The Rithmatist

“Already done, lad. Already done.”
    They stood outside Warding Hall, groups of people piling in for the Melee. York had declared the campus open again after just one day of chaos following the Scribbler’s defeat. The principal wanted to make a point that Armedius would continue undaunted; he had been certain to publicize not only the return of the missing students, but the dozens of Rithmatists thought lost at Nebrask. The media was having a frenzy with that.
    “And not one, but two new Rithmatic lines discovered,” York said, hands behind his back, looking utterly pleased.
    “Yeah,” Joel said, a little noncommittal.
    York eyed him. “I’ve sent letters to some of my friends who lead the other academies, Joel.”
    Joel turned.
    “I think that, in light of events, several of them can be persuaded to honor some of their contracts with your father. Armedius certainly will. It may not be the riches your father dreamed of, lad, but I’ll see your mother’s debts paid and then some. We owe you and Professor Fitch.”
    Joel grinned. “Your gratitude will include a couple of good seats to the Melee, won’t it?”
    “They’re set aside for you, son. Front row.”
    “Thanks!”
    “I believe that we are the ones who owe you thanks,” York said. To the side, Joel noticed some men in very rich-looking suits approaching. One was Knight-Senator Calloway.
    “Ah,” York said. “If you’ll excuse me, there are politicians who need to be entertained.”
    “Of course, sir,” Joel said, and York withdrew.
    Joel stood for a long while, watching people enter the broad doors, filling the arena inside. Exton approached with Florence. The two of them seemed to argue a lot less frequently lately.
    Harding had been relieved of duty, but claimed he didn’t remember anything of what had happened. Joel was inclined to believe the man. He’d seen the change that happened in Harding. The other authorities weren’t as quick to understand. Apparently, a Forgotten had never acted in this manner before.
    Joel was beginning to suspect that whatever happened to make Rithmatists in the chamber of inception could happen in Nebrask as well. That book he wasn’t supposed to have read had said the inception ceremony involved something called a Shadowblaze.
    He’d seen one in the chamber of inception. He’d asked several other people who hadn’t become Rithmatists, and none had seen one of the things. He already knew that the Rithmatists, Melody included, wouldn’t speak of the experience.
    Joel wasn’t certain why he had seen the Shadowblaze, or why he hadn’t become a Rithmatist for it, but his experience hinted that the entire process of inception was far more complex than most people knew.
    Harding had no history at all of having Rithmatic abilities, and he could no longer produce lines. Whatever the Forgotten had done to him, it had granted the ability. Was that what a Shadowblaze did for someone during the inception?
    That left an uncomfortable knowledge in Joel. There was more than one way to become a Rithmatist. One of those ways involved something dark and murderous. Could there be other ways?
    It opened up hope again. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
    “Joel!” Exton said. The stout man hurried over and grabbed Joel’s hand. “Thank you so much, lad. Fitch told me how you continued to believe in me, even when they took me into custody.”
    “Harding almost had me convinced,” Joel said. “But some things just didn’t make sense. The inspector must have planted the evidence against you when he was investigating the office.”
    Exton nodded. Both Lilly Whiting and Charles Calloway had identified Harding as the Scribbler.
    “Well, son,” Exton said. “You are a true friend. I mean it.”
    Florence smiled. “Does that mean you’ll stop grumbling at him?”
    “I don’t know about that,” Exton said. “Depends on if he’s interrupting my work or not! And, speaking of work, I have to adjudicate the Melee. Goodness help us if I hadn’t been released—nobody else knows the rules to this blasted thing well enough to referee!”
    The two of them moved on toward the arena.
    Joel continued to wait outside. Traditionally, the Rithmatists didn’t come until most of the seats were filled, and this day was no exception. The students began to arrive, making their way through the doors, where Exton had them draw lots to determine where on the arena floor they—or, if they wanted to work in a