The Rithmatist (14 page)

Over the next few hours, they went over a dozen more examples of defenses and counters. Fitch drew more complicated circles, challenging Joel and Melody to discuss two or three ways to attack each one. There were no actual duels. Professor Fitch seemed to shy away from such things.

Instead, he would draw, explain, and coach. They talked about which defenses were best against multiple opponents. They discussed why it was important to think about being surrounded—since on the Nebrask battlefield, a Rithmatist might have to fight in several directions at the same time. They also discussed timing, drawing to their strengths, and some general theory. All of this was interspersed with more drawings.

Joel threw himself into it with excitement. Though this wasn’t the deep Rithmatic lecture he’d been hoping for, it was actual drawing with actual Rithmatists. It was wonderful.

And it was
far
better than looking at census records.

Eventually, Fitch glanced at the clock. “Well, we should move on for the day.”

“What?” Melody demanded, looking up from their latest set of drawings. “You can’t! He’s winning!”

Joel smiled smugly. By his count—and he suspected Melody had kept a similar count in her head—Fitch had approved of Joel’s counter-defenses seven times, while Melody had only done the right defense three times.

“Winning?” Fitch said. “Why, this isn’t a competition.”

“Yes, Melody,” Joel said. “It’s not a competition—at least, it’s not a competition when
you
are involved. None at all.”

She flinched, looking like she’d been slapped. Joel hesitated, realizing how harsh those words had been.

Instead of snapping back a retort, Melody grabbed her sketchbook. “I’ll just … keep practicing some more sketches, Professor.”

“Yes, dear,” Fitch said, shooting a glance at Joel. “That is a good idea. Joel, I need to run some of these books back to the library. Would you help me carry them?”

Joel shrugged, then picked up the indicated stack of books and followed the professor out into the stairwell. Melody remained behind, sniffling.

They stepped out of the stairwell onto the campus green, and Joel blinked against the sunlight—it was easy to lose track of the hours in Fitch’s office.

“You’re quite accomplished at Rithmatic drawings, Joel,” Fitch said. “I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever seen a student as skilled as you. You draw like a man with thirty years of practice.”

“I usually get the nine-point wrong,” Joel said.

“Few Rithmatists even come close with nine-point drawings,” Fitch said. “Your ability, particularly as a non-Rithmatist, is nothing short of astounding. You are, however, also an insensitive bully.”

“A bully!” Joel exclaimed.

Fitch raised a finger. “The most dangerous kind of man is not the one who spent his youth shoving others around. That kind of man gets lazy, and is often too content with his life to be truly dangerous. The man who spent his youth
being
shoved around, however … When that man gets a little power and authority, he often uses it to become a tyrant on par with the worst warlords in history. I worry this could become you.”

Joel looked down. “I wasn’t trying to make her look bad, Professor. I was just trying to draw my best!”

“There is nothing wrong with doing your best, son,” Fitch said sternly. “Never be ashamed of aptitude. However, the comment you made in there … That was not the sign of a boy who was proud of his aptitude. It was a boy who was proud of being better than another. You disappointed me greatly.”

“I…” What could he say? “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe I’m the one to whom you should apologize. You are young, Joel. Young enough that you still have time to decide the type of man you would like to become. Do not let jealousy, bitterness, or anger be what guides that path. But, here now, I have probably been too hard on you in turn. Just promise me you will think about what I have said.”

“I will.”

The two of them continued across campus, Joel feeling shamed to the bones as he carried the books. “Professor, do you really think you can train her to be a great Rithmatist?”

“Melody?” he replied. “Her uncertainty is her only true hindrance. I’ve looked into the girl’s records. It’s remarkable that she’s kept going, all things considered. I think that, with proper training in the basics—”

“Why, Professor Fitch!” a voice called.

Fitch turned, surprised. Joel hadn’t noticed it before, but a small crowd was gathered near the campus quad, where the grass was broken by a hilltop plateau of concrete. A man in a red Rithmatic coat stood there, arms folded as he looked down at Joel and Fitch.

“Professor Nalizar,” Fitch said. “Shouldn’t you be in class right now?”

“We are having class out here today,” Nalizar said, nodding toward the top of the hill, where a large group of Rithmatic students knelt on the concrete, drawing. “The only way to learn is to
do,
and the only way to win is to fight. These students have had enough time of dusty classrooms and lectures.”

It also lets him show off,
Joel thought, noting the attention Nalizar’s display had drawn from the students and professors who had been playing soccer nearby.

“Hum,” Fitch said. “Yes. Interesting. Well, have a nice day.”

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like to come up here, Professor?” Nalizar called. “Have a little match, you and I? Give the children another glimpse of how it is
really
done? I let them each duel me in turn, of course, but they hardly give me a fair contest.”

Fitch paled. “Um, I don’t think—”

“Come now,” Nalizar asked. “Considering the rather
unimpressive
display you gave last time, I should think you’d be eager for a chance to redeem yourself!”

“Go on, Professor,” Joel whispered. “You can beat him. I’ve seen you draw. You’re way better than he is.”

“No thank you, Professor,” Fitch called, laying a hand on Joel’s shoulder and turning him away. That hand, Joel noticed, was shaking noticeably.

Joel reluctantly allowed Fitch to pull him away. He could hear as Nalizar barked something to his class. It was followed by laughter.

“Why?” Joel asked as they walked. “Why not duel him?”

“It would be meaningless, Joel,” Fitch said. “I couldn’t earn my tenure back for another year. If I fought and lost, I’d be humiliated again. If I won, all I would do is make an ever
bigger
enemy of Nalizar.”

“He’s a hypocrite,” Joel said. “All that talk about keeping non-Rithmatists out of his classroom, and then he comes out here in the open and displays his students for everyone to see?”

“They will be on display at the Melee as well,” Fitch said. “I suspect Nalizar wishes to acclimatize them to drawing in front of a crowd. But, yes, I see what you mean. Regardless, I will not put myself in a position where I must fight him again. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly in this situation.”

“Nalizar doesn’t deserve to be treated like a gentleman,” Joel snapped. He clenched his fists. If anyone was a bully, it was Nalizar. “You really should have dueled him again. Pride or no pride. You don’t have anything to lose—everyone already assumes that Nalizar is better. However, if you
did
win, you’d be making a statement.”

Fitch fell silent for a time. “I don’t know, Joel. I’m just … well, I’m just not good at dueling. He defeated me, and deserved to. No. No, I should not like to duel him again, and that is that. We shall have no more of it.”

Joel couldn’t help but notice that the professor was still trembling slightly as they continued on their way.

CHAPTER

There!
Joel thought with satisfaction, snapping the book closed. After two weeks, he’d finished all of the census records.

He flipped through the stack of papers. The oldest page listed the graduates eighty years back, and he’d been able to cross off every name on that list. The same for the next seven or eight years. The lists went all the way up to the graduates from one year ago. Only one of those had died—during an accident at Nebrask.

Along with the other reports, Joel had also included a special list of Rithmatists who had vanished, their whereabouts unknown. There weren’t any of those that had happened recently—save for Lilly Whiting—but he figured that Fitch might be interested.

He reached over to twist the key in the lantern beside his library desk, letting the clockwork wind down and the light spin out. He was surprised at the sense of accomplishment he felt.

He tucked the pile of sheets under his arm, grabbed the books he’d been working on, and walked through the library. It was late—he had probably missed dinner. He’d been so close, he hadn’t been able to stop.

The library was a maze of bookshelves, though most of them were only about five feet tall. Other people worked in some of the alcoves, their lamps giving each one a flickering light. The building would close soon, expelling its hermitlike occupants.

Joel passed Ms. Torrent, the librarian, then pushed his way out onto the green. He crossed the grounds in the near darkness, trying to decide if he’d be able to beg some food off the kitchen staff. However, he’d just finished something big—he didn’t want to go eat; he wanted to share it with someone.

It isn’t even ten yet,
Joel thought, glancing toward the Rithmatic campus.
Professor Fitch will still be up.
He’d want to know that Joel was finished, wouldn’t he?

Decision made, Joel took off across the grounds, passing between pockets of light shining from clockwork lanterns, with their spinning gears and shining coils. He passed a familiar figure sitting on the green outside the Rithmatist dormitory.

“Hey, Melody,” he said.

She didn’t look up from her sketch pad as she drew by the light of the lantern.

Joel sighed. Melody, apparently, knew how to hold a grudge. He had apologized for his wisecrack three times, but still she wouldn’t speak to him.
Fine,
he thought.
Why should I care?

He moved past her quickly and arrived at Warding Hall with a spring in his step. He climbed the stairs to Fitch’s door and knocked eagerly.

The professor opened the door a few moments later. Joel was right—the man hadn’t even gotten ready for bed. He still wore his white vest and long Rithmatist’s coat. He looked frazzled—hair disheveled, eyes unfocused. But, then, that wasn’t odd for Fitch.

“What? Hum?” Fitch said. “Oh, Joel. What is it, lad?”

“I finished!” Joel said, holding up the stack of papers and books. “I’m
done,
Professor. I got through every single ledger!”

“Oh. Is that so?” Fitch’s voice was almost monotone. “Wonderful, lad, that’s wonderful. You worked so hard.” With that, Fitch walked away, almost as if he were in a daze, leaving Joel at the door.

Joel lowered the stack of papers.
That’s it?
he thought.
I spent two weeks on this! I worked evenings! I stayed up late when I should have been sleeping!

Fitch wandered back to his desk at the corner of the L-shaped office. Joel entered and pushed the door closed. “It’s just what you wanted, Professor. All the names indexed. Look, I even kept a list of disappearances!”

“Yes, thank you, Joel,” Fitch said, sitting. “You can leave the papers on that stack over there.”

Joel felt a sharp disappointment. He set the papers down, and a sudden horror struck him. Had it all been busywork? Had Fitch and the principal devised this entire research assistant plan to keep Joel out of trouble? Would his lists be forgotten and gather dust like the hundreds of tomes crammed into the hallways?

Joel looked up, trying to dismiss those thoughts. Professor Fitch sat huddled over his desk, leaning with his left elbow on the top, left hand on the side of his face. His other hand tapped a pen against a piece of paper.

“Professor?” Joel asked. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, fine,” Fitch said in a tired voice. “Well, I just … I feel I should have figured things out by now!”

“Figured what out?” Joel asked, picking his way through the room.

Fitch didn’t answer—he seemed too distracted by the papers on his desk. Joel tried another tactic.