hard, you know, but I may not be the best man to help you.…”
“Don’t be so humble!” Harding said, stomping into the room. “York speaks extremely highly of you, and there’s no better recommendation for a man than the one which comes from his commander! Now, I think we need to—”
He cut off when he saw Joel. “I say, who is this young man?”
“My research assistant,” Fitch said. “He’s been helping me with this problem.”
“What’s his security clearance?” Harding asked.
“He’s a good lad, Inspector,” Fitch said. “Very trustworthy.”
Harding eyed Joel.
“I can’t do this work alone, Inspector,” Fitch said. “I was hoping that we could maybe include the boy in this project? Officially, I mean?”
“What’s your name, son?”
“Joel.”
“Not a Rithmatist, I see.”
“No, sir,” Joel said. “I’m sorry.”
“Never be sorry for what you are, son,” Harding said. “I’m not a Rithmatist either, and I’m proud of that. Saved my life a few times on the battlefront! The creatures out there, they go for the Dusters first. They often ignore us ordinary men, forgetting that a bucket of good acid will wipe them off the ground as quickly as any Rithmatist’s lines will.”
Joel smiled at that. “Sir,” he said. “Forgive me for asking … but are you a police officer or a soldier?”
Harding looked down at his gold-buttoned blue policeman’s uniform. “I served for fifteen years on the Nebrask eastern front, son,” he said. “Military police. Recently transferred out here to the civilian division. I … well, I’ve had a little bit of trouble adjusting.” With that, the inspector turned back to Fitch. “The lad seems solid. If you vouch for him, then that’s good enough for me. Now, we need to talk. What have you discovered?”
“Nothing more than I told you two days ago, unfortunately,” Fitch said, walking to his desk. “I’m most certain we’re dealing with a Rithmatist—and a very powerful and clever one. I’m going to have Joel look through census records and gather names of all the Rithmatists living in the area.”
“Good,” Harding said. “But I’ve already had that done down at the police station. I’ll send you over a list.”
Joel let out a sigh of relief.
“I also had him look through the old census records,” Fitch said. “Searching for Rithmatists who died or disappeared in strange ways. Maybe there’s a clue from the past that can help.”
“Excellent idea,” Harding said. “But what of the drawings themselves? My people can do research about numbers, Fitch. It’s the Rithmatics, this blasted Rithmatics, that stops us.”
“We’re working on that,” Fitch said.
“I have confidence in you, Fitch!” Harding said, slapping the professor on the shoulder. He took a scroll out of his belt and set it on the desk. “Here are crime scene drawings from the second disappearance. Let me know what you discover.”
“Yes, of course.”
Harding leaned down. “I think these children are still alive, Fitch. Every moment is of the most essential importance. The slime who’s doing this … he’s taunting us. I can feel it.”
“What do you mean?”
“The first girl,” Harding said, settling his rifle on his shoulder. “Her home was just three houses down from a federal police station. After she vanished, I doubled our street patrols. This second student was taken from a building on the very block where we were patrolling last night. This isn’t just about kidnapping. The ones behind this, they want us to know that they’re doing it, and that they don’t care how close we are.”
“I see,” Fitch said, looking disturbed.
“I’m going to get him,” Harding said. “Whoever is doing this, I’m going to find him. You don’t attack children during my watch. I’m counting on you to help me know where to look, Fitch.”
“I will do my best.”
“Excellent. Have a good night, men, and work hard. I’ll check with you soon.” He nodded with a crisp motion to Joel, then let himself out.
Joel watched as the door closed, then turned eagerly to Fitch. “Let’s see what those new sheets contain. There might be more to the puzzle!”
“Joel, lad,” Fitch said. “Remember, this is a young man’s life we are talking about, not just a puzzle.”
Joel nodded solemnly.
“I’m still not convinced that involving you was a good idea,” Fitch said. “I should have talked to your mother first.” Fitch reluctantly undid the tie on the roll of paper. The top sheet was a police report.
VICTIM: Presumed to be Herman Libel, son of Margaret and Leland Libel. Age sixteen. Student at Armedius Academy. Rithmatist.
INCIDENT: Libel was accosted and kidnapped in his bedroom at the