The Rithmatist

honest, Joel,” Fitch said, “neither did I.”
    “Nalizar can’t be a hero,” Joel said. “He’s a pompous windbag!”
    “I will agree with the adjective,” Fitch said, “but the noun … Well, he did defeat me quite handily. Regardless, it is unseemly for a student to be referring to a professor of the school in such a manner. You must show respect, Joel.”
    A knock came at the door. It flew open a second later, revealing Melody, who had obviously decided not to wait for someone to answer her knock.
    “I assume, ” she said with a huff, “that all the secret, valuable, interesting discussion is finished with, and we ordinary people can come in now?”
    “Melody, dear,” Fitch said. “It’s not that we wanted to exclude you, it’s just—”
    She held up a hand. “I assume I’m going to have to do more tracing today?”
    “Well, um, yes,” Fitch said. “It’s very good for you to practice that, Melody. You will thank me someday.”
    “Right,” she said. She gathered up a sketch pad and a pen, then turned to leave.
    “Melody?” Professor Fitch asked. “Where are you going?”
    “I’m going to sketch out here,” she said, “on the mundane, unimportant doorstep. That way, I won’t be able to interfere with significant conversations you two might need to have.”
    With that, she pulled the door shut behind her.
    Fitch sighed, shaking his head and walking back to his desk. “I’m sure she’ll get over it,” he said, sitting and shuffling through his papers.
    “Yeah,” Joel said, still looking after her. Would this make her bitter against him again, after he’d just gotten on her good side? He was having a devil of a time figuring that girl out. “What do you want me to do, Professor?”
    “Oh, hum? Ah. Well, I honestly don’t know. I planned for you to be working on those census reports for a few more weeks yet. Hum.” Fitch tapped the table with his index finger. “Why don’t you take the day off? You worked so hard the last few weeks. It will give me an opportunity to sort through what Harding has given me. I’m certain I’ll have something for you to do tomorrow.”
    Joel opened his mouth to protest—he could certainly help with the professor’s research into the strange lines—but then hesitated. He glanced at the book he was still carrying, the one Melody had checked out for him.
    “All right,” he decided. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    Fitch nodded, turning back to his papers. Joel pulled open the door to walk out. He nearly stumbled over Melody, who had indeed set up drawing right in front of the doorway. She grumpily made way for him, and he left via the stairwell, intent on finding a shady spot in which to poke through the tome in peace.
    * * *
    Joel sat beneath a tree, book in his hands. Some students played soccer as their summer elective on a field in the distance, kicking the ball back and forth toward the goal. Joel could hear their shouting, but it didn’t bother him.
    Police officers patrolled the grounds, but they kept to themselves, as Harding had promised. A bird whistled in the branches above him, and a small springwork crab puttered along on the green, clipping at patches of grass. Long metal feelers dangled in front of it, keeping it from wandering off the green and from clipping things it shouldn’t.
    Joel leaned back against the trunk of the tree, staring up at the sparkling leaves. When he’d chosen the book, he’d assumed from the title— Origins of Power —that it had to do with the way that Rithmatics had been discovered, back in the early days when the United Isles had still been new. He’d expected an in-depth look at King Gregory and the first Rithmatists.
    The book, however, was about how people became Rithmatists.
    It happened during the inception ceremony, an event that occurred every Fourth of July. Every boy or girl who had turned eight since the last inception ceremony was brought to their local Monarchical chapel. The group was blessed by the vicar. Then, one at a time, the children walked into the chamber of inception. They stayed inside for a few minutes, then walked out the other side—a symbol of new birth. They were then given chalk and asked to draw a line. From that point on, some could create sketches with Rithmatic power. The others could not. It was that simple.
    And yet, the book made the process sound anything but simple. Joel leafed through it again, frowning in confusion as the groundskeeping crab clipped