The Rithmatist

arrived back at the gates to Armedius.
    The same two officers stood at the entryway. As Joel entered, the campus clock beat fifteen minutes to the hour. “Where is Inspector Harding?” Joel asked.
    “Out, I’m afraid,” one of the men said. “Is there something we can help you with?”
    “Give him this when he gets back in,” Joel said, handing one of them the paper. The officer scanned it, his face growing troubled.
    “Come on,” Joel said to Melody, “I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”
    “Well,” she said, “aren’t you chivalrous all of a sudden?”
    They strolled down the path, Joel lost in thought. At least the article hadn’t been belittling of Fitch. Perhaps the reporter had felt guilty for lying to him.
    They reached the dormitory. “Thank you for the ice cream,” Joel said.
    “No, thank you.”
    “ You paid for it,” he said. “Even if you gave me the money first.”
    “I wasn’t thanking you for paying,” Melody said airily, pulling open the door to the dormitory.
    “For what, then?” he asked.
    “For not ignoring me,” she said. “But, at the same time, for ignoring the fact that I’m kind of a freak sometimes.”
    “We’re all freaks sometimes, Melody,” he replied. “You’re just … well, better at it than most.”
    She raised an eyebrow. “Very flattering.”
    “That didn’t come out as I meant it.”
    “I’ll have to forgive you then,” she said. “How boring. Good night, Joel.”
    She vanished into the dormitory, door closing behind her. He slowly crossed the lawn, his thoughts a jumble, and found himself wandering around the Rithmatic campus.
    He knew where most of the professors lived, so it was easy for him to determine which previously unused office probably housed Nalizar. Sure enough, he soon found the door bearing Nalizar’s nameplate resting on the outside wall of Making Hall.
    Joel loitered outside the hall, looking up at the dark second floor. Making Hall was the newest of the four, and had a lot more windows than the older ones. The windows of Nalizar’s rooms were dark. Did that mean he wasn’t in, or that he’d retired already?
    Melody said that Nalizar wanted the books delivered to his office. They’re probably sitting on his desk, or maybe waiting at the top of this stairwell.…
    Joel found himself reaching for the doorknob.
    He stopped himself. What am I doing? Was he really considering breaking into the professor’s office? He needed to think before trying something so drastic. He walked away across the lawn. As he did, he heard something and turned.
    The door to Nalizar’s stairwell opened, and a figure with a dark cloak and blond hair stepped out. Nalizar himself. Joel felt his heart leap, but he was standing far enough away—and shadowed enough in darkness—that Nalizar didn’t notice him.
    The professor put on a top hat and strode off down the sidewalk. Joel felt his heart beating in his chest. If he had gone up those stairs, Nalizar would have caught him for sure. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself.
    Then he realized that now he knew for certain that the professor was gone.
    And if he returns quickly? Joel thought. He shook his head. If he did decide to sneak into the professor’s room, he’d need to have more of a plan.
    He kept moving, but didn’t feel like going home. He was too awake. Eventually, he decided on a different course of action. There was someone he knew would be up late this night, someone he could talk to.
    He knew all the normal places to check for his mother, and he tried those first. He didn’t find her, but he did find Darm, one of the other cleaning ladies. She sent him to the right place.
    It turned out that his mother was cleaning the dueling arena. Joel walked up to the door, which was propped open slightly, and peeked in. He heard the sounds of scrubbing echoing inside, so he pulled open the door and slipped in.
    The dueling arena was in the middle of Making Hall and took up most of the central space in the building. The room’s ceiling was of glass squares with iron supports between. Rithmatic duels, after all, were best watched from above. During the Melee, professors and local dignitaries watched from the best seats up there.
    Joel had never seen that room, though he had been lucky enough to get a lower seat for a couple of the Melees. The room was shaped like an ice-skating rink. There was the playing field floor below—black so that chalk would show up well on it—with enough