The Rithmatist

class.”
    “Well, be off with you then,” Nalizar said, dismissing Joel with a wave of his hand. The red chalk dust scattered on the floor looked like blood. He began dispelling his creations one at a time.
    Joel backed away, then rushed up the steps and opened the door. People crossed the lawn outside, many dressed in the white and grey of Rithmatists. One figure stood out. Joel dashed down the stairs across the springy lawn, catching up to Professor Fitch. The man trudged with slumped shoulders, the large bundle of books and notes collected in his arms.
    “Professor?” Joel said. Joel was tall for his age, a few inches taller, even, than Fitch.
    The older man turned with a start. “Uh? What?”
    “Are you all right?”
    “Oh, um, why it’s the chalkmaker’s son! How are you, lad? Shouldn’t you be in class?”
    “It’s my free period,” Joel said, reaching and sliding two of the books off the stack to help carry them. “Professor, are you all right? About what just happened?”
    “You saw that, did you?” Professor Fitch’s face fell.
    “Isn’t there anything you can do?” Joel asked. “You can’t let him take your classes away! Perhaps if you spoke to Principal York?”
    “No, no,” Fitch said. “That would be unseemly. The right of challenge is a very honorable tradition—an important part of Rithmatic culture, I must say.”
    Joel sighed. He glanced down, remembering the note in his pocket. A request from him to Fitch. He wanted to study with the man over the summer, to learn as much about Rithmatics as he could.
    But Fitch wasn’t a full professor any longer. Would that matter? Joel wasn’t even certain the man would take a non-Rithmatic student. If Fitch wasn’t a full professor, might he have more time for tutoring students? Thinking that immediately made Joel feel guilty.
    He almost pulled the letter out and gave it to the man. The defeat in Fitch’s face stopped him. Perhaps this wasn’t the best time.
    “I should have seen this coming,” Fitch said. “That Nalizar. Too ambitious for his own good, I thought when we hired him last week. There hasn’t been a challenge at Armedius for decades.…”
    “What will you do?” Joel asked.
    “Well,” Fitch said as they walked along the path, passing under the shade of a wide-limbed red oak. “Yes, well, tradition states that I take Nalizar’s place. He was hired on as a tutoring professor to help remedial students who failed classes this year. I guess that is my job now. I should think I’ll be happy to be away from the classroom to have some peace of mind!”
    He hesitated, turning to look back toward the Rithmatic lecture hall. The structure was block-shaped, yet somehow still artistic, with its diamond patterns of grey bricks forming the vine-covered wall.
    “Yes,” Fitch said. “I will probably never have to teach in that classroom again.” He choked off that last part. “Excuse me.” He ducked his head and rushed away.
    Joel raised a hand, but let him go, still holding two of the professor’s books. Finally, Joel sighed, turning his own course across the lawn toward the campus office building.
    “Well,” he said softly, thinking again of the crumpled paper in his trouser pocket, “ that was a disaster.”



CHAPTER

    The office sat in a small valley between the Rithmatic campus and the general campus. Like most everything at Armedius Academy, the building was of brick, though this building was red. It was only one story tall and had quite a few more windows than the classrooms did. Joel had always wondered why the office workers got a view outside, but students didn’t. It was almost like everyone was afraid to give the students a glimpse of freedom.
    “… heard he was going to make a challenge of all things,” a voice was saying as Joel walked into the office.
    The speaker was Florence, one of the office clerks. She sat on top of her oak desk—rather than in her chair—speaking with Exton, the other clerk. Exton wore his usual vest and trousers, with a bow tie and suspenders—quite fashionable, even if he was a bit portly. His bowler hung on a peg beside his desk. Florence, on the other hand, wore a yellow spring sundress.
    “A challenge?” Exton asked, scribbling with a quill, not looking up as he spoke. Joel had never met anyone besides Exton who could write and carry on a conversation at the same time. “It’s been a while.”
    “I know!” Florence said. She was young, in her twenties, and