The Rithmatist

were already drawn,” Joel realized. “That explains why there was no circle discovered for the attacker! He didn’t need one to defend himself, since Lilly wouldn’t have had time to mount any kind of offense. The attacker must have had his chalklings waiting somewhere, blocked off by Lines of Forbiddance until Lilly was close. Then he let them loose.”
    “Yes!” Fitch said. “Precisely what I think!”
    “But that would be nearly impossible,” Joel said. Chalklings were very difficult to control—one had to give them precise, simple instructions. Things like: walk forward, then turn right when you hit the wall. Or: walk forward, then attack when you find chalk. “How could someone possibly have managed to break through the door, then guide an army of chalklings at Lilly?”
    “I don’t know,” Fitch said. “Though I wonder if it has to do with these other two lines. I’ve spent the last two weeks searching for clues in my texts. Perhaps this jagged line was to be a Line of Vigor, but was drawn poorly? Some lines, if not executed well, will have no Rithmatic properties—they’ll just be chalk on the ground. This other one could be a Line of Warding, perhaps. The chalk does strange things sometimes, and we don’t know why.”
    Joel pulled the stool over, sitting down. “This doesn’t make sense, Professor. If chalklings were easy enough to control to do something like this, then we wouldn’t need Circles of Warding. We could just have little boxes of chalklings ready to attack.”
    “That is true,” Fitch said. “Unless someone has discovered something we don’t understand. New instructions for chalklings? This almost feels like…”
    “What?”
    Fitch was silent for a time. “Wild chalklings.”
    Joel grew cold. “They’re trapped,” he said. “On Nebrask. That’s hundreds of miles away.”
    “Yes, of course. That’s silly. Besides, wild chalklings wouldn’t run off with a body like this. They’d chew it to bits, leaving a mangled corpse. Whoever did this took Lilly away with him. I—”
    He cut off as a knock came at the door. “Now, who…?” Fitch said, walking to the door and opening it. A tall man stood in the entryway. He carried a blue police officer’s helmet underneath his arm and had a long, thin rifle slung over his shoulder.
    “Inspector Harding!” Fitch said.
    “Professor,” Harding said. “I have just returned from the second crime scene. May I come in?”
    “Certainly,” Fitch said. “Certainly. Oh, hum, I apologize for the mess.”
    “Yes,” Harding said. “No offense, my good man, but sloppy quarters like this would never pass battlefield inspection!”
    “Well, good thing we’re not on the battlefield, then, I should say,” Fitch said, closing the door after the inspector.
    “I have vital information for you, Fitch,” the inspector said. He had a deep, resounding voice; he seemed like a man who was accustomed to speaking loud and being obeyed. “I’m expecting great things from you on this case, soldier. There are lives at stake!”
    “Well, I will do my best,” Fitch said. “I don’t know how much help I can be. I’ve been trying hard, you know, but I may not be the best man to help you.…”
    “Don’t be so humble!” Harding said, stomping into the room. “York speaks extremely highly of you, and there’s no better recommendation for a man than the one which comes from his commander! Now, I think we need to—”
    He cut off when he saw Joel. “I say, who is this young man?”
    “My research assistant,” Fitch said. “He’s been helping me with this problem.”
    “What’s his security clearance?” Harding asked.
    “He’s a good lad, Inspector,” Fitch said. “Very trustworthy.”
    Harding eyed Joel.
    “I can’t do this work alone, Inspector,” Fitch said. “I was hoping that we could maybe include the boy in this project? Officially, I mean?”
    “What’s your name, son?”
    “Joel.”
    “Not a Rithmatist, I see.”
    “No, sir,” Joel said. “I’m sorry.”
    “Never be sorry for what you are, son,” Harding said. “I’m not a Rithmatist either, and I’m proud of that. Saved my life a few times on the battlefront! The creatures out there, they go for the Dusters first. They often ignore us ordinary men, forgetting that a bucket of good acid will wipe them off the ground as quickly as any Rithmatist’s lines will.”
    Joel smiled at that. “Sir,” he said. “Forgive me for asking … but are you