The Rithmatist

might have to fight for their lives, not just for the accolades of a meaningless competition.”
    “Meaningless?” Nalizar asked. “The Melee is meaningless? You hide behind excuses. I will teach these students to win.”
    “I … well…” Fitch said. “I…”
    “Bah,” Nalizar said, waving his hand. “I doubt you can ever understand, old man. How long did you serve on the front lines at Nebrask?”
    “Only a few weeks,” Fitch admitted. “I spent most of my time serving on the defensive planning committee in Denver City.”
    “And,” Nalizar asked, “what was your focus during your university studies? Was it offensive theory? Was it, perhaps, advanced Vigor studies? Was it even—as you claim is so important for your students—defense?”
    Fitch was quiet for a while. “No,” he finally said. “I studied the origins of Rithmatic powers and their treatment in early American society.”
    “A historian,” Nalizar said, turning to the other professors. “You had a historian teaching defensive Rithmatics. And you wonder why performance evaluations for Armedius are down?”
    The table was silent. Even the principal stopped to consider this one. As they turned back to their food, Nalizar glanced toward Joel.
    Joel felt an immediate jolt of panic; he’d already provoked this man once today by intruding in his classroom. Would he remember…?
    But his eyes just passed over Joel, as if not even seeing him. Once in a while, it was good to not be memorable.
    “Is that the chalkmaker’s son standing over there?” Professor Haberstock asked, squinting at Joel.
    “Who?” Nalizar asked, glancing at Joel again.
    “You’ll get used to him, Nalizar,” Haberstock said. “We keep having to throw the child out of our classes. He finds ways to sneak in and listen.”
    “Well, that won’t do,” Nalizar said, shaking his head. “It’s sloppy teaching, letting non-Rithmatists distract our trainees.”
    “Well, I don’t let him into my class, Nalizar,” Haberstock said. “Some others do.”
    “Away with you,” Nalizar said, waving at Joel. “If I find you bothering us again, I shall—”
    “Actually, Nalizar,” Fitch cut in, “I asked the boy to come speak with me.”
    Nalizar glared at Fitch, but he had little right to contradict instruction given to a student by another professor. He pointedly turned to a conversation about the current state of affairs in Nebrask, of which he was apparently an expert.
    Joel stepped up to Fitch. “He shouldn’t speak to you like that, Professor,” Joel said quietly, hunkering down beside the professor.
    “Well, maybe so, but maybe he has a right. I did lose to him.”
    “It wasn’t a fair battle,” Joel said. “You weren’t ready.”
    “I was out of practice,” Fitch said. Then he sighed. “Truth is, lad, I’ve never been good at fighting. I can draw a perfect Line of Warding in front of a classroom, but put me in a duel, and I can barely get out a curve! Yes indeed. You should have seen how I shook today during the challenge.”
    “I did see,” Joel said. “I was there.”
    “You were?” Fitch said. “Ah yes. You were!”
    “I thought your sketch of the Easton Defense was quite masterful.”
    “No, no,” Fitch said. “I chose a poor defense for a one-on-one contest. Nalizar is the better warrior. He was a hero at Nebrask. He spent years fighting the Tower.… I, well, to be honest I rarely did any fighting even when I was there. I tended to get too nervous, couldn’t hold my chalk straight.”
    Joel fell silent.
    “Yes, yes indeed,” Fitch said. “Perhaps this is for the best. I wouldn’t want to leave any students poorly trained. I could never live with myself if one of my students died because I failed to train them right. I … I don’t rightly think I’ve ever considered that.”
    What could Joel say to that? He didn’t know how to respond. “Professor,” he said instead, “I brought your books back. You walked off without them.”
    Fitch started. “So, you actually did have a reason to speak with me! How amusing. I was simply trying to aggravate Nalizar. Thank you.”
    Fitch accepted the books, laying them on the table. Then he started to poke at his food again.
    Joel gathered his courage. “Professor,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “There’s something else I wanted to ask you.”
    “Hum? What?”
    Joel pulled out the sheet and flattened it against the table. He slid it over to Fitch, who regarded it with a