The Rithmatist

letting Joel sit in silence, sweating. Papers ruffled. Ticking from the lanterns and the clock. As the silence stretched, pulled tight like taffy, Joel began to question his plan.
    “Joel,” the principal finally said, voice strangely soft, “do you realize the opportunity you are throwing away?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “We don’t allow the children of other staff into Armedius,” York continued. “I allowed you in as a personal favor to your father.”
    “I realize that, sir.”
    “Any other student,” York said, “I would have expelled by now. I have kicked out the sons of knight-senators before, you know. I expelled the Monarch’s own grandnephew. With you, I hesitated. Do you know why?”
    “Because my teachers say I’m bright?”
    “Hardly. Your intelligence is a reason to expel you. A child with poor capacity, yet who works hard, is far more desirable to me than one who has a lot of potential, but throws it away.”
    “Principal, I try. Really, I—”
    York held up a hand, stilling him. “I believe we had a conversation similar to this last year.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    York sat for a few moments, then pulled out a sheet of paper. It had lots of official-looking seals on it—not a request for a tutor. An expulsion form.
    Joel felt a stab of panic.
    “The reason I gave you an extra chance, Joel, was because of your parents.” The principal took a pen from a holder on his desk.
    “Principal,” Joel said. “I understand now that I’m—”
    The principal cut him off again with an uplifted hand. Joel held in his annoyance. If York wouldn’t let him speak, what could he do? In the dark last night, the wild plan had seemed clever and bold. Now, Joel worried it would explode right in front of him.
    The principal began to write.
    “I failed that test on purpose,” Joel said.
    York looked up.
    “I wrote in answers I knew were wrong,” Joel said.
    “Why in all of the heavens would you do such a thing?”
    “I wanted to fail so that I could get a summer tutelage studying history.”
    “Joel,” York said, “you could simply have asked Professor Kim if you could join his course this summer.”
    “His elective will study European culture during the JoSeun occupation,” Joel said. “I needed to fail Rithmatic history so that I could end up studying that.”
    “You could have approached one of the professors and asked them to tutor you,” York said sternly. “Sabotaging your own grades is hardly appropriate.”
    “I tried,” Joel said. “Professor Fitch said that ordinary students weren’t allowed to study with Rithmatic professors.”
    “Well, I’m certain that Professor Kim could have come up with an independent study course covering … You approached Fitch ?”
    “Yes.”
    “He’s a Rithmatist!”
    “That was kind of the point, sir.” How could he explain? “I don’t really want to study history. I want to study Rithmatic lines. I figure that if I get Professor Fitch alone and start him talking about Rithmatics, I’ll be able to learn about the defenses and offenses, even if the tutelage is supposed to be about history.”
    He gulped, waiting for the scorn he’d received from others.
    “Oh, well,” York said. “That makes sense then, I suppose—assuming you think like a teenage boy. Son, why didn’t you just come ask me?”
    Joel blinked. “Well, I mean, everyone seems to think that studying Rithmatics would be arrogant of me, that I shouldn’t be bothering the professors.”
    “Professor Fitch likes to be bothered,” York said, “particularly by students. He’s one of the few true teachers we have at this school.”
    “Yes, but he said he couldn’t train me.”
    “There are traditions,” York said, putting aside the form and taking out another one. York regarded it, looking uncertain.
    “Sir?” Joel asked, hope beginning to recover within him.
    York set the form aside. “No, Joel,” he said. “Fitch is right. There are rules against assigning ordinary students to take courses in Rithmatics.”
    Joel closed his eyes.
    “Of course,” York said, “I did just put Fitch on a very important project. It would be very useful to him to have help. There’s nothing forbidding me from assigning him a research assistant from the general school.”
    Joel opened his eyes.
    Principal York pulled out another sheet of paper. “This is assuming, of course, that said assistant wouldn’t be a distraction to Professor Fitch. I’ve already given him a student to tutor.