The Rithmatist

direction. Joel pulled Melody toward the stairs, but froze as he saw another group of chalklings coming from that direction.
    They were surrounded.
    “Oh dusts, oh dusts, oh dusts,” Melody said. She fell to her knees and drew a circle around them, then added a Square of Forbiddance around it. “We’re doomed. We’re going to die.”
    Harding rounded the corner. He was a dark silhouette, stepping quietly, not speaking. He stopped as the chalklings began to work on Melody’s square, then he reached up and twisted the key on the nearby lantern, bringing light to the hallway.
    He seemed even more twisted by the half-light than he had in the dimness.
    “Talk to me!” Joel said. “Harding, you’re my friend! Why are you doing this? What happened to you out there, in Nebrask?”
    Harding began to draw one of his modified Lines of Vigor on the floor. Melody’s square had failed, and the chalklings were starting to work on her circle. They squirmed and shook, as if anticipating biting into Joel’s and Melody’s flesh.
    Suddenly, a voice rang in the hallway. Clear, angry.
    “You will leave them alone !”
    Harding turned toward a figure standing in an open Rithmatic coat at the other end of the hallway, holding a piece of chalk in each hand.
    Professor Fitch.



CHAPTER

    Professor Fitch was shaking. Joel could see that, even from the distance. The flood of chalklings turned away from Joel and Melody and rushed toward him.
    Harding raised his rifle.
    Fitch dropped to his knees and drew a Line of Forbiddance on the floor. There was a loud click and a rush of air as the rifle fired.
    The bullet shot through the hallway, then hit the line’s wall and froze a few inches from Fitch’s head. The bullet lost its momentum and was pushed back and away. It hit the floor with a clink .
    Harding let out his first sound then, a roar of anger. It was quieted by the Lines of Silencing. Still, it was loud enough to make Fitch waver, and he looked up, eyes widening in fear. Hesitating.
    Then he looked at Joel and Melody, trapped in their failing circle. Fitch’s jaw set and his hands stopped shaking. He looked down at the flood of chalklings approaching him, and reached out with both hands to snap his chalk to the ground on either side of him.
    Then he drew.
    Joel stood up straight, watching with awe as Fitch spun about, using his chalk to draw two Lines of Warding, one inside the other, both as perfect as Joel had ever seen. Fitch added smaller circles on the outside, one after another in rapid succession, one hand drawing each circle even as the other drew a Line of Forbiddance inside each one as an anchor.
    The Taylor Defense.
    “Professor…” Joel whispered. The defense was perfect. Majestic. “I knew you could to it.”
    “Yeah, Joel?” Melody said. “Hello. Pay attention. We need to get out of here. ”
    She knelt down, using her chalk to dismiss the Line of Warding around them.
    “No,” Joel said. He looked down at her. “Melody, those chalklings aren’t natural. Fitch can’t fight them; they can’t be destroyed. We need to help him.”
    “How?”
    Joel looked back. “Dismiss the rest of those lines around us.”
    As she did so, Joel knelt down, taking a piece of blue chalk out of his coat pocket.
    “Hey, you started carrying some!” Melody exclaimed.

    “My father’s chalk,” Joel said, sketching out a long rectangular maze pattern on the floor. “Go draw this in the corridor there. Make it as long as you can, and leave this little section open on the side and at the far end.”
    She nodded, then moved over to begin drawing. Joel took his chalk and closed off the hole she left open.
    “What good will that do?” she asked, drawing urgently.
    “You’ll see,” Joel said, spinning back toward Harding and Fitch. Fitch drew furiously and was faring far better than Nalizar had. He had managed to enclose a couple of the Scribbler’s chalklings within boxes, trapping them.
    Unfortunately, his outer defenses were nearly eaten away. He wouldn’t last long like this.
    Joel gave Melody as much time as he dared. Then he yelled, “Hey, Harding!”
    The inspector turned.
    “Wednesday night,” Joel said, “you tried to kill me. Now is your chance. Because if you don’t, I’m going to go get help and—” He cut off, yelping. Apparently Harding didn’t need any encouragement, for a good third of his chalklings began scrambling back down the hallway toward Joel and Melody, taking some of the pressure