The Rithmatist

news!”
    Joel raised an eyebrow.
    “M’son has gotten our whole family a traveler’s permit to visit the homeland! I’ll be leaving in a month’s time!”
    “That’s fantastic, Hextilda!”
    “First time any McTavish will have set foot on our own soil since my great-grandfather was driven out. Those dirty Sunnys. Forcing us to have a permit to visit our own land.”
    The Scots had lasted a long time in their highlands, fighting the JoSeun invasion before being driven out. Trying to convince a Scot that the land was no longer theirs was next to impossible.
    “So,” Joel said, “want to celebrate by giving me a sandwich so I don’t have to wait in line?”
    Hextilda gave him a flat look. But less than five minutes later she delivered one of her signature, well-stacked sandwiches. Joel took a bite, savoring the salty flavor of the wood-smoked haddock as he left the kitchens and started across campus.
    Something was going on—the way Principal York had acted, the way Fitch had closed the notebook when Joel approached … it was suspicious. So how could he get more involved?
    Fitch did warn me that the life of a Rithmatist wasn’t glamorous, he reminded himself. But there has to be a way.
    Perhaps he could figure out on his own what Fitch was researching. Joel thought for a moment. Then he looked down at the last few bites of sandwich in his hand, an idea forming in his head. He rushed back to the dining hall.
    A few minutes later, he left the kitchen with two more sandwiches, each in a small paper sack. He ran across the campus green to the office.
    Florence and Exton looked up when Joel entered. “Joel?” Florence said. “Didn’t expect to see you today. It’s summer!”
    “I’m not here to work; I’m just here to say hello. What, you think that because it’s summer I’m never going to drop by?”
    Florence smiled. Today she wore a green summer dress, her curly blonde hair tamed in a bun. “How thoughtful. I’m sure Exton will be pleased for the diversion!”
    Exton continued to write at one of his ledgers. “Oh yes. I’m excited to have yet another item striving to distract me from the two hundred end-of-term grade reports I must fill out and file before the week is over. Delightful.”
    “Ignore him, dear,” Florence said. “That’s his way of saying he’s happy to see you.”
    Joel set the two packages on the countertop. “Well, I have to admit that it’s not just a social visit. I was in the kitchens, and the cook thought you two might want something for lunch.”
    “ That’s sweet,” Florence said, walking over. Even Exton grunted in agreement. Florence handed him a bag, and they immediately began to work on the sandwiches. Joel got out the remnant of his own meal, holding it and taking small bites so that he wouldn’t look out of place.
    “So,” he said, leaning against the counter, “anything exciting happen during the four hours since summer started?”
    “Nothing much,” Florence said. “As Exton already pointed out, there is a lot of busywork this time of year.”
    “Dull, eh?” Joel asked.
    Exton grunted into his sandwich.
    “Well,” Joel said, “we can’t have federal inspectors visiting every day, I suppose.”
    “That’s the truth,” Florence said. “And I’m glad for it. Quite the ruckus that one caused.”
    “Did you ever figure out what it was about?” Joel asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.
    “Maybe,” Florence said, lowering her voice. “I couldn’t hear what was going on inside the principal’s office, of course.…”
    “Florence,” Exton said warningly.
    “Oh, hush you,” she said. “Go back to your sandwich. Anyway, Joel, did you hear about that Rithmatic girl who vanished a few days back? Lilly Whiting?”
    Joel nodded.
    “Poor dear,” Florence said. “She was a very good student, by the look of her grades.”
    “You read her records ?” Exton asked.
    “Of course I did,” Florence said. “Anyway, from what I’ve heard, she didn’t run away like they’re saying in the papers. She had good grades, was well liked, and got along with her parents.”
    “What happened to her, then?” Joel asked.
    “Murder,” Florence said softly.
    Joel fell silent. Murder. That made sense—after all, a federal inspector was involved. Yet it felt different to have it spoken out loud. It made him remember that they were talking about a real person, not just a logical puzzle.
    “Murder,” he repeated.
    “By a Rithmatist,” Florence