The Rithmatist

suspiciously. There were two of these, but Joel didn’t recognize either name as being all that important. Why, then …
    He almost missed it, just like last time. Exton’s name was at the top of the list, among the graduates from the general school that year. Was that what Fitch had noticed, or was it just a coincidence?
    Outside, Joel crossed the green, heading toward the office. Armedius had changed during the last seven days. The police were far more plentiful now, and they checked identification at the front gates and the springrail station. Rithmatic students weren’t allowed off campus without an escort. He passed several nearby, grumbling that Armedius was starting to feel like a prison.
    He also passed a group of regular students playing soccer on the field. Their efforts seemed subdued, and there were far fewer of them than before. Most parents of ordinary students had pulled their children out of the academy for the summer, and they were being allowed to continue to do so. While non-Rithmatists had been killed now, it was clear that the Rithmatists were still the targets. Normal students should be safe off campus.
    There hadn’t been another disappearance since Charles Calloway. A week had passed, and everyone just seemed to be waiting. When would it come? What would happen next? Who was safe and who wasn’t?
    Joel hurried along, passing closer to the front gates. Outside them was one of the other big changes at the academy.
    Protesters.
    They carried signs. GIVE US THE TRUTH. DUSTERS ARE DANGEROUS! SEND THEM TO NEBRASK!
    Numerous editorialists around the Isles had decided that the deaths of the four Calloway servants had been the fault of the Rithmatists. These editorialists saw some sort of hidden war—some called it a conspiracy—between sects of Rithmatists. There were even those who thought that all of it—the existence of Rithmatists, the inception ceremony, the fight at Nebrask—was a giant hoax used to keep the Monarchical Church in power.
    And so, a small—but very vocal—group of anti-Rithmatist activists had set up a vigil outside the front of Armedius. Joel didn’t know what to make of such nonsense. He did, however, know that several homes of Rithmatic students—all of whom were now staying full-time at the school—had been vandalized in the night. The policemen at the gates, fortunately, kept most troublemakers away from Armedius. Most of them. Two nights ago, someone had tossed in a series of bricks painted with epithets.
    Joel didn’t stop to listen to the protestors, but the sounds of their chanting followed him. “We want the truth! Stop Rithmatist privilege! We want the truth!”
    Joel hurried up the path to the office. Two rifle-bearing policemen stood at the sides of the doorway, but they knew Joel and let him enter.
    “Joel!” Florence said. “We didn’t expect you to come so quickly.” Despite the grim circumstances on the rest of the campus, the blonde clerk insisted on wearing a bright yellow summer dress, complete with a wide-brimmed sun hat.
    “Of course he came quickly,” Exton said, not looking up from his work. “ Some people don’t ignore their responsibilities.”
    “Stop being such a bore.”
    Joel could see over the counter to a newspaper lying on Florence’s desk. CRISIS IN NEW BRITANNIA! the top headline read.
    “The principal is seeing someone right now, Joel,” Florence said. “I’m sure he’ll be done soon.”
    “How are things holding up here?” Joel asked, glancing out the window toward the police officers.
    “Oh, you know,” Florence said. “Same as always.”
    Exton snorted. “You seem perfectly willing to gossip other times. Why the coy face now?”
    Florence blushed.
    “The truth is, Joel,” Exton said, setting down his pen and looking up, “things are not good. Even if you ignore those fools at the gates, even if you don’t mind tripping over a police officer every other step, things are bad.”
    “Bad how?” Joel asked.
    Florence sighed, folding her arms on her desk. “The islands without Rithmatic schools are talking about starting their own.”
    Joel shrugged. “Would that be such a disaster?”
    “Well, for one thing, the quality of education would plummet. Joel, hon, Armedius isn’t just a school. It’s one of the few places where people from all across the Isles work together.”
    “Jamestown is different from most cities,” Exton agreed. “In most of the world, you don’t see JoSeun people and