The Rithmatist

by Brandon Sanderson

  “Is that really necessary?” Fitch asked, glancing at the gun.

  “Please do not interrupt, Professor,” Harding said. “You may understand Rithmatic study, but I understand spies.”

  “I’m not a spy!” Melody said. Then she paused. “Well, okay, yeah. I’m a spy. But only for myself.”

  “And what interest do you have in this operation?” Harding asked, placing his hands behind his back, walking in a slow circle around Melody. “What did you have to do with the deaths?”

  She shot a glance at Joel, and he could see that she finally seemed to be realizing just how much trouble she might be in. “I didn’t have anything to do with that! I’m just a student.”

  “You’re a Rithmatist,” Harding said. “These crimes were committed by a Rithmatist.”

  “So?” Melody said. “There are a lot of Rithmatists in the area.”

  “You have shown a persistent, undeniable interest in this investigation,” Harding said.

  “I’m curious!” Melody said. “Everybody else gets to hear what is going on. Why not me?”

  “No questions from you,” Harding said. “Do you realize that I have the power to imprison you until this investigation is over? Do you realize that you are now our prime suspect for having caused the murders?”

  She paled.

  “Inspector,” Joel said. “Could I … talk to you? Outside, maybe?”

  Harding eyed Joel, then nodded. The two of them left by the side doors and went a little ways down, where they could speak in private.

  “We’ll go back in a few minutes,” Harding said. “It’ll be good for her to sweat a bit.”

  “Inspector,” Joel said, “Melody isn’t behind the murders or the kidnappings. Trust me.”

  “Yes,” Harding said. “I suspect that you are right, Joel. However, I have to pursue every lead. That young woman puts me on edge. Makes me suspicious.”

  “She puts a lot of us on edge,” Joel said. “But that doesn’t mean she’s the Scribbler. I mean, it’s obvious how she got here. She saw us leave Armedius, and everyone knows who it was that got kidnapped. I can vouch for her.”

  “Are you absolutely sure you know her, Joel?” Harding asked. “How can you be sure she’s not fooling you? Part of me keeps worrying that the person behind this is hiding right in front of us, moving about Armedius itself. It would be the best place for a Rithmatist to hide without looking suspicious.”

  Like Nalizar? Joel thought. He left his rooms last night, going somewhere.

  But, then, how well did Joel know Melody? Could her silliness and friendship all be an act? Harding’s suspicion got to Joel for just a moment. He realized he knew very little about Melody’s past, or why her family didn’t seem to care about what happened to her.

  She was also genuine. She didn’t hide her feelings—she belted them out, trumpeted them. She was straightforward with him. With everyone, it seemed.

  And, he realized, he liked that about her.

  “No,” Joel said. “It’s not her, Inspector.”

  “Well, a vote of faith from you means a lot, in my estimation.”

  “You’ll let her go, then?”

  “After just a few more questions,” Harding said, walking back toward the kitchen. Joel followed.

  “All right,” Harding said, entering. “Joel has vouched for you, young lady, and that makes me more likely to listen to what you have to say. But you are still in serious trouble. Answer my questions, and perhaps I won’t have to bring charges against you.”

  She glanced at Joel. “What questions?”

  “My men reported that you sent a chalkling all the way to the building,” Harding said. “How in the name of the Master did you manage such a thing?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just did.”

  “Dear,” Fitch said, “I know many of the most skilled Rithmatists in the world. The string of glyphs you’d need to use in order to instruct a chalkling to cross that distance, climb the stairs, then go to the room … Why, that list would be incredible! I had no idea you had that kind of ability.”

  “What was the point?” Harding asked. “Why make a chalkling go all that way, then come back? Were you trying to get caught?”

  “Dusts, no!” Melody said. “I just wanted to know what was going on.”

  “And you expected a chalkling to tell you?”

  She hesitated. “No,” she finally admitted. “I just … well, I lost control of it, all right? I made it to distract some of the officers.”

  Joel frowned. She’s lying, he thought, noticing how she looked down when she spoke. As he’d noted earlier, she was genuine, and her lie was easy to see.

  She’s strangely good with chalklings, he thought. She wouldn’t have lost control of that one. But … did that mean that she did expect it to report to her on what it found? Chalklings couldn’t talk. They were like springwork creatures—they didn’t think beyond what they were told to do.

  Yet that unicorn chalkling had fled directly back to Melody.

  “Chalklings do act very strangely sometimes, Inspector,” Fitch said.

  “Believe me,” Harding said, “I’m aware of this. I heard that excuse from Rithmatists every week on the battlefield. I’m amazed you people can ever make them do anything, considering how often they simply go off in the wrong direction for no reason.”

  Melody smiled wanly.

  “You, young lady, are still suspicious,” Harding said, pointing.

  “Inspector,” Fitch said. “Really. We now know from the drawing above that the Scribbler is a man, or at least a woman dressed very convincingly as one. I doubt Melody could have managed that, and I’m certain there are those who can vouch for her location last night.”

  Melody nodded eagerly. “I have two roommates in my dormitory room.”

  “Beyond that, Inspector,” Fitch said, raising a finger, “the description we discovered in Charles’s room indicated that the kidnapper’s Rithmatic lines act very oddly. I have seen Miss Muns’s lines, and they are quite normal. To be honest, they’re often rather poorly drawn.”

  “Fine,” Harding said. “You may go, Miss Muns. But I will be keeping an eye on you.”

  She sighed in relief.

  “Excellent,” Fitch said, standing from his chair. “I have more sketches to complete. Joel, would you walk Melody to the station? And, uh, make certain she doesn’t get into any more trouble along the way?”

  “Sure,” Joel said.

  Harding went back to his work, though he did assign two officers to go with Joel and Melody, making certain she left the building. She went sullenly, Joel trailing along behind, and she gave the officers a world-class scowl once they reached the door.

  The police remained inside; Joel strolled along the lawn outside with Melody.

  “That,” she declared, “was decidedly less than enjoyable.”

  “What did you expect,” Joel asked, “spying on a crime scene?”

  “They let you in.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She looked up at the sky, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just … well, it’s frustrating. It seems like every time I want to be involved in something, I’m told that’s the one thing I can’t do.”

  “I know how you feel.”

  “Anyway,” Melody said, “thanks for vouching for me. I think you kept that vulture from ripping me apart.”

  He shrugged.

  “No, really,” she said. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  “I’m … not sure if I want to know what that will entail.”

  “Oh, you’ll enjoy it,” she said, perking up. “I’ve got an idea already.”

  “Which is?”

  “You have to wait!” she said. “No spoiling surprises.”

  “Great.” A surprise from Melody. That would be wonderful. They neared the station, but didn’t enter, instead sticking to the comfortable shade of the trees as they waited for Fitch. Melody tried to get Joel to talk some m
ore, but he found himself giving uninvolved answers.

  He kept thinking of that hurried picture with the frightened words beneath it. Charles Calloway had known he was going to die, yet he’d left notes on as much as he could figure out. It was noble—probably more noble than anything Joel had ever done in his life.

  Someone needs to stop this, he thought, leaning back against a tree trunk. Something needs to be done. It wasn’t just the students, not just Armedius, who were in danger. Ordinary people had been killed. And if what Fitch and Harding said was true, these kidnappings were threatening the stability of the United Isles themselves.

  It comes back to those strange chalk drawings, Joel thought. That looping pattern. If only I could remember where I saw it before!

  He shook his head and glanced at Melody. She was sitting on a patch of grass a short distance away. “How did you do it?” he asked. “With that chalkling, I mean.”

  “I just lost control of it.”

  He gave her a flat stare.

  “What?” she said.

  “You’re obviously lying, Melody.”

  She groaned, flopping back on the grass, staring up at the trees. He figured she was probably going to ignore the question.

  “I don’t know how I do it, Joel,” she said. “Everyone in classrooms always talks about instructing the chalklings, and about how they are completely without will themselves, like clockwork. But … well, I’m not really that good at the instructional glyphs.”

  “Then how do you make them obey so well?”

  “They just do,” she said. “I … well, I think they understand me, and what I want of them. I explain what I want, then they go do it.”

  “You explain it?”

  “Yeah. Little whispers. They seem to like it.”

  “And they can bring you information?”

  She shrugged, which was an odd gesture, considering that she was lying down. “They can’t talk or anything. But the way they move around me, the things they do, well … yeah, sometimes I feel like I can understand what they mean.” She rolled her head to the side, looking at him. “I’m just imagining things, aren’t I? I just want to be good with chalklings to make up for the fact that I’m bad with the other lines.”

  “I don’t know. I’m the last person who could tell you about chalklings. As far as I’m concerned, they probably do listen to you.”

  She seemed to find that comforting. She smiled, staring up at the sky until Professor Fitch arrived. Apparently Harding was going to stay at the mansion to investigate more. Joel found himself glad to be returning to Armedius. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, and his stomach had begun to rumble.

  They walked into the station and climbed up onto the empty platform, waiting for the next train.

  “This adds some very disturbing elements to our situation,” Fitch said.

  Joel nodded.

  “Wild chalklings,” Fitch continued. “Unknown Rithmatic lines … I think that, perhaps, I shall need to have you begin helping me look through some of the more obscure Rithmatic texts. There has to be mention of things like this somewhere in the records.”

  Joel perked up, feeling a surge of excitement. Yet it was dulled by the realities of their situation. He glanced at Melody, who stood behind them, probably too far to hear; she obviously felt sheepish around Fitch since she’d been caught spying.

  “Troubled times,” Fitch said, shaking his head as the track began to shake, a train approaching. “Troubled times…”

  A short time later, they were riding back across the waters and toward Armedius.

  CHAPTER

  The first European encounters with wild chalklings are the subject of some debate, the book read.

  Joel sat with his back to the brick wall of Professor Fitch’s office. “The subject of some debate” was a terrible understatement. So far—despite a week of studying—he hadn’t been able to find two sources that agreed about when the first wild chalklings had been sighted.

  This is because of the poor recordkeeping practices maintained by many who traveled westward across the oceans after initial contact was made between Aztek ships and the Old World.

  Though many of these early explorers—such as Jacques Cartier and the infamous Francisco Vásquez de Coronado—worked on the behalf of European nations, they truly sought personal fame or fortune. This was a time of expansionism and exploration. The American Isles presented an unknown landscape to conquer, control, and—hopefully—use.

  There were already rumblings of war in Asia at this time, and the JoSeun Empire was beginning to flex its muscles. Many an enterprising man realized that if he could get a foothold in the New World, he might be able to establish himself as independent, freed from the oppression—either perceived or actual—of his European masters.

  After being rebuffed by powerful South American empires—which had been galvanized by centuries of warfare and struggles against the chalklings—the explorers turned to the isles. They were never told what dangers would await them. The Aztek nations were very xenophobic and reclusive during this era.

  The Tower of Nebrask is, of course, a central feature in early records. Of obviously ancient date, the Tower was one of the wonders of the islands, as it was the only freestanding structure of apparent human design to be discovered there.

  Numerous explorers described the Tower. Yet these same explorers would swear that the next time they returned to Nebrask, the Tower would be gone. They claim that it moved about the island, never quite being in the same place as it was before.

  Obviously, these reports are to be taken with skepticism. After all, the Tower now appears perfectly stable. Still, there are some legitimate oddities. The total lack of human life on the isles should have been a clue that something was wrong in America. Someone built the Tower of Nebrask; someone once occupied the islands. Had it been the Azteks?

  They would not speak of Nebrask, only to call it an abomination. So far, their records provide no insight. They used an acid made from local plants to fight the chalklings that tried to gain a foothold in their lands, and they accepted refugees from the islands, but they themselves did not explore northward. Of those purported refugees—now some five hundred years integrated into Aztek culture—their stories are completely oral, and have deteriorated over time. They tell legends and speak of terrible horrors, of bad luck and omens, and of nations slaughtered. But they give no details, and each story seems to contradict its fellows.

  Early North American explorers do say they happened across an occasional native on the isles. Indeed, many of the names of the islands and cities they bear come from such early reports. Once again, questions pile atop one another. Were these natives Azteks, or the remnants of some other culture? If some peoples had lived on the isles, as Aztek legends claim, what happened to the signs of their cities and towns?

  Some of the early settlers reported feeling an almost eerie emptiness to the isles. A haunted, troubling stillness. We can only conclude that there must be some truth to Aztek stories—that the peoples who lived here before us were driven southward. Either that or destroyed by the wild chalklings, as we almost were.

  In this author’s opinion, the Estevez report seems the most trustworthy and accurately dated of all the early European chalkling sightings, even if it is disturbing in concept.

  Joel slid the book closed, leaning his head back against the wall and rubbing his eyes with the fingers of one hand. He knew about the Estevez report—he’d just read of it in another book. It spoke of a group of Spanish explorers searching for gold who had crossed into a strange, narrow canyon on one of the southwestern isles—Bonneville or Zona Arida or something like that.

  These explorers—led by Manuel Estevez—had found a group of small, human-shaped pictures on the canyon walls. Primitive figures, like one might find in caves left by long-ago inhabitants.

  The explorers had camped there for the night, enjoying the quiet stream and shelter from the winds. However, not long after sunset, they repo
rted that the pictures on the walls began to dance and move.

  Estevez himself had described the drawings in great detail. Most importantly, he had insisted that the drawings weren’t scratched or carved, but instead drawn in a whitish, chalky substance. He had even done drawings of the figures and put them in his log, which survived to the present day.

  “Joel, lad,” Fitch said, “you look exhausted.”

  Joel blinked, looking up. Fitch sat at his desk, and from the dark circles under his eyes, Joel figured the man must feel at least twice as tired as Joel did. “I’m all right,” Joel said, battling a yawn.

  Fitch didn’t look convinced. The two of them had spent the past week searching through tome after tome. Fitch mostly assigned Joel the historical books, as the high-level texts were simply beyond Joel’s abilities. Joel intended to learn and to study until he could figure out those books. For the moment, it was better for him to focus on other subjects.

  Inspector Harding was pursuing the investigation to track down the kidnapper. That wasn’t a job for Joel and Fitch; they were scholars. Or, well, Fitch was. Joel still wasn’t certain what he himself was. Other than tired, of course.

  “Anything of note in that book?” Fitch asked hopefully.

  Joel shook his head. “It mostly talks about other reports and comments on their validity. It is a fairly easy read. I’ll keep going and see if there’s anything useful.”

  Fitch was convinced that if there were other Rithmatic lines, there would be mentions of them in such records. Drawings, like Estevez had done, lost in time but now suddenly relevant.

  “Hey,” Joel said, noticing what Fitch was reading, “are those my notes about the census reports?”

  “Hum? Oh, yes. I never did get a chance to go over these.”

  “You probably don’t need to worry about it now. I doubt those death records will be all that helpful.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Fitch said, leafing through the pages. “Perhaps this isn’t the first time events like the ones here have occurred. What if there were other such disappearances, but they were so isolated that they were never connected? We just…”