The Rithmatist

going on here? Joel thought, reading the caption to the picture. It read: One of the many sketches made by Captain Estevez during his explorations of Zona Arida Island.
    Joel blinked, then looked back at his table.
    Something tapped at his window.
    He yelped, jumping up out of his chair. He reached for the bucket of acid he’d taken from Inspector Harding, but then saw what was on the other side of the window.
    Red hair, wide eyes. Melody grinned at him, waving. Joel checked the clock. It was two in the morning.
    He groaned, walking out and then climbing the steps to open the dormitory door, which was locked. Melody stood outside. Her skirt was scuffed, and there were twigs in her hair.
    “Melody,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
    “Standing in the cold,” she said. “Aren’t you going to invite a lady in?”
    “I don’t know if it would be proper.…”
    She pushed her way in anyway, walking down to the workroom. Joel sighed, closing the door and following her. Inside, she turned to him, hands on hips. “This,” she said, “is appalling. ”
    “What?” he asked.
    “It really doesn’t work as well as the word ‘tragic,’ does it?” She flopped down into a chair. “I need a different word.”
    “Do you know what time it is?”
    “I’m annoyed,” she said, ignoring his question. “They’ve had us locked up all day. You’re an insomniac. I figured I could come bug you.”
    “You snuck past the guards?”
    “Out the window. Second story. There’s a tree close by. Harder to climb down than it looks.”
    “You’re lucky the policemen didn’t catch you.”
    “Nah,” she said. “They aren’t there.”
    “What?”
    “Oh, there are a couple at the main door,” she said. “But only those two. The ones that patrolled below the windows left a short time ago. Guess they changed shift or something. Anyway, that’s not important. Joel, the important thing is this tragedy I’m trying to tell you about.”
    “You being locked up?”
    “That,” she said. “And Exton being locked up. He didn’t do it, Joel. I know he didn’t. The guy gave me half of his sandwich once.”
    “That’s a reason for him not being a murderer?”
    “It’s more than that,” Melody said. “He’s a nice man. He grumbles a lot, but I like him. He has a kind heart. He’s also smart.”
    “The person doing this was smart.”
    “Exactly. Why would Exton attack the son of a knight-senator? That’s a stupid move for him, if he wanted to remain inconspicuous. That’s the part of this that doesn’t make sense. We should be asking why—why attack Charles? If we knew that, I’ll bet the real motive for all of this would come together.”
    Joel sat thoughtfully.
    “Harding has evidence against Exton,” Joel said.
    “So?”
    “So,” Joel said. “That’s usually what proves that a person is guilty.”
    “I don’t believe it,” Melody said. “Look, if Exton got kicked out of here all those years ago, then how in the world was he a good enough Rithmatist to create a line nobody else knew of?”
    “Yeah. I know.” He stood. “Come on,” he said, walking out the door.
    Melody followed. “Where are we going?”
    “Professor Fitch’s office,” Joel said, crossing the dark campus. They walked in silence for a time before Joel noticed it. “Where are the police patrols?”
    “I don’t know,” Melody said. “See, I told you.”
    Joel hastened his step. They reached Warding Hall, then rushed up the stairs. Joel pounded on the door for a while, and eventually a very groggy Professor Fitch answered the door. “Hum?”
    “Professor,” Joel said. “I think something’s going on.”
    Fitch yawned. “What time is it?”
    “Early,” Joel said. “Look, Professor, you saw the lines that were intended to trap me? The cage of Lines of Forbiddance that Exton supposedly drew?”
    “Yes?” Fitch asked.
    “How well were the lines drawn?”
    “They were good. Expertly straight.”
    “Professor,” Joel said, “I saw lines that Exton drew at the door. They weren’t shaped right. He did a terrible job.”
    “So he was trying to fool you, Joel.”
    “No,” Joel said. “He was afraid for his life. I saw it in his eyes. He wouldn’t have drawn poor lines in that case! Professor, what if Nalizar—”
    “Joel!” Fitch snapped. “I’m tired of your fixation on Professor Nalizar! I … well … I hate raising my voice, but I’m just fed up! You wake me up at awful hours, talking about