“Hum? Oh, no, I didn’t.” Fitch quickly put the sheet back down. “I should get back to work on my other reading.…”
Fitch, Joel decided, was a terrible liar. Probably came from the man’s inability to stand confrontation of any type. So what had Fitch seen on that sheet that had caught his attention? And why didn’t he want to mention it to Joel?
Joel was trying to figure out a way to inconspicuously glance at the stack of sheets on Fitch’s desk when the door at the end of the narrow chamber opened and Melody entered. Her class with Fitch had ended a half hour ago. Why had she returned?
“Melody?” Fitch asked. “Did you forget something?”
“Hardly,” she said, leaning against the doorway frame. “I’m here on official business.”
“Official?” Fitch asked.
“Yeah,” she said, holding up a slip of paper. “Nalizar still has me running errands after classes, you know. By the way, I’ve realized that my sorry state is completely your fault, Joel.”
“Mine?”
“Sure,” she said. “If you hadn’t gotten yourself into trouble visiting all those Rithmatic classes, then I wouldn’t have had to end up running all over campus every afternoon like a windup toy. Here’s your note, Professor—it says the principal wants Joel to come to the office.”
“Me?” Joel asked. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Something about your grades. Anyway, I have more menial, tedious, obnoxious busywork to be about. See you at dinner?”
Joel nodded, and she took off. He walked over to take the note, which she’d stuffed between two books. Grades. He knew that he should have felt alarmed, but something as mundane as grades seemed distant to him at the moment.
The note had been sealed shut, of course, but Joel could see where Melody had pried it open on the side to peek in. He walked over to grab his book bag. “I’m going to go, then.”
“Hum?” Fitch said, already absorbed in a book. “Ah, yes. Very well. I will see you tomorrow.”
Joel walked past the desk—and quickly scanned what Fitch had been reading—on his way out. It was one of the census lists of students who had graduated Armedius in a given year. Joel had marked the ones who had died suspiciously. There were two of these, but Joel didn’t recognize either name as being all that important. Why, then …
He almost missed it, just like last time. Exton’s name was at the top of the list, among the graduates from the general school that year. Was that what Fitch had noticed, or was it just a coincidence?
Outside, Joel crossed the green, heading toward the office. Armedius had changed during the last seven days. The police were far more plentiful now, and they checked identification at the front gates and the springrail station. Rithmatic students weren’t allowed off campus without an escort. He passed several nearby, grumbling that Armedius was starting to feel like a prison.
He also passed a group of regular students playing soccer on the field. Their efforts seemed subdued, and there were far fewer of them than before. Most parents of ordinary students had pulled their children out of the academy for the summer, and they were being allowed to continue to do so. While non-Rithmatists had been killed now, it was clear that the Rithmatists were still the targets. Normal students should be safe off campus.
There hadn’t been another disappearance since Charles Calloway. A week had passed, and everyone just seemed to be waiting. When would it come? What would happen next? Who was safe and who wasn’t?
Joel hurried along, passing closer to the front gates. Outside them was one of the other big changes at the academy.
Protesters.
They carried signs. GIVE US THE TRUTH. DUSTERS ARE DANGEROUS! SEND THEM TO NEBRASK!
Numerous editorialists around the Isles had decided that the deaths of the four Calloway servants had been the fault of the Rithmatists. These editorialists saw some sort of hidden war—some called it a conspiracy—between sects of Rithmatists. There were even those who thought that all of it—the existence of Rithmatists, the inception ceremony, the fight at Nebrask—was a giant hoax used to keep the Monarchical Church in power.
And so, a small—but very vocal—group of anti-Rithmatist activists had set up a vigil outside the front of Armedius. Joel didn’t know what to make of such nonsense. He did, however, know that several homes of Rithmatic students—all of whom were now staying full-time at the school—had been vandalized in the night. The policemen at the gates, fortunately, kept most troublemakers away from Armedius. Most of them. Two nights