The Rithmatist

left some defenses for you to trace in my office. You can work on that today while I’m gone.”
    “Tracing?” Melody demanded. “We’re in the middle of a crisis !”
    “Now, now,” Fitch said. “We don’t have all the facts yet. I am going to go see what is going on. However, you need to continue your education.”
    She glanced at Joel, and he shrugged apologetically.
    “Come on, soldiers!” Harding said. “We must move quickly while the crime scene is still fresh!”
    They left Melody behind. She watched with hands on her hips, and Joel had a feeling that he was going to have to listen to another tirade when he got back.
    They arrived at the station, a large brick building that was open on the ends. Joel had rarely ridden one of the trains. Joel’s grandparents lived on the same island, and a carriage trip to see them was cheaper. Other than them, there was little reason for him to leave the city, let alone the island.
    He smiled in anticipation as he walked up the ramp behind Harding and Fitch. They had to fight traffic as the usual morning crowd of students moved down the ramp around them.
    “You haven’t shut down the station, Inspector?” Fitch asked, looking at the flood of students.
    “I can’t afford to,” Harding said. “If this campus is going to become a haven for the students, we need to let them get here first. Many of the non-Rithmatists live off campus. I want to let as many of them as possible come here for refuge. Now that civilians have died, we don’t know for certain if ordinary students are safe.”
    The three of them stepped into the rectangular brick station. Springrail trains hung beneath their tracks, and so the track was high in the air, about ten feet up; it ran through the building and out the ends. The train cars were long and slender, designed like ornate carriages.
    The vehicle’s clockwork engines sprouted from the tops of the first two train cars, wrapping around the track above like large iron claws. A group of workers labored above on catwalks, lowering down and attaching an enormous, drum-shaped spring battery onto the first engine. It had been wound in another location; it could take hours to wind a single drum. The powerful springs inside had to be strong enough to move the entire train. That was why chalklings to do the work were preferable.
    Harding hurried Fitch and Joel onto the train, and they were followed by a set of policemen. The officers cleared out a few annoyed people from a cabin at the very front of the train, and there made space for Fitch, Harding, and Joel.
    Joel sat down eagerly. The situation was gloomy—another student kidnapped, innocent people murdered—yet he couldn’t banish the thrill of being able to ride the springrail. And in his own cabin, no less.
    The train clanked and shook as the workers attached the spring drum above. Outside, Joel saw annoyed people leaving the train and going to stand out on the platform.
    “You’re evacuating the train?” Fitch asked.
    “No,” Harding said. “My men are just informing everyone on the vehicle that it will be canceling all stops until we reach East Carolina. Anyone who doesn’t want to go there will have to get off and wait for the next train.”
    The drum locked into place with a powerful clamping sound. Then the workers moved down to the second car, and similar sounds came as they began to attach a second drum to the gearwork engine there. Joel imagined the massive springs and gears inside of the drums, incredibly taut with power just waiting to be released.
    “Inspector,” Fitch said, leaning forward. “Was it really Sir Calloway’s son who was taken?”
    “Yes,” the officer said, looking troubled.
    “What does it mean?” Fitch said. “I mean, for Armedius and the isle?”
    The inspector shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never understood politicians, Fitch. I’m a fighting man; I belong on the battlefield, not in a conference room.” He turned to meet Fitch’s eyes. “I do know that we’d better figure out what’s going on, and quickly.”
    “Yes,” Fitch said.
    Joel frowned. “I don’t understand.”
    Fitch eyed him. “Haven’t you had classes on government?”
    “Of course I have,” Joel said. “Government was … uh, the class I failed last year.”
    Fitch sighed. “Such potential wasted.”
    “It wasn’t interesting,” Joel protested. “I mean, I want to learn about Rithmatics, not politics. Let’s be honest, when am I ever going to