The Rithmatist

skin.
    “Joel?” Fitch asked, appearing at the banister above.
    There! Joel thought, catching sight of a flash of white as the chalkling crossed the wooden doorway and moved down the steps outside.
    “A chalkling, Professor!” he yelled. “I’m chasing it.”
    “Joel! Don’t be a fool! Joel!”
    Joel was out the door, running after the chalkling. Some officers saw him immediately, and they charged over. Joel pointed at the chalkling, which was much easier to see now that it moved across grass, its lines conforming to the shape and contours of the blades much as a shadow would look when it fell on an uneven surface.
    The police called for more backup, and Fitch appeared at the doorway of the building, looking frazzled. Joel kept running, barely keeping pace with the chalkling. The things were very fast and completely tireless; it would outdistance him eventually. But for the moment, he and the police kept up.
    The chalkling reached the fence and shot underneath; Joel and the officers charged out the gate. The chalkling moved over to a large oak tree with thick branches, then—oddly—moved up the side of the trunk.
    It was then that Joel finally got a good look at the shape of the chalkling. He froze.
    “A unicorn?” Oh no …

    The police officers piled around the base of the tree, looking up, lifting clockwork rifles. “You!” one called. “Come down immediately !”
    Joel walked up to them. Melody sat in the tree. He heard her sigh dramatically.
    “Bad idea?” she called down to him.
    “You could say that,” he replied.
    * * *
    “You will explain yourself,” Harding said, standing with hands on hips.
    Melody grimaced, sitting in a chair in the mansion’s kitchen, her white skirt dirtied from climbing the tree. To the side, one of the police officers meticulously wound the gears in his rifle. The clicking sounds rang in the small kitchen.
    “Is that really necessary?” Fitch asked, glancing at the gun.
    “Please do not interrupt, Professor,” Harding said. “You may understand Rithmatic study, but I understand spies.”
    “I’m not a spy!” Melody said. Then she paused. “Well, okay, yeah. I’m a spy. But only for myself.”
    “And what interest do you have in this operation?” Harding asked, placing his hands behind his back, walking in a slow circle around Melody. “What did you have to do with the deaths?”
    She shot a glance at Joel, and he could see that she finally seemed to be realizing just how much trouble she might be in. “I didn’t have anything to do with that! I’m just a student.”
    “You’re a Rithmatist,” Harding said. “These crimes were committed by a Rithmatist.”
    “So?” Melody said. “There are a lot of Rithmatists in the area.”
    “You have shown a persistent, undeniable interest in this investigation,” Harding said.
    “I’m curious!” Melody said. “Everybody else gets to hear what is going on. Why not me?”
    “No questions from you,” Harding said. “Do you realize that I have the power to imprison you until this investigation is over? Do you realize that you are now our prime suspect for having caused the murders?”
    She paled.
    “Inspector,” Joel said. “Could I … talk to you? Outside, maybe?”
    Harding eyed Joel, then nodded. The two of them left by the side doors and went a little ways down, where they could speak in private.
    “We’ll go back in a few minutes,” Harding said. “It’ll be good for her to sweat a bit.”
    “Inspector,” Joel said, “Melody isn’t behind the murders or the kidnappings. Trust me.”
    “Yes,” Harding said. “I suspect that you are right, Joel. However, I have to pursue every lead. That young woman puts me on edge. Makes me suspicious.”
    “She puts a lot of us on edge,” Joel said. “But that doesn’t mean she’s the Scribbler. I mean, it’s obvious how she got here. She saw us leave Armedius, and everyone knows who it was that got kidnapped. I can vouch for her.”
    “Are you absolutely sure you know her, Joel?” Harding asked. “How can you be sure she’s not fooling you? Part of me keeps worrying that the person behind this is hiding right in front of us, moving about Armedius itself. It would be the best place for a Rithmatist to hide without looking suspicious.”
    Like Nalizar? Joel thought. He left his rooms last night, going somewhere.
    But, then, how well did Joel know Melody? Could her silliness and friendship all be an act? Harding’s suspicion got to