The Rithmatist

don’t know a fraction of what you think you know.”
    “What are you?” Joel repeated.
    “A teacher,” he said. “And a student.”
    “The books in the library,” Joel said. “You’re not searching for anything specific—you’re just trying to discover what we know about Rithmatics. So you can judge where humankind’s abilities lie.”
    Nalizar said nothing.
    He came for the students, Joel realized. The war in Nebrask—the chalklings haven’t managed a significant breakout for centuries. Our Rithmatists are too strong. But if a creature like Nalizar can get at the students before they are trained …
    A new Rithmatist can only be made once an old one dies. What would happen if instead of dying, all of them were turned into chalkling monsters?
    No more Rithmatists. No more line in Nebrask.
    The weight of what had just happened pressed down upon Joel. “Nalizar the man is dead, isn’t he?” Joel said. “You took him at Nebrask, when he went into the breach to find Melody’s brother … and Harding was with him, wasn’t he? Melody said that Nalizar led an expedition in, and that would include soldiers. You took them both together, then you came out here.”
    “I see I need to leave you to think,” Nalizar said.
    Joel reached into his pocket, then whipped out the gold coin, holding it up wardingly at Nalizar.
    The creature eyed it, then plucked it from Joel’s fingers, holding it up to the light and looking at the clockwork inside.
    “Do you know why time is so confusing to some of us, Joel?” Nalizar asked.
    Joel said nothing.
    “Because man created it. He sectioned it off. There is nothing inherently important about a second or a minute. They’re fictional divisions, enacted by mankind, fabricated.” He eyed Joel. “Yet in a human’s hands, these things have life. Minutes, seconds, hours. The arbitrary becomes a law. For an outsider, these laws can be unsettling. Confusing. Frightening.”
    He flipped the coin back to Joel.
    “Others of us,” he said, “take more concern to understand—for a person rarely fears that which he understands. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a competition to win.”
    Joel watched, helpless, as the creature that was Nalizar disappeared up the steps to meet with the other professors. It had failed, but it didn’t seem the type to have only one plan in motion.
    What was Nalizar planning for his personal team of students? Why create a group of young Rithmatists who were loyal to him? Those who won the Melee would be given prime positions at Nebrask. Made leaders …
    Dusts, Joel thought, rushing back toward the dueling arena. He had to do something, but what? Nobody would believe him about Nalizar. Not now.
    The students had already been placed on the field, some of them individual, others grouped in teams. He saw Melody, who unfortunately had drawn a very poor location near the very center of the arena. Surrounded by enemies, she’d have to defend on all sides at once.
    She knelt out there, head bowed, back slumped in dejection. It twisted Joel’s insides in knots.
    If Nalizar’s students won this Melee, those moving to Nebrask for their final year of training would gain positions of authority over other students. Nalizar wanted them to win—he wanted his people in control, in charge. That couldn’t be allowed.
    Nalizar’s students could not win the Melee.
    Joel glanced to the side. Exton was chatting with several of the clerks from the city who would act as his assistant referees. They’d watch to make certain that as soon as a Circle of Warding was breached, the Rithmatist inside was disqualified.
    Joel took a breath and walked up to Exton. “Is there any rule against a non-Rithmatist entering the Melee?”
    Exton started. “Joel? What is this?”
    “Is there a rule against it?” Joel asked.
    “Well, no,” Exton said. “But you’d have to be a student of one of the Rithmatic professors, which isn’t really the case for any non-Rithmatist.”
    “Except me,” Joel said.
    Exton blinked. “Well, yes, I suppose being his research assistant over the summer elective counts technically. But, Joel, it’d be foolish for a non-Rithmatist to go out there!”
    Joel looked across the field. There were some forty students on it this year.
    “I’m entering on Professor Fitch’s team,” Joel said. “I’ll take a spot on the field with Melody.”
    “But … I mean…”
    “Just put me down, Exton,” Joel said, running out onto the field.
    His