“And what, lad?” Fitch asked. “Thrown one bucket while the other chalklings swarmed you? A single man can’t hold the front against chalklings—you learn that quickly in Nebrask. It takes a bucket brigade, dozens of men, to keep a group of the things back.”
Joel looked down.
Fitch knelt. “Joel. If it’s any help, I can imagine what it feels like. I … well, you know I never did very well at Nebrask. The first time I saw a chalkling charge, I could barely keep my lines straight. I can’t even duel another person and keep my wits. Harding is right—you did very well tonight.”
I want to be able to do more, Joel thought. Fight.
“Exton is a Rithmatist,” he said out loud.
“Yes,” Fitch said. “He was expelled from the Rithmatic school his early years at Armedius for certain … complications. It happens very rarely.”
“I remember you talking about that,” Joel said. “To Melody. Professor, I want you to draw that new line we found, the one with swirls.”
“Now?” Fitch asked.
“Yes.”
“Honey,” his mother said, “you need rest.”
“Just do this one thing, Professor,” Joel said. “Then I’ll go to bed.”
“Yes, well, all right,” Fitch said, getting out his chalk. He knelt to begin drawing on the floor.
“It makes things quiet,” Joel said. “You have to know that. It sucks in sound.”
“How do you know…?” His voice grew much quieter when he finished the drawing.
Fitch blinked, then looked up at Joel. “Well, that’s something,” he said, but the voice sounded far diminished, as if he were distant.
Joel took a deep breath, then tried to yell, “I know!” That was dampened even further, so it came out as a whisper. When he whispered, however, that sound came out normally.
Fitch dismissed the line. “Amazing.”
Joel nodded. “The ones we found at the crime scenes no longer worked, so the line must run out of power after a time, or something like that.”
“Joel,” Fitch said, “do you realize what you just did? You solved the problem your father spent his life trying to uncover.”
“It was easy,” Joel said, suddenly feeling very tired. “Someone gave me the answer—they tried to kill me with it.”
CHAPTER
Harding arrested Exton early the next morning.
Joel heard about it from Fitch as they crossed the green on their way toward the cathedral for Joel’s inception. Joel’s mother held to his arm, as if afraid some beast were going to appear out of nowhere and snatch him away.
“He arrested Exton?” Joel demanded. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, hum,” Fitch said. “Murder rarely makes sense. I can see why you might be shocked. Exton was a friend of mine too. And yet, he never did like Rithmatists. Ever since he was expelled.”
“But he came back to work here!”
“Those who have intense hatred often are fascinated by the thing they detest,” Fitch said. “You saw that drawing at Charles’s house—the man with the bowler and the cane. It looks an awful lot like Exton.”
“It looks like a lot of people,” Joel said. “Half the men in the city wear bowlers and carry canes! It was a small chalk sketch. They can’t use that as proof.”
“Exton knew where all of the Rithmatist children lived,” Fitch said. “He had access to their records.”
Joel fell silent. They were fairly good arguments. But Exton? Grumbling yet good-natured Exton?
“Don’t worry about it, Son,” his mother said. “If he’s innocent, I’m sure the courts will determine that. You need to be ready. If you’re going to be incepted, you should be focused on the Master.”
“No,” Joel said. “I want to talk to Harding. My inception…” It couldn’t wait. Not again. But this was important. “Where is he?”
They found Harding directing a squad of police officers who were searching through the campus office. Principal York stood a distance off, seeming very dissatisfied, a weeping Florence beside him. She waved to Joel. “Joel!” she called. “Tell them what madness this is! Exton would never hurt anyone! He was such a dear.”
The police officer at her side quieted her—he was apparently questioning both her and the principal. Inspector Harding stood at the office doorway, leafing through some notes. He looked up as Joel approached. “Ah,” he said. “The young hero. Shouldn’t you be somewhere, lad? Actually, as I consider it, you should have an escort. I’ll send a few soldiers with you to the chapel.”
“Is all of that really necessary?” Fitch asked. “I mean, since you have someone in custody…”
“I’m afraid it is necessary,” Harding said. “Every good investigator knows that you don’t stop searching just because