The Zero Equation (The Zero Enigma Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  There was no way to know. There was no way to know - even - just how the magic field would react to being drained. Would an area be cleansed of magic permanently? Or would the field slowly even out, like water in a bathtub? I thought it was the latter, but ... what if I was wrong?

  The students casting spells all the time can't be helping either, I told myself. But the strongest spells they can cast are nothing, compared to the power feeding into the Object of Power and being redistributed into the wards.

  A thought struck me. “Doesn’t this ... Object of Power have a name?”

  “No,” Magister Von Rupert said. “I believe - reading ... ah ... between the lines - that a former Castellan believed it would be better to hide its existence, rather than brag of it. The vast majority of references concerning Jude’s foundation were wiped from the official records. Only a handful of people know it exists.”

  Me too, now, I thought. Does Dad know it exists?

  Magister Von Rupert stopped and stared towards the Object of Power. “Do you want to go closer?”

  I nodded, wordlessly.

  “Don’t put your feet on the lines,” Magister Von Rupert warned. “And don’t cross the final circle.”

  “Understood, sir,” I said, tersely.

  I sucked in my breath, suddenly nervous. Mum and Dad had drilled basic safety into our heads from childhood. Stepping on an activated rune was a good way to get zapped into a frog, seriously hurt ... or killed. I made a mental note to check that Rose understood the dangers as I inched forward, carefully to refrain from touching any of the lines. It was quite possible that no one had bothered to tell her. The dangers were so well-understood in Shallot that it might not have occurred to anyone that Rose needed a safety lecture.

  But we’re not going to practice warding on such a complex scale until we become upperclassmen. The thought sobered me. There was a very good chance I’d never become an upperclassman. By then, surely she’ll pick up enough to understand the dangers.

  I stopped in front of the final circle and peered into the glow. It seemed almost like mist, parting just enough to reveal some of the Object of Power’s innards before hiding them again in a dull red glow. I had to remind myself, sharply, not to lean forward too much as I tried to parse out the innermost secrets. It definitely looked as though space was warped, inside the Object of Power. The interior looked larger than it should be, as if it would take longer to walk through the interior than around the edge of the circle. And forging something so elegantly complex would be a nightmare. I wondered, as I made a series of mental notes, if the Object of Power had actually been shrunk at one point. Or maybe it was just resting inside a pocket dimension.

  “Impressive,” I said, slowly. “But forging another will be a very difficult task.”

  “We do ... ah ... understand,” Magister Von Rupert told me. “But we do need to look at the bigger picture.”

  You can't see the bigger picture, I thought, as we started to parse out the various power conduits surrounding the Object of Power. You’re lacking vital information.

  I was impressed, genuinely impressed, with some of the work later school administers had put into expanding their wards. Given the dangers of accidentally destroying the Object of Power, they’d taken a risk ... and it had paid off for them. But they hadn't really understood what they were doing. I thought it would have been better to put a second Object of Power somewhere on the edge of the school grounds, where power could be collected and channelled without interference ...

  Which might only speed up the decline if the magic really is going away, I thought. And who knows what will happen then?

  I groaned, wishing that I could talk to someone - anyone - about what I’d learned. But there was no one. Certainly, no one who couldn't be made to talk. I trusted Rose and Akin, but I’d seen them both enchanted ...

  “Ah,” Magister Von Rupert said. He glanced at his watch. “I appear to have kept you too long.”

  I swallowed a word that would have earned Mum’s profound disapproval. He’d kept me for nearly two hours. I was an hour late for forging. Magister Tallyman was not going to be pleased. Five minutes late might have earned me a lecture and lines - or detention - but an hour? I was in trouble.

  “I’ll take you back now,” Magister Von Rupert said. “Ah ... don’t try to come down here without me. The wards will react badly.”

  “Yes, sir.” I was too busy worrying about Magister Tallyman to really listen. He might accept that my lateness was Magister Von Rupert’s fault ... or he might not. “Are we going to come down here again?”

  “Yes,” Magister Von Rupert said. “We have a lot of work to do.”

  And it’s pointless, I thought, numbly. But I can't tell you that, can I?

  Chapter Eighteen

  “There,” I said, putting down the punishment book. “I’m done.”

  “Very good,” Sandy said. She was sitting on her bed, reading a broadsheet. “Now, why don’t you go away for a bit?”

  I made a face. I’d been caught running in the corridor earlier in the day and given lines by a particularly cranky upperclassman, who’d doubled them when I’d dared to protest. I knew I was one of the lucky ones - there had been more hexing in the corridors over the past week than in the past year - but my wrist still ached. Every day brought more stories of hexes and curses exchanged on the streets of Shallot, of businesses being firebombed and family homes being attacked from a distance. It made me long for the days my friends and I had been trapped in a concealed village, too close to the Eternal City for comfort. At least our families hadn't been on the verge of all-out war.

  “I don’t want to go away,” I said. Sandy couldn't order me out of the dorm, could she? I didn't think so, but she could certainly make my life miserable if I stayed. “I ...”

  “Go,” Sandy ordered.

  I shrugged and stood, checking my protections to make sure they were in place. A number of people had tried to hex me in the back over the past week. None had actually succeeded, but it still worried me that I didn’t know who they were. Alana, at least, had never hidden the fact she’d hexed me. My family’s enemies? Or just someone intent on testing my protections? I didn't know.

  Shaking my head, I walked to the door. Rose was in the library with Bella, a thought that bothered me more than I cared to admit. It was good for Rose to have other friends, part of me considered, but at the same time I was more than a little jealous. Rose was my friend! It wasn't right that she should be with someone else. I knew I was being stupid, but ... it was hard not to take it personally. I wanted to be with her too.

  But I didn’t want to go to the library ... I sighed, then headed down to the workroom. It was a weekend, thankfully. The corridors were almost deserted, save for small groups of students who eyed me warily. I eyed them right back, giving them plenty of space. I wasn’t worried about being hexed these days, as long as I had my protections, but being physically attacked was a different story.

  There was no sign of Magister Tallyman when I entered the workroom, but a handful of upperclassmen were sitting at workbenches, heads bent over complex Devices of Power. I hesitated, then hurried to one of the smaller workrooms. They were all occupied by upperclassmen, save one. Akin was sitting at the workbench, working on a device of his own design. I hesitated, torn between the desire to just walk in and the urge to back out before he saw me. Akin and I had barely exchanged any words since Dad had told me to stay away from him. Isabella had hovered around Akin so closely that I hadn't dared try to speak to him.

  He looked up. His eyes met mine. I saw ... I saw relief, mingled with fear ... the fear, perhaps, of being rejected. He hadn't had many friends either, not real friends. It wouldn't have been hard for him to build a network of suck-ups and cronies, like Alana and Isabella, but how much were such friendships actually worth? I took a breath, knowing I was on the verge of defying my father’s instructions, and stepped into the workroom.

  “Cat.” Akin sounded relieved.
“It’s good to see you again.”

  “You too,” I said. There was a nasty mark on his hand. “What happened to you?”

  “Accidentally managed to zap myself,” Akin said, ruefully. “Are you alright? I heard you got in trouble.”

  “Nothing too bad,” I said. I flexed my wrist meaningfully. “Just lines.”

  Akin nodded in sympathy. “I have to finish this for extra credit,” he said, pointing to the Device of Power on the workbench. “What do you think of it?”

  I walked forward and peered down at his design. It was a little over-complicated, by Dad’s standards, but I could see some advantages to the layout. Devices of Power wore out fast, no matter how carefully they were forged. Akin had tried to compensate for it by working extra redundancy into his design, redundancy that should expand its lifespan by a considerable amount. It wouldn't, I thought, but ... Akin didn't know enough to understand the real problem. And even if he had, there was nothing he could do about it.

  “It’s clever,” I said, honestly. I tried to think of something to say that wouldn't give away too much. “Why don’t you add some extra nexus wiring here?”

  “The resonance would rip the device apart,” Akin told me. “I want something I can carry in my hand.”

  “I see,” I said. “But that limits the scope for repair work.”

  “It does,” Akin agreed. “But I’ve made the design modular to make it easier to repair.”

  I nodded, keeping my expression under tight control. The real problem wasn't in the design, but the magic field. Akin’s device was drawing on both his power and the magic field and the interaction between the two would eventually cause it to collapse into dust. I’d seen it happen time and time again, even with Magister Tallyman’s best work. Devices of Power needed to be constantly maintained or they started to decay very quickly.

  “It’s a good design,” I said. Akin probably would get good marks for the design, even if the Device of Power refused to work for very long. “Do you mind if I use the other workbench?”

  “Be my guest,” Akin said. “It’s better than sharing the room with an upperclassman.”

  I grinned as I started to collect supplies. It was a minor miracle that Akin hadn't been ordered out of the workroom, although - as one of Magister Tallyman’s assistants - he had every right to use the workrooms outside class hours. The upperclassmen wouldn't have cared about his rights if they’d needed the room. I picked up the supplies for a spellcaster and carried them back to the workbench, careful to stay a goodly distance away from Akin. His mere presence would make it harder - if not impossible - to forge.

  And he understands that, I thought, as I sat down and sorted the supplies. Alana and Bella don’t realise that their magic interferes with forging.

  “There’s a pointless design here,” I said wryly, as I read through Anna the Artificer’s notebook. “It’s a collar for turning someone into an ox.”

  Akin looked up. “That is a common punishment.”

  “Not like this,” I said. “The design is such that you have to put it on - it isn't one that someone else can use. And it works. It turns you into an ox. But you also have to take it off yourself, which you can't do because you’re an ox!”

  “Perhaps someone can be forced to put the collar on,” Akin said, reasonably. “Or maybe someone just got a little ahead of themselves and invented a Device of Power without bothering to think about its lack of utility.”

  I nodded. It was as good a theory as anything I’d come up with. “Thankfully, there are a few more practical ideas,” I said, as I started to work. “I want a pair of flying boots.”

  It felt good to be spending time with him again, even if - by unspoken agreement - we didn't speak of politics or the looming House War. I’d forgotten just how imaginative Akin could be, when he was in the right mood. He might not be a Zero - he might not be able to produce Objects of Power - but he could and did offer suggestions for their design. We chatted lightly, feeling as if the House War had never come between us. I wanted it to last forever ...

  ... And then the door burst open. I looked up, feeling my heart sink in dismay. Alana was standing there, her hands on her hips. She looked ... angry.

  “You,” she said, to Akin. “Get out.”

  Akin stared back at her, evenly. “I have every right to be here,” he said. He kept his hands under the workbench, but I saw him move them into a defensive posture. “Do you have permission to come here on weekends?”

  Alana glared at him, clearly fighting to keep her temper under control. I half-expected her to hex him on the spot, even though it would get her in real trouble if she damaged the workroom or was caught by Magister Tallyman. Her dark fingers flexed angrily before she took a long breath and controlled herself, pressing her hands together. I would have been impressed if I hadn't known her anger would find a way to manifest itself later.

  “Cat,” she snapped. “Come with me.”

  I hesitated, unsure what to do. I wasn't going to let her boss me around. And yet, I knew her well enough to be certain she’d find some way to make her displeasure known. A hex thrown in my direction might not hurt me, but it would disrupt the spellform I was building and probably ruin my work. I groaned, inwardly. Going with her was probably the best solution.

  “Let me put this away first,” I said, crossly. “You can wait outside.”

  Alana didn't move. I felt her eyes boring into me as I carefully picked up my work, carried it over to a trunk and placed it inside. Alana might just have ruined it anyway, no matter what I did. The spellform hadn't gone active yet, which meant that a rogue surge of magic might just be enough to damage the unfinished Object of Power. I’d have to go over it very carefully when I got back, just to be sure. A hint of contamination would be enough to destroy my work.

  I said goodbye to Akin, then followed Alana out of the room. As soon as we were outside, she grabbed my arm hard enough to hurt and practically yanked me down the corridor. I pulled my hand free and glared at her when she tried to grab me again, then motioned for her to lead on. She let out an angry grunt and then stalked away. I followed her into a private room, flinching slightly as she cast a handful of privacy wards. She’d hexed me often enough that the slightest movement of her fingers was enough to make me nervous.

  She rounded on me as soon as she was sure of our privacy. “What are you doing?”

  “Forging,” I said. “I ...”

  “Don’t be an idiot!” Alana’s face couldn't go any darker, but her eyes flashed with pure anger. “You were with him!”

  I felt a flash of anger of my own. “Do I tell you who you can befriend? Do you even have friends?”

  Alana held up her fingers, ready to snap off a spell. I reminded myself, sharply, that my protections could handle anything she could throw at me. And yet ... she might just figure out the same trick Sandy had used. Or ...I winced, inwardly, as I saw her eyes flicker to my earring. I’d taken precautions, after she’d torn the last one free, but ... I’d never really tested them.

  “Dad told you not to go anywhere near him,” Alana snapped. “Didn’t he?”

  My mind raced. Alana hadn’t been in the room, had she? No, she hadn’t. And that meant ... what? Had she used a spell to spy on us? Dad would have caught her, I thought, but ... it was far more likely that she’d simply guessed what Dad would say. Alana wasn’t stupid. She’d have no trouble guessing that Dad must have told me to stay away from Akin.

  I saw a flicker of triumph cross her face and knew that my face must have betrayed me. “Dad told you to have nothing to do with him,” she said. Her voice was low and urgent. “Why are you betraying the family?”

  I recoiled. That stung. There weren't many worse accusations in Shallot.

  “He’s my friend.” I glared at her. “I wouldn't expect you to understand that.”

  “He’s the Rubén Heir Primus,” Alana said. She made a very visible effort to control her anger. “He will be running House Rubén as soon as his fat
her pops his clogs and you ... and you ... you’re spending time with him. People will talk!”

  “So what?” I snapped back. “People have been talking about me for years!”

  “It was different back then,” Alana countered. “We weren't on the verge of a House War!”

  “And everyone thought I was useless,” I thundered. I swallowed hard. I was not going to start crying in front of Alana. “Who cares what people say?”

  “Dad will,” Alana said. Her voice was icy cold. “He’ll be furious.”

  I glared at her. “Are you going to tattle?”