The Rithmatist

space for dozens of people to draw defensive circles at once. Seats ran around the outside, though there weren’t ever enough for all the people who wanted to attend the Melee.
    There were dueling competitions throughout the year, of course. The Melee, however, was the most popular. It was the last chance for the juniors to show off their skill before they were shipped to Nebrask for their last year of training. Winners in the Melee were given important posts in Nebrask, and would have a much better chance of becoming squad leaders and captains.
    Joel’s mother crouched on hands and knees in the middle of the room, scrubbing at the blackrock floor, a single springwork lantern beside her. She wore her hair tied back with a kerchief, her sleeves rolled up, her brown skirt dusty from crawling around.
    Joel felt a sudden stab of anger. Other people went to plays, lounged in their rooms, or slept while his mother scrubbed floors. The anger immediately turned to guilt. While his mother scrubbed floors, he had been eating ice cream.
    If I were a Rithmatist, he thought, she wouldn’t have to do this.
    Melody had spoken with disdain about the money and power many Rithmatists coveted. She obviously had no concept of what it was like to have to go without.
    Joel walked down the steps between the bleachers, his steps echoing. His mother looked up. “Joel?” she said as he stepped onto the blackrock floor. “You should be getting ready for bed, young man.”
    “I’m not tired,” he said, joining her and picking up the extra brush floating in her bucket. “What are we doing? Scrubbing the floor?”
    She eyed him for a moment. Finally, she turned back to her work. She was far more lax with his sleep habits in the summer. “Don’t ruin your trousers,” she said. “The floor has a rough texture. If you aren’t careful, you’ll scuff your knees and fray the cloth.”
    Joel nodded, then began to work on a section that she hadn’t yet scrubbed. “Why do we need to clean this place? It doesn’t get used that often.”
    “It has to look good for the Melee, Joel,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “We have to apply a finish each year to keep the color dark. The playing field needs to be clean before we can do that.”
    Joel nodded, scrubbing. It felt good to be active, rather than just sorting through books.
    “That girl seemed nice,” his mother said.
    “Who? Melody?”
    “No, the other girl you brought over for dinner.”
    Joel blushed. “Yeah, I suppose. She’s a bit strange.”
    “Rithmatists often are,” his mother said. “I’m glad to see you with a girl, though. I worry about you. You always seem to have people to talk to, but you don’t go out in the evenings. You have a lot of acquaintances. Not a lot of friends.”
    “You’ve never said anything.”
    She snorted. “One doesn’t have to be a professor to know that teenage boys don’t like hearing about their mothers’ worries.”
    Joel smiled. “You have it easy with me. As teenage sons go, I’m not much of a headache.”
    They continued to work for a time, Joel still feeling annoyed that his mother should have to do such hard work. Yes, Rithmatists were important—they helped protect the Isles from the dangers in Nebrask. Yet, wasn’t what his mother did important as well? The Master chose Rithmatists. Didn’t he, in a way, choose cleaning ladies as well?
    Why was it that people valued what his mother did so much less than what someone like Professor Fitch did? She worked twice as hard as anyone Joel knew, and yet she gained no notoriety, no wealth or prestige.
    Melody had wondered where his mother’s money went, and it was a good question. His mother worked long hours. So where did their money go? Was his mother saving it all?
    Or was there something else? An expense Joel had never considered.…
    He sat upright, feeling a chill. “The principal didn’t really give me free admittance to Armedius, did he? That’s just what you tell me, to keep me from feeling guilty. You’re paying for me to go here.”
    “What?” his mother asked, still scrubbing. “I could never afford that.”
    “Mother, you work double shifts most days. That money has to be going somewhere.”
    She snorted. “Even with double shifts, I couldn’t afford this place. Do you have any idea how much in tuition most of those parents pay?”
    Joel thought for a moment, remembering that Melody had spoken of