The Zero Equation

by Christopher Nuttall

  I groaned. The upperclassmen were supposed to keep the school in order, but this time the upperclassmen were involved in the fighting. Robin was an upperclassman ... I wanted to tell him to calm things down, but I knew he wouldn't listen. He couldn't listen. And that meant I either had to arm him or ... I didn't know what to do!

  A door crashed open. I looked up to see three upperclassmen, walking towards us with grim faces. They seemed to hesitate, just for a second, as they saw me. I wasn't sure if they were worried about me producing an Object of Power or simply concerned with the risk of drawing a violent response from my father. I doubted House Rubén would bother to defend three seventh-years who roughed up a pair of firsties.

  “Get behind me,” Robin hissed. “Now!”

  I shook my head as I drew the dispeller from my belt. Robin was powerful and capable, but he was outnumbered. I didn't want to hide behind him - or run. I’d bested adult magicians before, back in the Eternal City. But those magicians had wanted to take me alive ...

  “Run, little girls,” the leader hissed.

  “Don’t be a fool, Orion,” Robin snapped. “Do you think House Rubén will do you any favours if you hurt her?”

  I frantically tried to think of a plan, but nothing came to mind. I could dispel their spells, yet ... what would that do? I probably didn't have time to draw the spellcaster instead. My rings were charged, but they only carried enough magic for one or two spells. Rose wouldn't stand a chance. They’d smash her personal wards out of existence and then turn her into something helpless. I wanted her to run.

  Orion snapped a finger at Robin. I jumped forward without thinking, allowing the hex to slam into me - and vanish. Orion’s eyebrows rose. I could see him hastily recalculating the odds, even as he readied a second hex. I knew the limitations, but did he? It was unlikely. The stories about Objects of Power rarely mentioned limitations ...

  “And what,” a new voice demanded, “is going on here?”

  I felt my knees sag in relief. Magistra Loanda had arrived.

  “Well?” Magistra Loanda demanded. She glared from face to face, her expression daring us to say something stupid. “Does anyone have anything to say?”

  “No, Magistra,” Orion managed.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Magistra Loanda said, sarcastically. “Detention, all of you. Cat, Rose; you have a class now. I’ll discuss your detentions afterwards. The rest of you, report to Skullion. I’m sure he’ll have something unpleasant for you to do.”

  I allowed myself a sigh of relief as the upperclassmen hurried away. That could have been nasty. Magistra Loanda glared at us both, then jabbed a finger at the far door. We hurried through it, all too aware that she was following us. I didn't dare say anything to Rose while Magistra Loanda was in earshot.

  “You have the backroom again, Cat,” Magistra Loanda said, as the class assembled. “The rest of us will be brewing a very complex potion indeed.”

  Akin gave me a worried look as I passed him, but there was no time to do more than give him a reassuring look in return. We needed to talk, yet ... how could we? I entered the backroom and sat down on the stool, trying to collect my thoughts. That could have turned very, very nasty.

  I reached for the potions book and read the recipe one final time, wondering if I’d missed something. Every attempt to actually brew the potion had ended in failure, no matter how I fiddled with the stirrers. The only good news had been that no other cauldrons had exploded, proving that Bella’s accident hadn't been my fault. Whoever had cursed her cauldron had been keeping his head down after the entire class had been given detention. I didn't think I’d blame someone for tattling if the idiot did it again.

  Maybe I’m going about this in the wrong way, I thought, as I collected the ingredients. But what’s the right way?

  I studied the small pile of ingredients, thoughtfully. Potions mastery, Mum had said, was one-half knowledge and one-half instinct. It wasn't enough to have an encyclopaedic memory for different ingredients, although that was very useful. A Potions Master had to understand how they reacted when mixed together and, more importantly, develop a sense for what an unknown ingredient would do when added to the mix. But, for me, that was nothing more than guesswork ...

  And then I saw it. There wasn't one slow surge of magic within the cauldron. There were five separate surges of magic, five different flares that transmuted the mixture into a working potion. It had seemed slow because the magical surges were close enough to appear as one, yet too far apart to allow an instant transformation. I felt my jaw drop open as the pieces fell into place. I hadn't tested it, but I knew I was right.

  I’ll have to time the surges carefully, I thought, hugging myself with glee. I’d solved a mystery that had bedevilled Magistra Loanda! And then recalculate the magic from scratch ...

  There was a knock at the door. I looked up. A fifth-year girl was looking at me, nervously. I frowned, then remembered what happened when a magician stepped too close to one of my potions. The girl was keeping herself as far back as she could without looking a coward - or worse. I doubted she wanted to back into Magistra Loanda’s classroom.

  “Caitlyn,” she said. I thought she was one of Sandy’s friends. “I’ve been ordered to escort you and your sisters to the visiting room.”

  I blinked. It was rare, very rare, for anyone to be pulled out of class. It normally portended trouble. But what had Alana, Bella and I done to deserve it? I could believe that Alana had done something that warranted a visit to the Castellan’s office, but ... we were going to the visiting room. Who’d come to see us? I could only think of one person who had the influence to have us pulled out of class.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” the upperclassman said. She looked annoyed as her eyes flittered across the table, presumably realising that I hadn't started yet. “Your parents have arrived.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I couldn't help feeling a flicker of déjà vu as I followed Alana and Bella into the visiting room. It was a comfortable chamber, although it lacked the charm of visiting rooms at the hall, but I would always associate it with the day I’d begged Dad to make sure that Rose wasn't expelled from Jude’s. The small collection of cakes - and the steaming teapot - on the sideboard had tasted like ashes in my mouth, that day. I hoped they would taste better this time.

  Dad looked ... older, somehow. He wore his robes, concealing what I was sure was a half-hidden breastplate and shortsword. His face was calm and composed, but I could tell he was weary. Beside him, Mum looked tense. She was openly carrying her spellcaster on her belt, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. Her dark eyes studied us for a long moment, then relaxed slightly. She’d been checking for hidden charms.

  “It’s good to see you all again,” Mum said. She hugged each of us in turn, a dignified embrace that somehow managed to convey love and affection. “I hope the three of you are concentrating on your studies?”

  “It’s a little hard to concentrate now,” Alana said, as we sat down. “Someone tried to kill Bella.”

  Mum’s eyes hardened. “And do you know who?”

  “No,” Alana said. “But I’d bet on Isabella or Akin.”

  “Akin wouldn't have cursed Bella’s potion,” I said, wearily. It was only the middle of the morning and I already felt tired. “And even Isabella wouldn't have taken such a huge risk.”

  “They might not have taken the risk of their own free will,” Dad rumbled. “It wouldn't be hard for an older magician to place compulsion spells on them, something to make them curse the potion and then forget what they'd done.”

  I shuddered. Alana had given me plenty of practice at overcoming compulsion spells, but I knew how insidious they could be. Akin had already been controlled once, by Fairuza. What if he’d been controlled again? Someone closely related to him could cast the spell, relying on their blood-tie to hide the compulsion. And yet ...

  “I thought the wards were supposed to protect us from compulsion spells,” Bella said.
“I tried to cast one ... ah ... it didn't work.”

  Dad lifted an eyebrow, but didn't seem inclined - otherwise - to force Bella to divulge the rest of the story. I frowned, inwardly. I’d seen Isabella cast compulsion spells on people and she was a mere firstie. I was sure the upperclassmen could cast compulsion spells of their own, if they wished. The wards really were breaking down if students were casting such spells with abandon.

  “There are ways to influence someone at a distance,” Dad reminded us, firmly. He looked at me. “And with the right tool, it’s easy.”

  I nodded, stiffly. The book of Objects of Power had included instructions on how to make a sympathy doll. I’d read the details and felt sick, then promised myself I’d never make anything of the sort. Given a wisp of hair or a drop of blood, a sympathy doll could be used to control, hurt, or kill the victim from the other side of the world. The magic was so subtle that it was very difficult to block. I’d been told, from birth, that I had to be careful with my blood and hair. The slightest mistake could open me to attack from someone lurking in the shadows.

  “I don’t know if the right tools exist,” I told him. A sword could endure for a thousand years, but a sympathy doll wouldn't last very long at all. It was made from some pretty fragile materials. “I don’t think I could make one easily.”

  “They wouldn't need a tool with the right blood resonance,” Dad said. “And that wouldn't be hard for an uncle or aunt to find.”

  Alana snorted. “Dad ... what’s going on?”

  “Yeah,” Bella echoed. “The entire school is going to explode.”

  “It’s worse than that,” I said. I told them, briefly, about, Orion Palladian. “Dad ... what do we do?”

  Dad looked pained. “Someone concealed an explosive Device of Power within the warehouse, timed to explode at the worst possible moment. Nineteen people are dead, seven more are injured. There have also been a handful of scattered attacks on our people, although they may just have been opportunistic. And ... there have also been reports of attacks on the other Great Houses.”

  “Lies, of course,” Alana said.

  “Some of them definitely did happen,” Dad said, sternly. “Others ... well, there’s no proof, one way or the other. All the Great Houses are putting their armsmen on alert. We may be looking at a full-scale House War.”

  I swallowed, hard. “Dad ... will our allies support us?”

  “Some will,” Dad said. “Others ... are a little unsure. They may want to set the terms before any more Objects of Power are repaired--” his eyes fixed on me for a moment “--but they also don’t want to see House Rubén get any stronger. There are too many scores that Carioca might want to settle, once he’s on top.”

  Alana clapped her hands. “So ... when are we going back to the hall? To fight?”

  “You’re not,” Dad said, sharply. “You’re children. Skilled children, I will admit, but children. You are not to be involved in the fighting. If worse comes to worst, you’ll be the next generation of a ruined house.”

  “And then what?” Alana demanded. “We’ll ... have to leave the city.”

  “Perhaps,” Dad told her. “On the other hand, you do have something to bargain with, if we lose so badly there are no adults left. You should be able to get yourselves integrated into their house.”

  “I’d sooner die,” Alana declared. “And what do we have to bargain with anyway?”

  Me, I thought. It was a terrifying thought. I knew Akin wouldn't hurt me - not deliberately - but I couldn’t say the same for his father. I was a prize in the war, not ... not a person in my own right. You can use me as a bargaining chip.

  “House Caldecott pulled its children out of Jude’s when the House War started to get hotter,” Dad said. “That proved to be a mistake, as most of the children were either killed when Caldecott Hall fell or assimilated into House Rubén. A handful are supposed to have fled, but ... we don’t know what happened to them afterwards. The ones who were assimilated into House Rubén didn't get a chance to set the terms. You’ll have that as long as you stay at Jude’s.”

  I shuddered. “Are we going to lose?”

  Mum looked at me. “All possibilities must be prepared for,” she said, in the same tone she’d used when she’d taught us basic safety. “If we win, we can take you home; if we lose, you’ll have a chance to make better terms for yourself.”

  “Assuming there are no adults left,” I muttered. The prospect of Great Aunt Stregheria surviving the bloodbath and taking custody of me - and my sisters - was terrifying. I could easily see her selling out to House Rubén if it let her lord it over us. I’d do anything to avoid falling into her hands. “Someone will survive, surely?”

  “It depends,” Dad said. “But if the House War goes really badly, we won’t survive.”

  I gulped. I didn't want to think about the risk of losing my parents. I had aunts and uncles, but they weren't the same. And many of them had openly warned about my lack of power, questioning what it meant for the family bloodline. Now ... I didn't want to fall into their hands either. Maybe they lacked Great Aunt Stregheria’s malice. They still hadn't been very nice to me when they'd thought I was useless.

  “You’ll survive,” Alana said.

  I hoped she was right. “Dad ... if we win ... what will happen to Akin and Isabella?”

  “It depends on the scale of our victory,” Dad said, flatly. “If we give them a bloody nose and they back off, Akin and Isabella will probably stay with their uncle and his family. But if we crush House Rubén ... we may end up taking them into our household.”

  Alana laughed. “I don’t want Isabella as my sister!”

  More like a maid, I thought. They wouldn't be equals, would they?

  “You wanted a third magical sister,” Bella pointed out. “Didn't you?”

  Alana said nothing. I hid my amusement, somehow. Alana and Isabella might have looked very different, but they were very much alike. They might have made great sisters. Or maybe simply expended all their malice on each other. It would have been good or bad for the rest of us, depending on what actually happened. I doubted it would have made my life any better.

  “That doesn't matter, for the moment,” Dad said. He looked from Alana to Bella to me. “I expect the three of you to stay in the school and keep your heads down. Do not even go into the gardens unless you’re escorted by a teacher. It is important that you survive.”

  Alana frowned. “Even when our clients are under attack?”

  “The school will do everything in its power to keep a lid on things,” Dad said. “And that means I don’t need you three stirring the pot.”

  “The school can’t keep matters under control,” I said. “The upperclassmen are part of the problem.”

  “You’d think they’d be old enough to look to the future,” Dad said. His mouth twisted, as if he’d bitten into something sour. “Starting a war inside the school will not endear them to their future patrons.”

  “Unless they’re on the winning side,” Alana said. “Dad, if we were to start ...”

  “You are to do nothing,” Dad snapped. The flash of anger sent me shrinking back into my chair. “Alana, I don’t want you - I don’t want any of you - risking your lives.”

  “Our lives are already at risk,” I muttered.

  Dad rounded on me. “You too,” he said. “If you - if any of you - persist in causing trouble, I will make sure you are unable to cause any more.”

  Alana looked mutinous. I didn’t think she was actually listening. It wasn't in her nature to turn the other cheek, not when she could fight back. And ... I shivered, helplessly. Part of me agreed with her. She’d taught me that fighting was sometimes the only way to get a little peace.

  Mum stood, walked over to the sideboard and poured five cups of tea. “You’ll join us one final time, won’t you?”

  Bella gulped. “It won’t be the final time, will it?”

  “I very much hope not,” Mum said.

  My heart san
k. This ... this might be the last time I saw my parents. If House Rubén won the war, my parents would be killed. There was no way the patriarch and his wife would be left alive. And we’d be alone. I’d enjoyed sipping tea with my parents before, when they’d taught us how to take tea in polite society, but now ... I wanted to push the cup away. It would feel too much like saying goodbye.

  Mum eyed me, sympathetically. “It will be fine,” she said, gently. “You’re survivors, the three of you.”

  “Only through luck,” I muttered. If someone merely wanted to keep me prisoner, instead of putting me to work, it would be easy. They could just chain me to the wall or lock me in a dungeon or ... anything, as long as I’d need magic to escape. The simplest untying cantrip was well beyond me. “Mum ...”

  Mum rested her hand on my shoulder. “It will be fine,” she repeated. “You never know. It might all blow over.”