“I’m not here to work; I’m just here to say hello. What, you think that because it’s summer I’m never going to drop by?”
Florence smiled. Today she wore a green summer dress, her curly blonde hair tamed in a bun. “How thoughtful. I’m sure Exton will be pleased for the diversion!”
Exton continued to write at one of his ledgers. “Oh yes. I’m excited to have yet another item striving to distract me from the two hundred end-of-term grade reports I must fill out and file before the week is over. Delightful.”
“Ignore him, dear,” Florence said. “That’s his way of saying he’s happy to see you.”
Joel set the two packages on the countertop. “Well, I have to admit that it’s not just a social visit. I was in the kitchens, and the cook thought you two might want something for lunch.”
“That’s sweet,” Florence said, walking over. Even Exton grunted in agreement. Florence handed him a bag, and they immediately began to work on the sandwiches. Joel got out the remnant of his own meal, holding it and taking small bites so that he wouldn’t look out of place.
“So,” he said, leaning against the counter, “anything exciting happen during the four hours since summer started?”
“Nothing much,” Florence said. “As Exton already pointed out, there is a lot of busywork this time of year.”
“Dull, eh?” Joel asked.
Exton grunted into his sandwich.
“Well,” Joel said, “we can’t have federal inspectors visiting every day, I suppose.”
“That’s the truth,” Florence said. “And I’m glad for it. Quite the ruckus that one caused.”
“Did you ever figure out what it was about?” Joel asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“Maybe,” Florence said, lowering her voice. “I couldn’t hear what was going on inside the principal’s office, of course.…”
“Florence,” Exton said warningly.
“Oh, hush you,” she said. “Go back to your sandwich. Anyway, Joel, did you hear about that Rithmatic girl who vanished a few days back? Lilly Whiting?”
Joel nodded.
“Poor dear,” Florence said. “She was a very good student, by the look of her grades.”
“You read her records?” Exton asked.
“Of course I did,” Florence said. “Anyway, from what I’ve heard, she didn’t run away like they’re saying in the papers. She had good grades, was well liked, and got along with her parents.”
“What happened to her, then?” Joel asked.
“Murder,” Florence said softly.
Joel fell silent. Murder. That made sense—after all, a federal inspector was involved. Yet it felt different to have it spoken out loud. It made him remember that they were talking about a real person, not just a logical puzzle.
“Murder,” he repeated.
“By a Rithmatist,” Florence said.
Joel stiffened.
“Now, that’s just useless speculation,” Exton said, wagging a finger at her.
“I heard enough before York closed the door,” Florence replied. “That inspector thinks a Rithmatist was involved in the killing, and he wanted expert help. It—”
She cut off as the front door to the office behind Joel opened and closed.
“I delivered the message to Haberstock,” a female voice said. “But I—”
Joel groaned.
“You!” Melody snapped, pointing at Joel. “See, you are following me!”
“I just came to—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses this time,” Melody said. “I have evidence now.”
“Melody,” Florence said sharply, “you’re acting like a child. Joel is a friend. He can visit the office if he wants.”
The redheaded Rithmatist huffed at that, but Joel didn’t want another argument. He figured he’d gotten as much out of Florence as he was going to be able to, so he nodded farewell to the clerks and made his exit.
Killed by a Rithmatist? Joel thought once outside. How would they know?
Had Lilly died in a duel gone wrong? Students didn’t know the glyphs that would make a chalkling dangerous. Usually a chalkling drawn with a Line of Making would be unable to harm anything aside from other chalk drawings. It took a special glyph to make them truly dangerous.
That glyph—the Glyph of Rending—was only taught at Nebrask during the last year of a student’s training, when they went to maintain the enormous Circle of Warding in place around the Tower. Still, it was not outside of reason that a student could have discovered it. And if a Rithmatist had been involved, it would explain why Fitch had been brought in.
Something is happening, Joel thought. Something important. He was going to find out, but he needed a plan.
What if he got through those census records as quickly as possible? He could show Fitch how hard he was willing to work, that he was trustworthy. Professor Fitch would have to assign him another project—something more involved, something that gave him a better idea of what was going on.
Plan in place, he headed back toward Fitch’s to ask for a few of the census ledgers to take home with him tonight. He’d been planning to read a novel—he’d found an interesting one set during the Koreo Dynasty in JoSeun, during the first days when the JoSeun people had turned the Mongols to their side. It would wait.
He had work to do.
CHAPTER
By the end of the week, Joel had discovered something important about himself. Something deep, primal, and completely inarguable.
The Master had not meant for him to be a clerk.
He was tired of dates. He was fed up with ledgers. He was nauseated by notes, cross-references, and little asterisks beside people’s names.
Despite that, he continued to sit on Fitch’s floor, studying page after page. He felt as if his brain had been sucked out, his lips stapled shut, and his fingers given a life of their own. There was something about the rote work that was mesmerizing. He couldn’t stop until he was done.
And he nearly was. After one week of hard work, he was well over halfway through the lists. He had started taking records home with him each day, then worked on them until it grew dark. He’d often spent extra hours after that, when he couldn’t sleep, working by the light of lanterns.
But soon, very soon, he would be done. Assuming I don’t go mad first, Joel thought, noting another death by accident on one of his lists.
A paper rustled on the other side of Fitch’s office. Each day, Fitch gave Melody a different defensive circle to trace. She was getting better, but still had a long way to go.
Each night at dinner, Melody sat apart from the other Rithmatists. She ate in silence while the others chatted. So he wasn’t the only one to find her annoying.
Fitch had spent the last week poking through old, musty Rithmatic texts. Joel had sneaked a look at a couple of them—they were high-level, theoretical volumes that were well beyond Joel’s understanding.
Joel turned his attention back to his work and ticked off another name, then moved on to the next book. It was …
Something bothered him about that last list—another list of graduates from Armedius, organized by year, for checking off those who had died. One of the names he hadn’t checked off caught his attention. Exton L. Pratt. Exton the clerk.
Exton had never given any indication that he was an alumnus. He’d been senior clerk in the office for as long as Joel could remember. He was something of a fixture at Armedius, with his dapper suits and bow ties, sharp clothing ordered out of the Californian Archipelago.