The Rithmatist - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,47

children are pulling their students out of the school,” Harding said. “Young Joel was quick-witted enough to warn me of this. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to secure the grounds quickly enough. A good dozen children—mostly Rithmatists—were pulled out this morning.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Fitch said. “All of the attacks happened off campus. Why would they want to take their children away from Armedius?”

“Parents are unpredictable when their children are involved,” Harding said. “I’d much rather fight a squadron of Forgotten than deal with an affluent mother who thinks her son is in danger.”

Fitch glanced at Joel, though Joel wasn’t certain what to make of the look.

“You are now briefed on the situation, men,” Harding said. “I must get back to my rounds, assuming there’s nothing else we need to discuss.”

I should tell them, Joel thought. I can’t just sneak about and try to fight Nalizar on my own.

“Actually,” Joel said, “I … um … Well, there’s something I should probably mention.”

They both turned toward him, and suddenly he felt self-conscious. How exactly did one accuse a professor of being a kidnapper?

“It’s probably nothing,” Joel said. “But, well, I saw Professor Nalizar acting suspiciously earlier today. These kidnappings didn’t start happening until he got hired by the principal, you know.”

“Joel!” Professor Fitch said. “I realize that you’re upset with the man for dueling me, but this is uncalled-for!”

“It’s not that, Professor,” Joel said. “It’s just … well…”

“No,” Harding said. “It’s good, Joel. You should mention things like this. However, I don’t think we have anything to worry about from Andrew Nalizar.”

Joel looked over. “You know him?”

“Of course I do,” Harding said. “Nalizar’s a legend back in Nebrask. I know a good two dozen men who owe their lives to him—and I count myself among them.”

“You mean he really is a hero, like he keeps telling everyone?”

“Of course he is,” Harding said. “Not a humble one, I’ll admit, but I can forgive something like that if it’s earned. Why, there was a time when the chalklings had penetrated along the river to the eastern front! If they’d passed us by, they could have flanked our force—maybe taken the entire eastern front. From there, it would only be a matter of sailing on fallen logs to invade the nearby islands and wreak havoc.

“Anyway, my squad was in serious trouble. Then Nalizar arrived and built us a fortification all on his own. He stood against hundreds of chalklings. Dusts be cast aside if he didn’t save all of our lives. I could share more than one story like that. I’ve rarely seen a Rithmatist as skilled and level-headed as Andrew Nalizar. It was a shame that…”

He trailed off.

“What?” Joel asked.

“Sorry, son,” Harding said. “I just realized you don’t have clearance for that. Regardless, Nalizar is no threat. In fact, I’m happy he’s here on campus. It feels good to have that man at my back.”

Harding nodded to them—he appeared to almost give them a salute, before halting himself—and made his way out of the room and down the stairs.

“I didn’t expect that,” Joel said. “About Nalizar, I mean.”

“To be honest, Joel,” Fitch said, “neither did I.”

“Nalizar can’t be a hero,” Joel said. “He’s a pompous windbag!”

“I will agree with the adjective,” Fitch said, “but the noun … Well, he did defeat me quite handily. Regardless, it is unseemly for a student to be referring to a professor of the school in such a manner. You must show respect, Joel.”

A knock came at the door. It flew open a second later, revealing Melody, who had obviously decided not to wait for someone to answer her knock.

“I assume,” she said with a huff, “that all the secret, valuable, interesting discussion is finished with, and we ordinary people can come in now?”

“Melody, dear,” Fitch said. “It’s not that we wanted to exclude you, it’s just—”

She held up a hand. “I assume I’m going to have to do more tracing today?”

“Well, um, yes,” Fitch said. “It’s very good for you to practice that, Melody. You will thank me someday.”

“Right,” she said. She gathered up a sketch pad and a pen, then turned to leave.

“Melody?” Professor Fitch asked. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to sketch out here,” she said, “on the mundane, unimportant doorstep. That way, I won’t be able to interfere with significant conversations you two might need to have.”

With that, she pulled the door shut behind her.

Fitch sighed, shaking his head and walking back to his desk. “I’m sure she’ll get over it,” he said, sitting and

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