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.
“All right, that’s it!” Melody suddenly declared. “I, Melody Muns, have had enough!”
Joel sighed. Her outbursts were surprisingly regular. It seemed that she could only stand about an hour or so of silence before she simply had to fill it with a dramatic eruption.
“Hum?” Professor Fitch asked, looking up from his book. “What is that?”
“I have had enough,” Melody said, folding her arms. “I don’t think I can trace another line. My fingers won’t do it. They will sooner pull themselves free of my hands!”
Joel rose, stretching.
“I’m just no good at this,” she continued. “How bad does a girl have to be at Rithmatics before everyone will simply give up and let her move on?”
“Far worse than you are, dear,” Fitch said, setting aside his book. “In all my years here, I’ve only seen it happen twice—and only because those students were considered dangerous.”
“I’m dangerous,” Melody said. “You heard what Professor Nalizar said about me.”
“Professor Nalizar is not the expert in everything he claims,” Fitch said. “Perhaps he knows how to duel, but he does not understand students. You,