Free The Rithmatist by Brandon Sanderson Page A

class. Do you think you could get a passing grade if you were to return and use the rest of your time?”
    “Of course I could,” Joel said.
    “Well then,” York said, tapping the sheet with his hand. “This form will be here, ready and waiting, assuming you can get back to me by the end of the day with a passing grade in history.”
    Joel was out the office door a few heartbeats later, running across the lawn toward history class. He burst into the lecture hall, puffing, startling the students who still sat taking their tests.
    His own exam still sat on Kim’s desk. “The principal convinced me to try again,” Joel said. “Can I … have a new test?”
    Kim tapped his fingers together. “Did you just go look up the answers while you were out?”
    “I promise I didn’t, sir!” Joel said. “The office can confirm that I was sitting there the whole time, books closed.”
    “Very well,” Kim said, glancing at the clock. “But you’ll still have to finish in the allotted time.” He pulled out a fresh test and handed it to Joel.
    Joel snatched it, then took a jar of ink and a quill and rushed back to his seat. He scribbled furiously until the clock rang, signaling the end of class. Joel stared at the last question, which he hadn’t answered in true depth, lacking time.
    Taking a deep breath, he joined the other students at the front of the room turning in their papers. He waited until all of them were gone before handing in his own.
    Kim took it, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the thorough answers. “Perhaps I should have sent you to the principal’s office months ago, if this was the result.”
    “Could you, maybe, grade it?” Joel asked. “Let me know if I passed?”
    Kim glanced at the clock. He took out a quill, dipped it in ink, then began to read. Joel waited, heart beating, as the professor deducted points here and there.
    Finally, Kim totaled up the score at the bottom.
    “Do I pass?” Joel asked.
    “Yes,” Kim said. “Tell me, why did you hand in that other test? We both know you’re quite accomplished in this subject.”
    “I just needed the right motivation, sir,” Joel said. “Please, would you write a note to the principal explaining that I passed?”
    “I suppose. Would you, by chance, be interested in studying in my advanced history elective this summer?”
    “Maybe next year,” Joel said, spirits soaring. “Thank you.”
    When Joel reached the office a short time later, he found the form waiting for him. It was filled out, and it ordered Joel to become Professor Fitch’s research assistant for the summer. Beside it was a note from the principal.
    Next time, try talking to me. I’ve been thinking lately that the Rithmatists are too concerned with keeping themselves separate from the rest of the campus.
    I’m very curious to see how Professor Fitch handles his current project. Inspector Harding insisted that I put my best Rithmatist to work on the problem; I found it convenient, if unfortunate, that my best scholar suddenly had plenty of free time.
    Keep an eye on things in regards to this project for me, if you don’t mind. I may be asking you for the occasional update.
    —Principal York

PART
    TWO



CHAPTER

    Joel left the dormitory building early the next morning, crossing over to the Rithmatic campus. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent of the flowering trees and the recently cut lawn. The Rithmatic campus consisted of four main buildings of stately brick, named after each of the four Rithmatic lines. The professors made their offices on the upper floors of each building.
    Joel opened a door on the outside of Warding Hall, then entered a cramped stairwell. He climbed to the third story, where he found a thick wooden door. It was gnarled and knotted, which gave it the aged feel that prevailed across the Rithmatic campus.
    Joel hesitated. He’d never visited any of the Rithmatic professors in their offices. Professor Fitch was a kindly man, but how would he