one of the other cleaning ladies. She sent him to the right place.
It turned out that his mother was cleaning the dueling arena. Joel walked up to the door, which was propped open slightly, and peeked in. He heard the sounds of scrubbing echoing inside, so he pulled open the door and slipped in.
The dueling arena was in the middle of Making Hall and took up most of the central space in the building. The room’s ceiling was of glass squares with iron supports between. Rithmatic duels, after all, were best watched from above. During the Melee, professors and local dignitaries watched from the best seats up there.
Joel had never seen that room, though he had been lucky enough to get a lower seat for a couple of the Melees. The room was shaped like an ice-skating rink. There was the playing field floor below—black so that chalk would show up well on it—with enough space for dozens of people to draw defensive circles at once. Seats ran around the outside, though there weren’t ever enough for all the people who wanted to attend the Melee.
There were dueling competitions throughout the year, of course. The Melee, however, was the most popular. It was the last chance for the juniors to show off their skill before they were shipped to Nebrask for their last year of training. Winners in the Melee were given important posts in Nebrask, and would have a much better chance of becoming squad leaders and captains.
Joel’s mother crouched on hands and knees in the middle of the room, scrubbing at the blackrock floor, a single springwork lantern beside her. She wore her hair tied back with a kerchief, her sleeves rolled up, her brown skirt dusty from crawling around.
Joel felt a sudden stab of anger. Other people went to plays, lounged in their rooms, or slept while his mother scrubbed floors. The anger immediately turned to guilt. While his mother scrubbed floors, he had been eating ice cream.
If I were a Rithmatist, he thought, she wouldn’t have to do this.
Melody had spoken with disdain about the money and power many Rithmatists coveted. She obviously had no concept of what it was like to have to go without.
Joel walked down the steps between the bleachers, his steps echoing. His mother looked up. “Joel?” she said as he stepped onto the blackrock floor. “You should be getting ready for bed, young man.”
“I’m not tired,” he said, joining her and picking up the extra brush floating in her bucket. “What are we doing? Scrubbing the floor?”
She eyed him for a moment. Finally, she turned back to her work. She was far more lax with his sleep habits in the summer. “Don’t ruin your trousers,” she said. “The floor has a rough texture. If you aren’t careful, you’ll scuff your knees and fray the cloth.”
Joel nodded, then began to work on a section that she hadn’t yet scrubbed. “Why do we need to clean this place? It doesn’t get used that often.”
“It has to look good for the Melee, Joel,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “We have to apply a finish each year to keep the color dark. The playing field needs to be clean before we can do that.”
Joel nodded, scrubbing. It felt good to be active, rather than just sorting through books.
“That girl seemed nice,” his mother said.
“Who? Melody?”
“No, the other girl you brought over for dinner.”
Joel blushed. “Yeah, I suppose. She’s a bit strange.”
“Rithmatists often are,” his mother said. “I’m glad to see you with a girl, though. I worry about you. You always seem to have people to talk to, but you don’t go out in the evenings. You have a lot of acquaintances. Not a lot of friends.”
“You’ve never said anything.”
She snorted. “One doesn’t have to be a professor to know that teenage boys don’t like hearing about their mothers’ worries.”
Joel smiled. “You have it easy with me. As teenage sons go, I’m not much of a headache.”
They continued to work for a time, Joel still feeling annoyed that his mother should have to do such hard work. Yes, Rithmatists were important—they helped protect the Isles from the dangers in Nebrask. Yet, wasn’t what his mother did important as well? The Master chose Rithmatists. Didn’t he, in a way, choose cleaning ladies as well?
Why was it that people valued what his mother did so much less than what someone like Professor Fitch did?