? Or were they really? Could ordinary chalklings be instructed to act like wild ones to throw the police off?
Joel and Melody arrived at the library, and they went in, dropping off Nalizar’s books. Ms. Torrent gave them one of her trademark looks of displeasure as she checked the books in, then checked the book on potential Rithmatic lines back out to Melody.