Read Online The Rithmatist by Brandon Sanderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brandon Sanderson
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attention?
“Arrogant child,” Nalizar said indifferently. “I must take this action to make certain that Rithmatic students are not bothered now or in the future.” He stalked from the room.
Melody sat down in one of the chairs by the door, opened her notebook, and began to sketch.
“I can’t believe he did that,” Joel said, sitting back down.
“I don’t think he cared about you, specifically,” Melody said, still sketching. “He’s very keen on control. This is just another way for him to get it.”
“He’s a bully,” Joel growled.
“He thinks like a soldier, I guess,” Melody replied. “And he wants to keep separation between Rithmatists and others. He said that we needed to be careful how we acted around common people. Said that if we didn’t hold ourselves aloof, we’d gain sycophants who would interfere with our work. It—”
“Melody, dear,” Florence said. “You’re rambling.”
Melody blinked, looking up. “Oh.”
“Wait,” Joel said. “Shouldn’t you be going back to class with Nalizar?”
She grimaced. “No. I … well, he kind of kicked me out.”
“Kicked you out?” Joel said. “Of class ? What did you do?”
“My circles weren’t good enough,” she said with a dramatic flip of her fingers. “What is it with circles, anyway? Everyone is so crazy over circles.”
“The arc of a Line of Warding is vital to the structural integrity of the defensive perimeter,” Joel said. “If your circle has an inconsistent arc, you’ll be beaten the moment a single chalkling gets to your wall. Drawing an even circle is the first and most important Rithmatic skill!”
“Dusts!” Melody said. “You sound just like a professor. No wonder all the students think you’re so odd!”
Joel blushed. Even the Rithmatists thought he focused too much on Rithmatics, it appeared.
The back door of the office opened. “Florence?” the principal asked. “Who’s next?”
Joel stood up and met the principal’s eyes. The large man frowned, mustache drooping. “Joel?”
Florence crossed the room and handed him Professor Kim’s note. The principal read it, then groaned—a loud, booming sound that seemed to echo. “Come in, then.”
Joel rounded the counter. Florence gave him a sympathetic shake of the head as he passed her and entered the principal’s office. The wood trim of the chamber was of fine walnut, the carpet a forest green. Various degrees, accolades, and commendations hung on the walls. Principal York had a towering desk to fit his large frame, and he sat, waving Joel toward the chair in front.
Joel sat down, feeling dwarfed by the fine desk and its intimidating occupant. He’d only been in this room three other times, at the end of each year when he’d failed a class. Footsteps fell on the carpet behind, and Florence arrived with a file. She handed it to York, then retreated, pulling the door closed. There were no windows in the room, though two lanterns spun quietly on each wall.
York perused the file, letting Joel sit in silence, sweating. Papers ruffled. Ticking from the lanterns and the clock. As the silence stretched, pulled tight like taffy, Joel began to question his plan.
“Joel,” the principal finally said, voice strangely soft, “do you realize the opportunity you are throwing away?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We don’t allow the children of other staff into Armedius,” York continued. “I allowed you in as a personal favor to your father.”
“I realize that, sir.”
“Any other student,” York said, “I would have expelled by now. I have kicked out the sons of knight-senators before, you know. I expelled the Monarch’s own grandnephew. With you, I hesitated. Do you know why?”
“Because my teachers say I’m bright?”
“Hardly. Your intelligence is a reason to expel you. A child with poor capacity, yet who works hard, is far more desirable to me than one who has a lot of potential, but throws it away.”
“Principal, I try. Really,
“Arrogant child,” Nalizar said indifferently. “I must take this action to make certain that Rithmatic students are not bothered now or in the future.” He stalked from the room.
Melody sat down in one of the chairs by the door, opened her notebook, and began to sketch.
“I can’t believe he did that,” Joel said, sitting back down.
“I don’t think he cared about you, specifically,” Melody said, still sketching. “He’s very keen on control. This is just another way for him to get it.”
“He’s a bully,” Joel growled.
“He thinks like a soldier, I guess,” Melody replied. “And he wants to keep separation between Rithmatists and others. He said that we needed to be careful how we acted around common people. Said that if we didn’t hold ourselves aloof, we’d gain sycophants who would interfere with our work. It—”
“Melody, dear,” Florence said. “You’re rambling.”
Melody blinked, looking up. “Oh.”
“Wait,” Joel said. “Shouldn’t you be going back to class with Nalizar?”
She grimaced. “No. I … well, he kind of kicked me out.”
“Kicked you out?” Joel said. “Of class ? What did you do?”
“My circles weren’t good enough,” she said with a dramatic flip of her fingers. “What is it with circles, anyway? Everyone is so crazy over circles.”
“The arc of a Line of Warding is vital to the structural integrity of the defensive perimeter,” Joel said. “If your circle has an inconsistent arc, you’ll be beaten the moment a single chalkling gets to your wall. Drawing an even circle is the first and most important Rithmatic skill!”
“Dusts!” Melody said. “You sound just like a professor. No wonder all the students think you’re so odd!”
Joel blushed. Even the Rithmatists thought he focused too much on Rithmatics, it appeared.
The back door of the office opened. “Florence?” the principal asked. “Who’s next?”
Joel stood up and met the principal’s eyes. The large man frowned, mustache drooping. “Joel?”
Florence crossed the room and handed him Professor Kim’s note. The principal read it, then groaned—a loud, booming sound that seemed to echo. “Come in, then.”
Joel rounded the counter. Florence gave him a sympathetic shake of the head as he passed her and entered the principal’s office. The wood trim of the chamber was of fine walnut, the carpet a forest green. Various degrees, accolades, and commendations hung on the walls. Principal York had a towering desk to fit his large frame, and he sat, waving Joel toward the chair in front.
Joel sat down, feeling dwarfed by the fine desk and its intimidating occupant. He’d only been in this room three other times, at the end of each year when he’d failed a class. Footsteps fell on the carpet behind, and Florence arrived with a file. She handed it to York, then retreated, pulling the door closed. There were no windows in the room, though two lanterns spun quietly on each wall.
York perused the file, letting Joel sit in silence, sweating. Papers ruffled. Ticking from the lanterns and the clock. As the silence stretched, pulled tight like taffy, Joel began to question his plan.
“Joel,” the principal finally said, voice strangely soft, “do you realize the opportunity you are throwing away?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We don’t allow the children of other staff into Armedius,” York continued. “I allowed you in as a personal favor to your father.”
“I realize that, sir.”
“Any other student,” York said, “I would have expelled by now. I have kicked out the sons of knight-senators before, you know. I expelled the Monarch’s own grandnephew. With you, I hesitated. Do you know why?”
“Because my teachers say I’m bright?”
“Hardly. Your intelligence is a reason to expel you. A child with poor capacity, yet who works hard, is far more desirable to me than one who has a lot of potential, but throws it away.”
“Principal, I try. Really,
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