“Quickly, Joel,” Exton said, holding out his hand from a short distance away, an empty bucket in his other hand. Joel scrambled to his feet, snatching the gold coin and dashing through the hole Exton had made in the ring of chalklings.
Exton rushed back into the office building.
“Exton!” Joel said, following him through the doorway and into the office. “We have to run. We can’t stop them here!”
Exton slammed the door shut, ignoring Joel. Then he knelt to the floor and pulled out a piece of chalk. He drew a line in front of the doorway, then up the sides of the wall and around the doorway. He stepped back.
The chalklings stopped outside. Joel could just barely see them begin attacking the line. Exton proceeded to draw another one around Joel and himself, boxing them in.
“Exton,” Joel said. “You’re a Rithmatist!”
“A failed one,” Exton admitted, hands shaking. “Haven’t carried chalk in years. But, well, with all the problems here at the school…”
Across the room, chalklings moved across the windowpanes, looking for other ways in. A single lantern flickered, giving the office a shadowy illumination.
“What’s going on?” Exton asked. “Why were they chasing you?”
“I don’t know,” Joel said, testing the Line of Forbiddance around them. It wasn’t drawn particularly well, and wouldn’t hold for long against the chalklings.
“Do you have any more acid?” Joel asked.
Exton nodded toward a second bucket nearby, within their defensive square. Joel grabbed it.
“It’s the last one,” Exton said, wringing his hands. “Harding left the two here for us.”
Joel glanced at the chalklings, visible under the door, attacking at Exton’s line. He took out the coin.
It had stopped them. Why?
“Exton,” he said, trying to keep the terror from shaking his voice. “We’re going to have to make a run for the gates. The policemen will have more acid there.”
“Run?” Exton said. “I … I can’t run! I’m in no shape to keep ahead of chalklings!”
He was right. Portly as he was, Exton wouldn’t be able to keep up for long. Joel felt his hands shaking, so he clenched his fists. He knelt down, watching the chalklings beyond the Line of Forbiddance. They were chewing through it at an alarming rate.
Joel took the coin and snapped it to the ground behind the line. The chalklings shied away.
Then, tentatively, they came back and began to work on the Line of Forbiddance again.
Blast, Joel thought. So it won’t stop them, not for good. He and Exton were in trouble. Serious trouble. He turned to Exton, who was wiping his brow with a handkerchief.
“Draw another box around yourself,” Joel said.
“What?”
“Draw as many lines as you can,” Joel said. “Don’t let them touch each other except at corners. Wait here.” Joel turned toward the door. “I’m going for help.”
“Joel, those things are out there.” Exton jumped as the window cracked. He glanced toward the glass, where a couple of chalklings were attacking, scraping at the glass with a terrible sound. It cracked further. “They’ll be in here soon!”
Joel took a deep breath. “I’m not going to sit here like Herman and Charles did, waiting for my defenses to be breached. I can make it to the gates—it’s just a short distance.”
“Joel, I—”
“Draw the lines!” Joel yelled.
Exton fumbled, then went down on his knees, boxing himself inside a set of Lines of Forbiddance. Joel turned the coin over in his palm.
Then he picked up the bucket and splashed most of its contents beneath the door, washing away the Line of Forbiddance. The chalklings outside washed away like dirt sprayed off a white wall. Joel threw open the door and, without looking back, took off at a charge toward the gates to the academy.
He knew he’d never be able to run with a bucket of liquid, so he tossed it behind him.
He ran, holding the coin.
What would happen to him if the gates weren’t guarded? What if the Scribbler had managed to kill the policemen or make a distraction?
Joel would die. His skin ripped from his flesh, his eyes gouged out. Just like the people in Mary Rowlandson’s narrative.
No, he thought with determination. She survived to write her story.
I’ll survive to write mine!
He yelled, pushing himself in a dash over the dark landscape. Ahead, he saw lights.
People moved near them.
“Halt!” one of the officers said.
“Chalklings!” Joel screamed. “They’re following me!”
The officers scattered at his call, grabbing buckets. Joel was thankful for Harding’s sense of preparation, as the men didn’t even stop to think or question. They formed a defensive bucket line