The Zero Equation (The Zero Enigma Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I presume you repaired the blade,” Val said. “Or am I wrong?”

  Alana shot me a look that said, very clearly, shut up. I rolled my eyes, then returned to the first page and read the story again. It didn't come out and say that I’d repaired the blade, but there were enough hints in the text for someone to put the pieces together and work out the truth. The Great Houses knew how my talents worked, now. They wouldn't take long to demand that family heirlooms were automatically returned to their original owners.

  “This could be a nightmare,” I said.

  I shook my head as I tried to consider the implications. Magister Tallyman had a small collection of broken Objects of Power. And he was hardly the only researcher who’d been taking them apart in hopes of finding out how they worked. None of them were going to be happy if they were told a repaired Object of Power had to be handed back to the original owners. If, of course, the original owners could even be traced. It had been sheer bad luck that Akin had touched the repaired sword.

  Val smiled. “Can I quote you on that?”

  “No, you cannot,” Alana snapped. “Cat is a child. You cannot quote her - you cannot even interview her - without her father’s permission.”

  I resisted the urge to point out that Alana was, if anything, only a few minutes older than me. She certainly wasn't an adult, let alone my legal guardian. But she had managed to distract Val for a few seconds. I took advantage of the silence to flick through the rest of the paper in hopes of something that might distract attention from me. But there was nothing. Even the Crown Prince’s planned celebration had been pushed back four pages.

  Alana took the broadsheet out of my hands and passed it back to Val. “We’re going in for breakfast now,” she said. “Go away.”

  Val scowled at her, but said nothing. I met her eyes for a moment, then followed Alana into the dining hall. It was immediately apparent that everyone had read the broadsheet and put two and two together. Students - even staff - stared at me as I walked across the room and collected a plate of greasy bacon and eggs, then hurried over to sit next to Rose. There was no sign of Akin.

  “I had to shower again,” Rose said. Her face was oddly tinted, as if she’d splashed herself with ink. Even her hair looked darker. “How is she?”

  “Sleeping,” Alana said. There was a note of cold anger in her voice. “Go away.”

  “She doesn't have to go anywhere,” I snapped. I made a show of ignoring Alana. “Have you seen Akin?”

  Alana made a rude sound. Rose ignored her.

  “He bolted his cereal, then hurried out of the room.” Rose looked concerned. “What happened?”

  “Oh, nothing much,” Alana said. “Cat’s just sparked off a lawsuit.”

  Rose glanced at me. “What?”

  “Akin’s father has decided to sue for the sword,” I told her. I didn't think she’d have had a chance to read the paper. Even if she had, she might not have been able to parse out the words. Her reading skills had been improving by leaps and bounds, but she still had problems with uncommon words. “And it’s going to be bad.”

  “It could spark off a war,” Alana said. “We can't simply give them the sword and they have nothing we want to trade for it.”

  “Nothing they’d want to give up, anyway,” I muttered. The Family Sword was pretty much priceless. They’d have to figure out a way to put a price on priceless if they wanted to trade for the wretched blade. “I suppose we could ask for their shares in the latest set of sailing clippers.”

  Alana snorted. “And the return on investment would be minimal.”

  “It wouldn't matter,” I said. “We wouldn't have made any investment.”

  I contemplated the idea for a long moment. Outfitting a clipper ship for the voyage to Hangchow was expensive, even for one of the Great Houses. It was why my father preferred to own shares rather than entire ships. It spread the costs over a number of different investors, just in case the ship never returned home. And trading shares in a new set of ships for the sword might just work. We could claim we hadn't simply given the sword away, while they could claim they’d short-changed us.

  “That would still give them the sword,” Alana said. “Unless you want to break it again?”

  I shook my head, violently. My braids swung from side to side. There was no way I could bring myself to do that. The sword was a work of art. Maybe it wasn't irreplaceable now, but ... no, I’d sooner keep it locked away forever than destroy it.

  Rose cleared her throat. “Why don’t you just give them the sword? It’s useless to you, isn't it?”

  Alana rewarded her with a sneer. “And the implications of that would be staggering,” she said. “But I wouldn't expect you to know that.”

  I gritted my teeth. Dad had wanted me to spend more time with Alana, hadn’t he? But I rather figured this wasn't what he’d meant.

  “If we gave them the sword,” I said slowly, “they’d look like supplicants. They’d look weak, which would make their clients edge away from them. It would also make us look strong, as it would suggest we didn't care about putting such a weapon in their hands. Ideally, they’d have to pay us for the sword or force us to surrender it. But they can't give us anything in trade that would come close to the value of the sword, nor can they force us to give it up without a fight. It won’t end well.”

  I studied my hands, thoughtfully. Perhaps we could put up a show of resistance, before conceding the sword. But it wouldn’t fool the other Great Houses. They’d know we only made a token fight for the sword. And who knew what conclusions they'd draw from that?

  Dad will have to decide, I thought. He’ll have to make the final call.

  I finished my breakfast and looked around. Isabella was missing too, although I spotted two of her former cronies eating eggs and ham on the far side of the chamber. Their faces looked tinted too. It would probably be weeks before the last traces of the potions faded away. They looked back at me, their eyes sharp. I groaned inwardly as I realised just many others were invested in the lawsuit. All of the Great Houses would be affected.

  Alana stood. “Do not give away the house,” she said, tartly. “And I want to talk to you later.”

  She strode off before I had a chance to reply. I resisted the urge to make a rude face at her retreating back. Spending time with her wasn't going to be easy ... even if I wanted to spend time with her. My evening was already planned, anyway. I was going to forge a small collection of stirrers for potions class.

  Rose nudged me. “Did she do it?”

  I froze. That had honestly never occurred to me. Alana had been right next to Bella when the cauldron exploded, perfectly placed to curse the bubbling liquid or simply drop something dangerous into the brew when Bella was looking in the other direction. Done properly, she might even have escaped Magistra Loanda’s prying eyes. But ...

  “I don’t think so,” I said. I could see Alana hexing Bella, but not something that might easily have been fatal. We would all have been questioned under truth spells if Bella had died. And if Alana had cast the spell, she would have been expelled from Jude’s and disowned by the family. “She wouldn't risk permanent harm.”

  “She hexed you time and time again,” Rose reminded me. “One of those spells could have killed you.”

  “Not directly,” I said. “An accident ...”

  I shivered, despite myself. There were stories, odd stories and rumours whispered in the darkness, about low-power magicians being disowned from the Great Houses - or worse. It made me wonder, sometimes, if the Great Houses had disowned Zeros, rather than learning how to use their talents. Alana might not have meant to kill my powerless self, but if she had killed me by accident ... the family council might have been quietly relieved. My mere existence suggested that magic was fading from our bloodline.

  But my talents are unique, I told myself firmly. And they can never say I’m useless again.

  The bell rang. I sighed.

  “We have Questioning Assumptions,” I sai
d, glancing at my timetable. “We’d better not be late.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “So,” Rose said as we filed into the classroom, “where do you think we’re supposed to sit?”

  I looked around. The desks and chairs were gone. The panelled floor had been covered by carpet, leaving us nowhere to sit. Unless we were meant to sit on the floor, of course. I supposed it made a certain kind of sense. Magister Niven liked making us do odd things, just to ensure we learnt to question our assumptions. I liked him more than I cared to admit.

  A ... person, wrapped from head to toe in a giant black garment, strode into the room. “Sit anywhere you like,” Magister Niven ordered. The voice was the same, thankfully, but the garment removed all traces of individuality. I’d never been sure of anything about Magister Niven, even his age and gender. It was hard to tell if he was male or female. “And tell me ... where are the desks?”

  I reached for my spectacles and peered through them. The desks weren't invisible, as far as I could tell. The garment covering him, hiding everything, was real too. I returned my spectacles to my pocket before he could yank them away again and sat down on the floor, leaning against the stone wall. Akin and Rose sat down next to me.

  “No answer?” Magister Niven looked displeased. “Where are the desks?”

  “You took them away,” Clarian Bolingbroke said. She’d been giving me odd looks as we waited for the door to open. House Bolingbroke presumably had its own collection of broken Objects of Power it wanted repaired. “To teach us something, I imagine.”

  “How true,” Magister Niven said. “And what, pray tell, do I want to teach you?”

  Isabella stuck up a hand. “That teachers can be very annoying at times?”

  “I can find better ways to annoy you, if you wish,” Magister Niven said. “Any other guesses?”

  “You want us to unlock our minds,” Akin said. “And study in groups.”

  “More like think in groups,” Magister Niven said. He walked to the front of the class and sat down on an invisible force. It looked as though he was hovering in the air. “The standard arrangement of desks makes it clear that I am in charge, leading the class, while you listen and pay attention. Or at least pretend to pay attention. This arrangement, however, tries to suggest that you are equals.”

  He paused. “There are matters we need to cover. But something new has appeared which has forced me to alter my lesson plan.”

  I felt my heart sink. I knew exactly what had happened.

  Magister Niven clicked his gloved fingers. A copy of the broadsheet appeared in front of him. “Stunning happenings at Jude’s,” he said, reading the first line in an utterly unenthusiastic voice. “Great discoveries ... blah, blah, blah. Objects of Power repaired ... yeah, yeah, yeah. Ding dong merrily on high ... do you think the writer gets paid by the word? He’s managed to pad out a couple of paragraphs into three thousand words.”

  “Probably,” Alana muttered.

  Magister Niven inclined his hooded gaze towards her. “The basic facts are simple enough,” he said. “A Family Sword was repaired. And then it was picked up by a member of its former family. And now they are suing for custody.”

  I felt eyes turning towards me. Everyone knew what had happened, everyone. I looked at Akin and saw that his face had reddened. Isabella, leaning against the far wall, looked angry beyond words. I wondered what she’d have done if she’d been the first to touch the wretched blade. Try to simply take it out of the school? It might have solved many problems if she had.

  “So,” Magister Niven said. “What makes a family?”

  I leaned back as he seemed to look at me. It wasn't easy to tell which way his eyes were actually looking, not when they were hidden behind the hood. Was he peering at me? Or was he focusing on Akin or Rose or ... there was no way to be sure. An answer came to mind, but I pushed it down. Magister Niven was very good at taking the first answer we gave him and dismantling it, piece by piece. I didn't want to engage in word games.

  “A family is a group of people who are related,” Troyon said, finally. “A mother and a father and their children, their grandparents and aunts and uncles ... all related by blood.”

  Magister Niven seemed to nod. “And what about adopted children?”

  I frowned. It was rare for a child to be put up for adoption, unless their entire family had been wiped out. Normally, there was always a responsible adult who could take custody of the child. I knew people who’d been raised by their grandparents, or their uncles and aunts. I didn't know anyone who’d been raised in a whole new family.

  Unless they were fostered, I thought slowly. But they wouldn’t really be part of the family.

  “They wouldn't share the family’s blood,” Troyon said. “Would they?”

  “There are potions that assist adoptions,” Magister Niven informed him. “But yes, an adopted child wouldn't share the family’s bloodline.”

  He paused. “Now tell me ... how many of you can trace your bloodline back to Year 1001?”

  I instantly felt bad for Rose. She was pretty much the only person in the class - certainly the only girl - who couldn't. The Great Houses had worked hard to establish that their family trees dated back well before 1001, even if they’d had to use guesswork to fill in some of the blanks. A handful of families could even date themselves all the way back to Year 1, when the Thousand-Year Empire had been established. Akin’s family claimed to have existed in the hazy years before the Eternal City had started to conquer most of the known world. They might even be right.

  “Good,” Magister Niven said, after making a show of counting hands. “Now tell me something else. How much genetic heritage do you share with your ancestors?”

  I exchanged a puzzled glance with Akin. We were descended from our ancestors, weren't we? Even questioning someone’s heritage was grounds for a duel. And ... my family’s records went back over a thousand years, right back to the days we'd moved to Shallot to take advantage of being some distance from the Eternal City. We could prove our story ... couldn't we?

  Magister Niven might have smiled. It was impossible to tell.

  “You are the products of your parents,” he said. “Each of you is one-half your mother and one-half your father. Should you have children of your own, your parents and your partner’s parents will each contribute a quarter of the children’s genetics. Or, put another way, one-half of you comes from your father, one-quarter of you comes from your paternal grandfather and one-eighth of you comes from your paternal great-grandfather. So ...”

  He paused, just for a second. “How much of you comes from the founders of your bloodline?”

  I tried to work it out, carefully. The family was supposed to be around 1500 years old. If each generation lasted a hundred years, there were fifteen generations between the original founders and me. And that meant ... was I only one-fifteenth of the founders? Or ... or what?

  “A very small amount,” Akin said, flatly.

  “It would be difficult to calculate precisely,” Magister Niven agreed. He tilted his head. “But you’re right, yes. It would be a very small amount.”

  He pressed his fingertips together. “So ... riddle me this. How can you - how can any of you - still use the blood-bonded swords?”

  “They’re the Family Swords,” Isabella said, in a tone that would probably have earned her a week’s detention with any other teacher. “They belong to our bloodline.”

  “But we’ve just established that you only have a very slight link to your ancestors,” Magister Niven reminded her. He didn't sound angry. “So how can you use the swords? Perhaps more to the point, why can’t others use the swords?”

  “They’re not related to us,” Isabella protested.

  “But they are,” Magister Niven said. “There was - there still is - a great deal of inbreeding between the Great Houses. Some of the original City Fathers no longer exist, formally, but their genetics live on in you. You may have a relative who doesn't share your name, ye
t shares the same quantity of founder blood. Why can't they use the swords?”

  I tried to think of an answer, but nothing came to mind. Blood was involved in forging the swords, but ... Magister Niven was right. Either there was a point where there just wasn't enough blood to trigger the sword or anyone with even a drop of family blood could use the sword. And if that was the case ... I hastily ran through a mental list of everyone who’d tried to use the blade. I was pretty sure most of them did have a link to House Rubén.

  “Because they don’t have enough family blood,” I said, slowly.

  “Perhaps,” Magister Niven said. “But how long will it be until your descendants simply can't use their sword?”

  I nodded, slowly. I’d been able to use the Family Sword, but ... I had distant relatives who might well have a closer connection to the original founders than me. Could they use the sword? I didn't know. I didn't know if Dad knew. And ... Magister Niven was right. There were so many blood-links between the various families that the swords practically had to belong to multiple families.