The Rithmatist

with Fitch, he wanted to be involved in something interesting. It didn’t have to be spectacular. But bookkeeping?
    As he worked, he found his mind drifting toward thoughts of Nebrask. Fitch’s work had something to do with why the inspector had visited. Was Lilly Whiting really involved?
    Maybe she’d run off to Nebrask. Melody might not want to go, but Joel thought the place sounded terribly exciting. The dark island in the middle of the others, an island where terrible, dangerous chalklings sought to escape and flood the other islands.
    The Rithmatists maintained an enormous chalk circle there, the size of a city. Outside the circle, camps and patrols worked to keep the chalklings in. And on the inside, the chalklings attacked the lines, trying to breach, work their way out. On occasion, they’d break through, and the Rithmatists would need to fight.
    Wild chalklings … chalklings that could kill. Nobody knew who had created them. Joel could imagine that circle though, drawn on concrete poured into the ground. Storms were said to be the worst. Though canopies kept most of the rain off, water would seep in, particularly from the side of the wild chalklings, washing away the chalk, creating breaches.…
    The grandfather clock in the corner slowly ticked toward noon, the hour when summer elective classes ended. Joel worked on the ledgers, trying to focus, though thoughts of the chalklings, and Rithmatic circles, invaded his mind.
    Eventually, Joel closed his latest census book and rubbed his eyes. The clock said fifteen till noon. Joel stood to stretch his legs and walked over to Professor Fitch.
    The professor quickly closed his notebook as Joel approached. Joel caught a brief glimpse of some sort of drawing on the page. Rithmatic? A circle that had been breached?
    “Yes, Joel?” Fitch asked.
    “It’s almost time to go,” Joel said.
    “Ah, is it? Hum, why, yes indeed. So it is. How went the research?”
    Research? Joel thought. I’m not sure that’s the right word for it.… “I managed to cross off thirty or so names.”
    “You did? Excellent! You can continue tomorrow, then.”
    “Professor? I don’t mean to be rude, but … well, it would help if I knew the point of this. Why am I looking through census records?”
    “Ah … hum … well, I don’t know that I can tell you that,” Fitch said.
    Joel cocked his head. “This has to do with the inspector who visited the school, right?”
    “I can’t really say.…”
    “The principal already told me that much.”
    “He did?” Fitch scratched his head. “Well, then, I guess you can know that. But really, I shouldn’t say more. Tell me, during your research, did you … find anything suspicious ?”
    Joel shrugged. “It’s a little bit creepy, to be honest—looking through lists and lists of dead people. In a way, they could all be suspicious, since there aren’t a lot of details. Most of them seem to have died from sickness or old age.”
    “Any accidents?” Fitch asked.
    “A couple. I marked them, like you said.”
    “Ah, very good. I’ll look through those this evening. Excellent work!”
    Joel gritted his teeth. But why? What are you looking for? Does it have to do with the girl who ran away? Or am I just hoping that it does?
    “Well, you should run along then,” Fitch said. “You too, Melody. You can go early.”
    Melody was out the door in a few seconds. Joel stood for a few moments, trying to decide if he should push Fitch further. His stomach growled, however, demanding lunch.
    He left to get some food, determined to think of a way to get Fitch to show him the notebook.



CHAPTER

    Joel crossed the lawn toward the dining hall. The campus wasn’t very full; over half of the students would be gone for the summer. Many of the staff took the summers off too, and even some of the professors were gone—off in France or JoSeun Britannia, doing research and attending symposiums.
    Still, lunch was likely to be a little crowded, so he rounded the building and ducked through a back door into the kitchens. They were normally off-limits to students, but Joel wasn’t just a student.
    Hextilda herself was supervising the lunch duties that day. The large woman nodded to him. “Joel, lad,” she said in her thick Scottish accent, “you enjoying your first day of summer?”
    “Spent it trapped in a professor’s dungeon,” Joel said. “He had me reading census records.”
    “Ha!” she said. “Well, you should know that I have