The Rithmatist

CHAPTER




The circle is divine, Joel read.

The only truly eternal and perfect shape, it has been a symbol for the Master’s works since the ancient Egyptian Ahmes first discovered the divine number itself. Many medieval scholars used the compass—the tool by which a circle is drafted—as a symbol of the Master’s power of creation. One can find it scattered throughout illuminated manuscripts.

Before we landed on the American Isles, history entered a dark period for the circle. The Earth was shown to not be a flat circle at all, but a sphere of questionable regularity. The celestial planets were proven to move in ellipses, further weakening belief in the divine circle.

Then we discovered Rithmatics.

In Rithmatics, words are unimportant. Only numbers have meaning, and the circle dominates all. The closer one can come to perfection in its form, the more powerful one is. The circle, then, is proven to be beyond simple human reasoning. It is something inherently divine.

It is odd, then, that something man-made should have played such an important part in the discovery of Rithmatics. If His Majesty hadn’t been carrying one of Master Freudland’s new-style pocket watches, perhaps none of this would have ever occurred, and man might have fallen to the wild chalklings.

The chapter ended there. Joel sat in the empty workshop, back against the wall. A few thin ribbons of sunlight crept through the windows above, falling through the dusty air to fall in squares on the floor.

Joel flipped through the pages of the old tome. It came from the journal of one Adam Makings, the personal astronomer and scientist of King Gregory III, founder of Rithmatics. Adam Makings was attributed with discovering and outlining the principles surrounding two-, four-, and six-point Rithmatic circles.

The book came from Joel’s father’s collection, and was apparently quite valuable, since it was a very early copy. Why hadn’t Joel’s mother sold it—or any of the books—to pay debts? Perhaps she hadn’t known the value.

The book contained Makings’s theories on the existence of other Rithmatic figures, though he’d never come to any definite conclusions. That last part, however, proved more interesting to Joel than any other.

If His Majesty hadn’t been carrying one of Master Freudland’s new-style pocket watches, perhaps none of this would have ever occurred, and man might have fallen to the wild chalklings.…

Joel frowned, flipping to the next chapter. He was unable to find anything else on the topic of the pocket watch.

Very little was known of how King Gregory discovered Rithmatics. The church’s official position was that he had received the knowledge in a vision. Religious depictions often showed Gregory kneeling in prayer, a beacon of light falling around him and forming a circle marked with six points. The inside cover of the book had a similar plate in the front, though this one showed the vision appearing in front of Gregory in the air.

Why would a pocket watch be involved?

“Joel?” A feminine voice rang through the brick hallways of the dormitory basement. A few seconds later, Melody’s face appeared in the open doorway to the workshop. She wore a book bag on her shoulder and had on the skirt and blouse of a Rithmatic student.

“You’re still here?” she demanded.

“There’s a lot of studying to—” Joel began.

“You’re sitting practically in the dark!” she said, walking over to him. “This place is dreary.”

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.

They left, and Melody handed the book to Joel.

He tucked it under his arm. “Weren’t we going to the office to look for a note from the vicar?”

“I suppose,” she said, sighing.

“You’re down, all of a sudden.”

“I’m like that,” she said. “Wild mood swings. It makes me more interesting. Anyway, you have to admit that it hasn’t been a pleasant afternoon you’ve shown me. I got to see Nalizar—dreamy as he is—but I was also forced to think about the Melee.”

“You almost sound like it’s my fault,” Joel said.

“Well,” she said, “I wasn’t going to say it myself, but since you pointed it out, I find myself persuaded. You really should apologize to me.”

“Oh please.”

“Don’t you feel the least bit sorry for me?” she asked. “Having to go and be laughed at by the entire school populace?”

“Maybe you’ll hold your own.”

She regarded him flatly. “Have you seen one of my circles, Joel?”

“You’re getting better.”

“The Melee is in three days!”

“Okay,” he admitted. “You don’t have a chance. But, well, the only way to learn is by trying!”

“You really are like a professor.”

“Hey!” Joel said as they approached the office building. “I resent that. I’ve worked very hard during my school career to be a delinquent. I’ll bet I’ve failed more classes than you have.”

“I doubt that,” she said haughtily. “And, even if you did, I doubt you failed them as spectacularly or as embarrassingly as I did.”

He chuckled. “Point conceded. Nobody’s as spectacularly embarrassing as you, Melody.”

“That’s not what I said.”

They approached the office, and Joel could see Harding’s police guarding there. “Well, one good part about all this,” Melody said. “If Principal York restricts the Melee to students and faculty, then I won’t have to be embarrassed in front of my parents.”

“Wait. They’d actually come?”

“They always come to the Melee,” she said, grimacing. “Particularly when one of their children is in it.”

“When you talk about them, it sounds like you think they hate you or something.”

“It’s not that. It’s just … well, they’re important people. Busy doing stuff. They don’t have much time for the daughter who can’t seem to get Rithmatics right.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Joel said.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I have two brothers and one sister, all older than me, all Rithmatists. Each one won the Melee at least twice during their careers. William won all four years he was eligible.”

“Wow,” Joel said.

“And I can’t even do a straight circle,” Melody said, walking quickly. Joel hurried to catch up to her.

“They’re not bad people,” she said. “But, well, I think it’s easy for them to have me here. Floridia is far enough away that they don’t have to see me often. I could probably go home on weekends—I did during the early years. Lately, though, with William’s death … well, it’s not really a very happy place at home.”

“Wait,” Joel said, “death?”

She shrugged. “Nebrask is dangerous.”

Death, Joel thought. At Nebrask. And her last name is …

Muns. Joel stopped short.

Melody turned.

“Your brother,” Joel said. “How old was he?”

“Three years older than me,” Melody said.

“He died last year?”

She nodded.

“Dusts!” Joel said. “I saw his obituary in the lists Professor Fitch gave me.”

“So?”

“So,” Joel said, “Professor Nalizar was involved in the death of a Rithmatic student last year. That’s why he was sent away from the battlefront. Maybe it’s connected! Maybe—”

“Joel,” Melody snapped, drawing his attention.

He blinked, regarding her, seeing the distress in her eyes, hidden behind anger.

“Don’t involve William,” she said. “I just … Don’t. If you have to look for conspiracies around Nalizar, do it. But don’t talk about my brother.”

“I’m sorry,” Joel said. “But … if Nalizar was involved, don’t you want to know?”

“He was involved,” Melody said. “Nalizar led a team past the Nebrask Circle up to the base of the Tower itself trying to recover my brother. They never even found the body.”

“Then maybe he killed your brother!” Joel said. “Maybe he just said he couldn’t find him.”

“Joel,” she said, growing quiet. “I’m only going to discuss this one time, all right? William’s death was his own fault. He ran out past the defensive lines. Half the contingent saw him get swarmed by chalklings.

“William tried to prove himself a hero, and he put a lot of people in danger. Nalizar did all he could to rescue him. Nalizar risked his life for my brother.”

Joel hesitated, remembering how she always described Nalizar.

“I don’t like what he did to Fitch,” Melody said, “but Nalizar is a hero. He left the battlefront because of the failure he felt in not being able to rescue William in time.”

Something didn’t seem right about that to Joel. However, he didn’t say anything about it to Melody. Instead, he simply nodded. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded as well, apparently considering the topic closed. They walked the rest of the way to the office in silence.

Nalizar suddenly decided he couldn’t take failure? Joel thought. He left the battlefront because of one death? If it was his conscience that made him leave the battlefront, then why did he complain about politics to Principal York?

Something is going on with that man.

They opened the door to the office, and Joel was pleased to find both Inspector Harding and Professor Fitch there. Harding stood talking to Florence about supplies and housing accommodations for his officers. Fitch sat in one of the waiting chairs.

“Ah, Joel,” Fitch said, rising.

“Professor?” Joel said. “You weren’t looking for me, were you?”

“Hum? What? Ah, no, I have to give a report to the principal about our work. He has me in every couple of days or so. You haven’t discovered anything new, have you?”

Joel shook his head. “I’m just keeping Melody company on her errands.” He paused, leaning against the wall as Melody walked over to get another stack of notes to deliver. “Though there was one thing.”

“Hum?”

“Do you know much about the original discovery of Rithmatics?” Joel asked. “Back when King Gregory was alive?”

“I know more than most,” Fitch said. “I am, after all, a historian.”

“Was there some involvement of clocks in the discovery?”

“Ah,” Fitch said. “You’re talking about the Adam Makings report, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Ha! We’ll turn you into a scholar yet, lad. Very nice work, very nice. Yes, there are some strange references to the workings of clocks in the early records, and we haven’t been able to figure out why. Early chalklings reacted to them, though they no longer do so. The power of the gears over chalklings is one of the reasons that springworks are used so often in Monarchical churches, you know.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Exton added from the other side of the room. Joel looked up; he wasn’t aware the clerk had been paying attention.

“Ask the vicar about it sometime,” Exton continued. “The priests see time in an interesting way. Something about how it is divided by man bringing order to chaos.”

There was a chuckle from the side of the room, where Florence had turned from her conversation with Inspector Harding. “Exton! I thought you were too busy to chat!”

“I am,” he muttered. “I have nearly given up on getting anything done in this madhouse. Everyone bustling about and making noise all the time. I’m going to have to find a way to do work when nobody is around.”

“Well,” Joel said to Professor Fitch, “the clock thing is probably a dead end then, if people have already noticed it and researched it.” He sighed. “I’m not certain I’ll be able to find anything of use in these books. I keep being shocked by how little I know about Rithmatics.”

Fitch nodded. “I feel the same way sometimes.”

“I remember sitting and watching your duel with Nalizar,” Joel said. “I thought I knew it all, just because I understood the defenses you were using. There’s a lot more to all of it than I once thought.”

Fitch smiled.

“What?” Joel asked.

“What you just said is the foundation of all scholarship.” Fitch reached out, putting a hand on Joel’s shoulder, which stood a bit taller than Fitch’s own. “Joel, son, you’ve been invaluable to this investigation. If York hadn’t given you to me as an assistant … well, I don’t know where we would be.”

Joel found himself smiling. Fitch’s sincerity was touching.

“Aha!” a voice declared.

Joel spun to find Melody holding a letter. She rushed across the office room, prompting a frown from Exton. She stretched across the counter between the office area and the waiting area, handing the letter to Joel. “It’s from the vicar,” she said. “Open it, open it!”

Joel accepted it hesitantly. It was marked with the clockwork cross. He broke the seal, then took a breath, opening the letter.

Joel, I have reviewed your case and have spoken with the bishop of New Britannia, as well as the principal of your school. After some deliberation, we have determined that—indeed—your request has merit. If there is a chance that the Master wishes you to be a Rithmatist, we should not deny you the opportunity.

Arrive at the cathedral on Thursday at eight sharp, and you will be fitted for a robe of inception and be allowed an opportunity to enter the chamber before the regular ceremony begins. Bring your mother and any with whom you might wish to share this event.

Vicar Stewart

Joel looked up from the note, stunned.

“What does it say?” Melody asked, hardly able to contain herself.

“It means there’s still hope,” Joel said, lowering the note. “I’m going to get a chance.”