The Rithmatist

with a knight-senator, there’s little doubt who will win.”
    A small group of Rithmatic students watched from a hillside a short distance away. Joel couldn’t tell if their miserable expressions came from the fact that they were worried about the kidnappings, or if they were embarrassed at having their parents show up at school. Probably both.
    “Very well,” Joel faintly heard Principal York say from the office doorway, “I see that I have no choice. Know that you do this against my wishes.”
    Joel turned to Exton. “Has anyone sent for Inspector Harding?”
    “I don’t believe so,” Exton said. “I couldn’t even get into the office! They were here before I was, crowding the way in.”
    “Send Harding a messenger,” Joel suggested. “He might want to hear about the parents’ reactions.”
    “Yes,” Exton said, watching the security men with obvious hostility. “Yes, that’s a good idea. This isn’t going to do much to ease tensions on campus, I’d say. If those students weren’t afraid before, they will be now.”
    Joel moved away toward Fitch’s office, passing James Hovell being walked by his parents to class. He walked with shoulders slumped, eyes toward the ground in embarrassment. Perhaps there were advantages to having a mother who worked all the time.
    Fitch took a long time to answer Joel’s knock. When he did pull open the door, he looked bleary-eyed, still wearing a blue dressing gown.
    “Oh!” Fitch said. “Joel. What hour is it?”
    Joel winced, realizing that Fitch had probably been up late studying those strange patterns. “I’m sorry for waking you,” Joel said. “I was eager to find out if you discovered anything. About the patterns, I mean.”
    Fitch yawned. “No, unfortunately. But it wasn’t for lack of trying, I must say! I dug out the other version of that pattern—the one copied from Lilly’s house—and tried to determine if there were any variations. I drew a hundred different modifications on the theme. I’m sorry, lad. I just don’t think it’s a Rithmatic line.”
    “I’ve seen it somewhere before,” Joel said. “I know I have, Professor. Maybe I should go to the library, look through some of the books I’ve read recently.”
    “Yes, yes,” Fitch said, yawning again. “Sounds like … a capital idea.”
    Joel nodded, heading toward the library and letting the professor go back to sleep. As he crossed the green toward the central quad, he noticed one of the parents from before—the woman with the sharp nose and pinched face—standing on the green, hands on hips, looking lost.
    “You,” she called to him. “I don’t know the campus very well. Could you tell me where might I find a Professor Fitch?”
    Joel pointed toward the building behind him. “Office three. Up the stairwell on the side. What do you want him for?”
    “My son mentioned him,” she said. “I just wanted to chat with him for a short time, ask him about things here. Thank you!”
    Joel arrived at the library and pushed open the door, passing out of the crisp morning air into a place that somehow managed to be cool and musty even during the warmest summer days. The library didn’t have many windows—sunlight wasn’t good for books—and so depended on clockwork lanterns.
    Joel walked through the stacks, making his way to the familiar section dedicated to general-interest books on Rithmatics, both fiction and nonfiction. He’d read a lot of these—pretty much everything in the library that he was allowed access to. If he really had seen that pattern somewhere, it could have been in any of these.
    He opened one book he remembered checking out a few weeks ago. He only vaguely recalled it at first, but as he flipped through, he shivered. It was an adventure novel about Rithmatists in Nebrask.
    He stopped on a page, reading—almost against his will—paragraphs on a man being gruesomely eaten by wild chalklings. They crawled up his skin under his clothing—they only had two dimensions, after all—and chewed his flesh from his bones.
    The account was fictionalized and overly dramatic. Still, it made Joel feel sick. He’d wanted very badly to be involved in Professor Fitch’s work. And yet, if Joel were to face an army of chalklings, he wouldn’t be able to build himself a defense. The creatures would crawl right over his lines and get at him. He’d be no better off than the man in the book.
    He shook himself free from imaginings of chalklings scrambling up and