York nodded. Harding seemed to regard the principal with quite a bit of respect—perhaps because the principal looked like a battlefield general, with his large frame and drooping mustache.
“I have the most up-to-date list for you, Inspector,” Florence said, standing and handing him a sheet.
Harding scanned it, face going slightly red.
“What is it?” Principal York asked.
Inspector Harding looked up. “An oversight on my part, sir. There are still fourteen Rithmatist students whose parents refuse to send them to the academy for protection. That is unacceptable.”
“It’s not your fault that parents are stubborn, Inspector,” York said.
“I make it my responsibility, sir,” Harding said. “If you’ll excuse me.” He walked out of the room, nodding to Joel as he passed.
“Ah, Joel,” Principal York said. “Come in, son.”
Joel crossed into the principal’s office and, once again, sat down in the chair before the overly large desk, feeling like a small animal looking up at a towering human master.
“You wanted to talk to me about my grades, sir?” Joel asked as York sat down.
“Actually, no,” York said. “That was an excuse that you will forgive, I hope.” He folded his arms before him on the desk. “Things are happening on my campus, son. It’s my job to keep an eye on them all as best I can. I need information from you.”
“Sir?” Joel said. “With all due respect, I’m just a student. I don’t know how much help I can be. I don’t really like the idea of spying on Professor Fitch, anyway.”
York chuckled. “You’re not spying, son. I had Fitch in here yesterday, and I just talked to Harding. I trust both men. What I really want is unbiased opinions. I need to know what is happening, and I can’t be everywhere. I’d like you to tell me about the things you’ve seen and done while working with Fitch.”
And so, over the next hour, Joel did so. He talked about the census studies, his experience visiting the scene of Charles Calloway’s disappearance, and the things he’d read. York listened. As the hour progressed, Joel found his respect for the principal growing.
York did care, and he was willing to listen to the opinions and thoughts of a simple, non-Rithmatic student. As Joel neared the end of his explanation, he tried to decide if he should mention his suspicions about Nalizar. He eyed the principal, who had gotten out his pen and had begun scribbling notes as Joel spoke.
“All right,” York said, looking up. “Thank you, Joel. This is precisely what I needed.”
“You’re welcome, sir,” Joel said. “But … well, there is one other thing.”
“Yes?”
“Sir,” Joel said. “I think Nalizar might have something to do with all of this.”
York leaned in. “What makes you say that?”
“Nothing really substantial,” Joel said. “Coincidences, really. Nalizar showing up when he did mixed with some of the things he’d done.”
“Such as?”
Joel flushed, realizing how foolish he sounded. He was sitting in the principal’s office, accusing one of the men York himself had hired.
“I…” Joel said, his eyes dropping. “I’m sorry, sir. I spoke out of turn.”
“No you didn’t. I’m suspicious of Nalizar too.”
Joel looked up with a start.
“I can’t decide,” York said, “if it’s simply my dislike of the man that is making me react this way, or if there is more. Nalizar has spent a lot of time in the office trying to find out more about the investigation. I keep asking myself if that’s because he wants to know how much we know, or if he’s just jealous.”
“Jealous?”
York nodded. “I don’t know if you realize this or not, but Professor Fitch is gaining quite a bit of notoriety. The press got hold of his name, and now he’s mentioned in nearly every article having to do with the disappearances. Apparently, he’s the federal inspectors’ ‘secret weapon against the kidnappers.’”
“Wow,” Joel said.
“Either way,” York continued, “I wish I’d never hired Nalizar. He has tenure, however, and firing him would be very difficult—and I really have no proof he is involved. So I ask again: What specifically makes you suspect him?”
“Well,” Joel said, “do you remember what I told you about new Rithmatic lines? I saw Nalizar checking out a book from the library that was about new Rithmatic lines and their possible existence.”
“Anything else?”
“He left his building the other night,” Joel said. “The night Charles Calloway was kidnapped. I was out walking and saw him.”
York rubbed his chin. “You’re right,” he said. “That’s hardly compelling evidence.”
“Principal,” Joel said. “Do you know why Nalizar is even here? I