The Rithmatist

by Brandon Sanderson

  “Steady,” the first said.

  The chalklings scrambled away, disappearing into the night.

  Joel wheezed in exhaustion, falling backward to the ground and lying on his back. “Another man,” he said between breaths, “is trapped inside the office building. You’ve got to help him.”

  One of the policemen pointed, motioning for a squad of four to go that direction. He took his gun and fired it upward. It made a crack of sound as the springs released and the bullet ripped through the air.

  Joel lay, sweating, shaking. The officers held their buckets, nervous, until Harding raced into sight from the east, riding his springwork charger. He had his rifle out.

  “Chalklings, sir!” one of the officers yelled. “At the office building!”

  Harding cursed. “Send three men to alert the patrols around the Rithmatist barracks!” he yelled, turning his horse and galloping toward the office. He slung his rifle over his shoulder as he went, trading it for what looked to be a wineskin filled with acid.

  Joel simply lay, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened.

  Someone tried to kill me.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Joel sat in Professor Fitch’s office, holding a cup of warmed cocoa, his mother in tears at his side. She alternated between hugging him and speaking sternly with Inspector Harding for not setting patrols to protect the non-Rithmatists.

  Professor Fitch sat bleary-eyed, looking stunned after hearing what had happened. Exton was, apparently, all right—though the police were speaking with him back at the office building.

  Harding stood with two policemen a short distance away. All of the people crowded the small, hallwaylike office.

  Joel couldn’t stop himself from shaking. It felt shameful. He’d almost died. Every time he considered that, he felt unsteady.

  “Joel,” Fitch said. “Lad, are you sure you’re all right?”

  Joel nodded, then took a sip of his drink.

  “I’m sorry, Son,” said his mother. “I’m a bad mother. I shouldn’t stay out all night!”

  “You act like it’s your fault,” Joel said quietly.

  “Well, it—”

  “No, Mother,” Joel said. “If you’d been there, you might have been killed. It’s better that you were away.”

  She sat back on her stool, still looking troubled.

  Harding dismissed his officers, then approached Joel. “Soldier, we found the patterns you mentioned. There were five—one on the wall outside your room, then four spaced along the ground in the direction you ran. They ended in a box of Lines of Forbiddance. If you hadn’t thought as quickly as you did, you would have been trapped.”

  Joel nodded. His mother began crying again.

  “I have the entire campus on alert, soldier,” Harding said. “You did well tonight. Very well. Quick thinking, bravery, physical adeptness. I’m impressed.”

  “I nearly wet myself,” Joel whispered.

  Harding snorted. “I’ve seen men twice your age freeze in combat when they saw their first chalkling. You did an amazing job. Might well have just solved this case.”

  Joel looked up with surprise. “What?”

  “I can’t speak now,” Harding said, raising a hand. “But if my suspicions prove to be correct, I’ll have made an arrest by the morning. You should get some sleep, now.” He hesitated. “If this were the battlefield, son, I’d put you in for highest honors.”

  “I…” Joel said. “I don’t know that I can go back to the workshop to sleep.…”

  “The lad and his mother can stay here,” Fitch said, rising. “I’ll stay in one of the empty rooms.”

  “Excellent,” Harding said. “Ms. Saxon, I will have ten men with acid guarding this doorway all night, two inside the room, if you wish.”

  “Yes,” she said, “please.”

  “Try not to be too worried,” Harding said. “I’m sure the worst of this is through. Plus, as I understand, you have an important day tomorrow, Joel.”

  The inception ceremony. Joel had almost forgotten about it. He nodded, bidding the inspector farewell. Harding marched out and closed the door.

  “Well,” Fitch said. “You can see that the bed is already made, and Joel, there are extra blankets underneath for you to sleep on the floor. I hope that’s all right?”

  “It’s fine,” Joel said.

  “Joel, lad,” Fitch said. “You really did do well.”

  “I ran,” Joel said quietly. “It’s the only thing I could do. I should have had acid at the room, and—”

  “And what, lad?” Fitch asked. “Thrown one bucket while the other chalklings swarmed you? A single man can’t hold the front against chalklings—you learn that quickly in Nebrask. It takes a bucket brigade, dozens of men, to keep a group of the things back.”

  Joel looked down.

  Fitch knelt. “Joel. If it’s any help, I can imagine what it feels like. I … well, you know I never did very well at Nebrask. The first time I saw a chalkling charge, I could barely keep my lines straight. I can’t even duel another person and keep my wits. Harding is right—you did very well tonight.”

  I want to be able to do more, Joel thought. Fight.

  “Exton is a Rithmatist,” he said out loud.

  “Yes,” Fitch said. “He was expelled from the Rithmatic school his early years at Armedius for certain … complications. It happens very rarely.”

  “I remember you talking about that,” Joel said. “To Melody. Professor, I want you to draw that new line we found, the one with swirls.”

  “Now?” Fitch asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Honey,” his mother said, “you need rest.”

  “Just do this one thing, Professor,” Joel said. “Then I’ll go to bed.”

  “Yes, well, all right,” Fitch said, getting out his chalk. He knelt to begin drawing on the floor.

  “It makes things quiet,” Joel said. “You have to know that. It sucks in sound.”

  “How do you know…?” His voice grew much quieter when he finished the drawing.

  Fitch blinked, then looked up at Joel. “Well, that’s something,” he said, but the voice sounded far diminished, as if he were distant.

  Joel took a deep breath, then tried to yell, “I know!” That was dampened even further, so it came out as a whisper. When he whispered, however, that sound came out normally.

  Fitch dismissed the line. “Amazing.”

  Joel nodded. “The ones we found at the crime scenes no longer worked, so the line must run out of power after a time, or something like that.”

  “Joel,” Fitch said, “do you realize what you just did? You solved the problem your father spent his life trying to uncover.”

  “It was easy,” Joel said, suddenly feeling very tired. “Someone gave me the answer—they tried to kill me with it.”

  CHAPTER

  Harding arrested Exton early the next morning.

  Joel heard about it from Fitch as they crossed the green on their way toward the cathedral for Joel’s inception. Joel’s mother held to his arm, as if afraid some beast were going to appear out of nowhere and snatch him away.

  “He arrested Exton?” Joel demanded. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, hum,” Fitch said. “Murder rarely makes sense. I can see why you might be shocked. Exton was a friend of mine too. And yet, he never did like Rithmatists. Ever since he was expelled.”

  “But he came back to work here!”

  “Those who have intense hatred often are fascinated by the thing they detest,” Fitch said. “You saw that drawing at Charles’s house—the man with the bowler and the cane. It looks an awful lot like Exton.”

  “It looks like a lot of people,” Joel said. “Half the men in the city wear bowlers and carry canes! It was a small chalk sketch. They can’t use that as proof.”

  “Exton knew where all of the Rithmatist children lived,” Fitch said. “He had access to their records.”

  Joel fell silent. The
y were fairly good arguments. But Exton? Grumbling yet good-natured Exton?

  “Don’t worry about it, Son,” his mother said. “If he’s innocent, I’m sure the courts will determine that. You need to be ready. If you’re going to be incepted, you should be focused on the Master.”

  “No,” Joel said. “I want to talk to Harding. My inception…” It couldn’t wait. Not again. But this was important. “Where is he?”

  They found Harding directing a squad of police officers who were searching through the campus office. Principal York stood a distance off, seeming very dissatisfied, a weeping Florence beside him. She waved to Joel. “Joel!” she called. “Tell them what madness this is! Exton would never hurt anyone! He was such a dear.”

  The police officer at her side quieted her—he was apparently questioning both her and the principal. Inspector Harding stood at the office doorway, leafing through some notes. He looked up as Joel approached. “Ah,” he said. “The young hero. Shouldn’t you be somewhere, lad? Actually, as I consider it, you should have an escort. I’ll send a few soldiers with you to the chapel.”

  “Is all of that really necessary?” Fitch asked. “I mean, since you have someone in custody…”

  “I’m afraid it is necessary,” Harding said. “Every good investigator knows that you don’t stop searching just because you make an arrest. We won’t be done until we know who Exton was working with, and where he hid the bodies … er, where he is keeping the children.”

  Joel’s mother paled at that last comment.

  “Inspector,” Joel said, “can I talk to you alone for a moment?”

  Harding nodded, walking with Joel a short distance.

  “Are you sure you have the right man, Inspector?” Joel asked.

  “I don’t arrest a man unless I’m sure, son.”

  “Exton saved me last night.”

  “No, lad,” Fitch said. “He saved himself. Do you know why he got expelled from the Rithmatic program thirty years ago?”

  Joel shook his head.

  “Because he couldn’t control his chalklings,” Harding said. “He was too much of a danger to send to Nebrask. You saw how wiggly those chalklings were. They didn’t have form or shape because they were drawn so poorly. Exton set them against you, but he couldn’t really control them, and so when you led them back against him, he had no choice but to lock them out.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Joel said. “Harding, this is wrong. I know he didn’t like Rithmatists, but that’s not enough of a reason to arrest a man! Half of the people in the Isles seem to hate them these days.”

  “Did Exton come to your aid immediately?” Harding asked. “Last night?”

  “No,” Joel said, remembering his fall and Exton screaming. “He was just scared, and he did help eventually. Inspector, I know Exton. He wouldn’t do something like this.”

  “The minds of killers are strange things, Joel,” Harding said. “Often, people are shocked or surprised that people they know could turn out to be such monsters. This is confidential information, but we found items belonging to the three missing students in Exton’s desk.”

  “You did?” Joel asked.

  “Yes,” Harding said. “And pages and pages of ranting anger about Rithmatists in his room. Hatred, talk of … well, unpleasant things. I’ve seen it before in the obsessed. It’s always the ones you don’t expect. Fitch tipped me off about the clerk a few days back; something reminded him that Exton had once attended Armedius.”

  “The census records,” Joel said. “I was there when Fitch remembered.”

  “Ah yes,” Harding said. “Well, I now wish I’d been more quick to listen to the professor! I began investigating Exton quietly, but I didn’t move quickly enough. I only put the pieces together when you were attacked last night.”

  “Because of the wiggly lines?” Joel asked.

  “No, actually,” Harding said. “Because of what happened yesterday afternoon in the office. You were there, talking to Fitch, and he praised how much of a help you’d been to the process of finding the Scribbler. Well, when I heard you’d been attacked, my mind started working. Who would have a motive to kill you? Only someone who knew how valuable you were to Fitch’s work.

  “Exton overhead that, son. He must have been afraid that you’d connect him to the new Rithmatic line. He probably saw the line when your father was working on it—your father approached the principal for funding to help him discover how the line worked. It wasn’t until some of my men searched his quarters and his desk that we found the truly disturbing evidence, though.”

  Joel shook his head. Exton. Could it actually have been him? The realization that it could have been someone so close, someone he knew and understood, was almost as troubling as the attack.

  Things belonging to the three students, in his desk, Joel thought, cold. “The objects … maybe he had them for … I don’t know, reasons relating to the case? Had he gathered them from the students’ dorms to send to the families?”

  “York says he ordered nothing of the sort,” Harding said. “No questions remain except for the locations of the children. I won’t lie to you, lad. I think they’re probably dead, buried somewhere. We’ll have to interrogate Exton to find the answers.

  “This is disgraceful business, all of it. I feel terrible that it happened on my watch. I don’t know what the ramifications will be, either. The son of a knight-senator dead, a man Principal York hired responsible…”

  Joel nodded numbly. He didn’t buy it, not completely. Something was off. But he needed time to think about it.

  “Exton,” he said. “When will he be tried?”

  “Cases like these take months,” Harding said. “It won’t be for a while, but we’ll need you as a witness.”

  “You’re going to keep the campus on lockdown?”

  Harding nodded. “For at least another week, with a careful eye on all of the Rithmatist students. Like I said. An arrest is no reason to get sloppy.”

  Then I have time, Joel thought. Exton won’t be tried for a while, and the campus is still safe. If it ever was.

  That seemed enough for now. Joel was exhausted, worn thin, and he still had his inception to deal with. He would do that, then maybe have time to think, figure out what was wrong with all of this.

  “I have a request of you,” Joel said. “My friend, Melody. I want her to attend my inception. Will you let her out of the lockdown for today?”

  “Is she that redheaded troublemaker?” Harding asked.

  Joel nodded, grimacing slightly.

  “Well, for you, all right,” Harding said. He spoke to a couple of officers, who rushed off to fetch her.

  Joel waited, feeling terrible for Exton sitting in jail. Potentially becoming a Rithmatist is important, Joel thought. I have to go through with this. If I’m one of them, my words will hold more weight.

  The officers eventually returned with Melody, her red hair starkly visible in the distance. When she got close, she ran toward him.

  Joel nodded to Harding and walked over to meet her.

  “You,” she said, pointing, “are in serious trouble.”

  “What?” Joel asked.

  “You went on an adventure, you nearly got killed, you fought chalklings, and you didn’t invite me!”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Honestly,” she said. “That was terribly thoughtless of you. What good is having friends if they don’t put you in mortal peril every once in a while?”

  “You might even call it tragic,” Joel said, smiling wanly and joining his mother and Professor Fitch.

  “Nah,” Melody said. “I’m thinking I need a new word. Tragic just doesn’t have the effect it once did. What do you think of appalling?”

  “Might work,” Joel said. “Shall we go, then?”

  The others nodded, and they again began walking toward the campus gates, accompanied by several of Harding’s guards.

  “I guess I’m happy you’re all right,” Melody said. “News of wh
at happened is all over the Rithmatic dorm. Most of the others are red in the face, thinking that the puzzle was solved and they were saved by a non-Rithmatist. Of course, half of the red-facedness is probably because none of us can leave yet.”

  “Yeah,” Joel said. “Harding’s a careful guy. I think he knows what he’s doing.”

  “You believe him, then?” Melody said. “About Exton, I mean.”

  Things belonging to each of the students, Joel thought. And pages of rants about wanting revenge against them.…

  They walked the same path Joel had run the night before, terrified in the dark, approaching the police officers. “I don’t know,” he said.

  * * *

  Joel remembered much of what Father Stewart said from the last time he’d gone through an inception ceremony. He’d been less nervous that time. Perhaps he’d been too young to realize what he was getting himself into.

  Joel’s knees ached as he knelt in a white robe before Father Stewart, who sprinkled him with water and anointed him with oil. They had to go through the whole ceremony again if Joel wanted to enter the chamber of inception.

  Why did everything have to happen at once? He was still fatigued from lack of sleep, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Exton. The man had seemed truly frightened. But he would have been, if his own chalklings had come back to attack him.

  Joel felt like he had been swept up in something so much larger than he was. There were new Rithmatic lines. He’d solved his father’s quest, yet wouldn’t get paid for it—all of his father’s contracts of patronage had expired when no line had been produced within five years. Still, the world would be shaken by the discovery of a Rithmatic pattern that was so different from the others.

  Father Stewart intoned something in Old English, barely recognizable to Joel as from scripture. Above, the apostles turned their springwork heads. To his right, down a hallway, PreSaint Euclid stood inside a mural dedicated to the triangle.

  Joel was about to be one of the oldest nonconverts to ever go through the inception ceremony. The world seemed to be becoming a more uncertain place. The disappearances—probably deaths—of Armedius students made the islands bristle, and there was talk of another civil war. The realities of world politics were starting to seem more and more real to Joel. More and more frightening.