The Rithmatist

number of staff members were moving in and out.
    “The Melee,” Joel said. “They’re getting ready for it.” It was coming up on Saturday.
    Melody got a sour look on her face. “I can’t believe that they’re still holding the thing.”
    “Why wouldn’t they?”
    “Well, considering recent events…”
    Joel shrugged. “I suspect Harding will limit attendance to students and faculty. The Scribbler attacks at night anyway. An event like this would be too well attended by Rithmatists to be a good place to try anything.”
    Melody grumbled something unintelligible as they walked up the hill to Making Hall.
    “What was that?” Joel asked.
    “I just don’t see why they have to have the Melee in the first place,” Melody said. “I mean, what’s the point?”
    “It’s fun,” Joel said. “It lets the students get some practice in with real duels and prove themselves Rithmatically. What’s your problem with it?”
    “Every professor has to send at least one student to the thing,” Melody said.
    “So?”
    “So, how many students does Fitch have?”
    Joel stopped on the side of the hill. “Wait … you’re going to duel in the Melee?”
    “And be thoroughly humiliated. Not that that’s anything new. Still, I don’t see why I have to be put on display.”
    “Oh, come on. Maybe you’ll do well—you’re so good at chalklings, after all.”
    She regarded him flatly. “Nalizar is fielding twelve students to fight.” It was the maximum. “Who do you bet they’ll eliminate first?”
    “Then you won’t be humiliated. Who would expect you to stand against them? Just enjoy yourself.”
    “It’s going to be painful.”
    “It’s a fun tradition.”
    “So was witch-burning,” Melody said. “Unless you were the witch.”
    Joel chuckled as they reached Making Hall. They walked along to one of the doors, and Melody reached to pull it open.
    Joel froze. It was Nalizar’s office. “Here?”
    “Yeah,” Melody said with a grimace. “The office had a note for him. Oh yeah, I forgot.” She reached into her bag, pulling out the book Origins of Power, the one that Joel had borrowed a few weeks back. “He requested this, and the library contacted me, since I’d checked it out.”
    “Nalizar wants this book?” Joel asked.
    “Uh … yeah. That’s what I just said. I found it at Fitch’s office, where you left it. Sorry.”
    “Not your fault,” Joel said. He’d been hoping that once he’d spent some time studying his father’s texts, he’d be able to figure the book out.
    “Be back in a sec,” Melody said, opening the door and rushing up the stairs.
    Joel waited below—he had no desire to see Nalizar. But … why did the professor want that book?
    Nalizar is involved in this somehow, he thought, walking around the building to look up into the office window. I—
    He stopped short. Nalizar stood there, in the window. The professor wore his red coat, buttoned up to the neck. He scanned the campus, eyes passing over Joel, as if not noticing him.
    Then the professor’s head snapped back toward Joel, regarding him, meeting his eyes.
    Other times when he’d seen the professor, Joel had found the man haughty. Arrogant in a youthful, almost naive sort of way.
    There was none of that in the man’s expression now. Nalizar stood in the shadowed room, tall and straight-backed, arms clasped behind him as he stared down at Joel. Contemplative.
    Nalizar turned, obviously hearing Melody knock on the door, then walked away from the window. A few minutes later, Melody appeared at the bottom of the stairs, lugging a stack of books, her bag full of others. Joel rushed over to help her.
    “Ugh,” she said as he took half of the books. “Thanks. Here, you might be interested in this.” She slid one book across the top of her stack.
    Joel picked it up. Postulations on the Possibility of New and Undiscovered Rithmatic Lines, the title read. It was the book he’d wanted to steal from Nalizar, the one the professor had borrowed a few weeks back.
    “You stole it?” Joel asked with a hushed tone.
    “Hardly,” Melody said, walking down the slope with her stack of books. “He told me to return these to the library as if I were some glorified errand girl.”
    “Uh … that’s what you are, Melody. Only without the ‘glorified’ part.”
    She snorted, and the two of them continued down the hill. “He sure is checking out a lot of books,” Joel noted, looking over the titles in his arms. “And