The Zero Equation (The Zero Enigma Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Her eyes went wide with shock. “But ... what about you?”

  “I have another,” I reminded her, dryly. I’d hidden two more protective Objects of Power around my person. Had she forgotten that already? “Wear it. It’ll keep you safe.”

  Alana stared at me for a long moment, as if she’d never seen me before. I looked back at her, wondering if I’d made a mistake. Would it have been better to let them humiliate her? Teach her a lesson about what it meant to be powerless? She deserved it, didn't she? But I knew I couldn’t have lived with myself if it went too far.

  It did go too far, I thought, as I watched her limping away. And it would have gone further if I hadn't been there.

  Somehow, the thought wasn't much of a consolation.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Am I boring you, young lady?”

  I flinched. Magister Niven was standing right in front of my desk, his face so close to mine that I wanted to lean backwards. The class tittered as I forced myself to look at him. I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I’d completely lost track of his lecture. I hadn't even noticed him stalking towards me.

  “... No, sir,” I managed.

  “Oh, goody,” Magister Niven said. He was more easy-going than many of the other teachers, but it was clear he had his limits. “Perhaps you could tell me precisely why Tumble’s Guide to Spellcasting was replaced by Marat’s Book of Modern Charms?”

  I tried to think, but nothing came to mind. I’d known that one book had been replaced by the other, but ... I couldn't remember why. He’d probably just told everyone. But I hadn't been paying attention.

  “No, sir,” I said, again.

  “I see,” Magister Niven said. “Remain behind, after class.”

  He turned and strode to the front of the room. I looked down at my desk, trying not to look too embarrassed, as he resumed. “The problems with Tumble’s work were clear from the start, as there were issues with using and scaling up the spells he crafted. However, it was not until Marat returned to first principles - which Tumble had attempted to outline - that the flaws in Tumble’s foundations became apparent. He had failed to account for a number of factors, which threw his spellcasting right off.”

  I forced myself to listen as the lecture continued. It would have been interesting under other circumstances - I was living proof that some of our assumptions about magic were faulty - but it was hard to pay attention. Alana hadn't returned to classes, which meant ... what? I was torn between being pleased she hadn't rejoined us and worried about what it might mean for her. The upperclassmen might have managed to curse her before I stopped them.

  “Read chapters one to five of Tumble’s Guide to Spellcasting for homework and try to pinpoint the flaw in his foundations,” Magister Niven concluded. The class tried not to groan. Five chapters! The tutors were piling homework on us, perhaps trying to keep us too busy to fight. “I want a full discussion of his mistakes and flawed assumptions by the time we meet next week.”

  He paused. “Cat, remain behind. Class, dismissed.”

  I shrank into my seat as the remainder of the class headed for the door. Rose shot me a sympathetic look, hinting that she might wait outside for me. I’d barely had time to tell her the bare bones of what had happened at lunch before we’d had to race for class. I was still so conflicted that I wasn't sure what else I wanted to tell her. My thoughts kept mocking me, insisting that I should have let Alana suffer. It would have taught her a lesson.

  Magister Niven sat down in front of me. He was wearing a pink summer dress, of all things; I wasn’t sure if I should giggle at the mere sight of him or be revolted. Boys were not allowed to wear girlish clothes and vice versa. Even trousers were dubious, according to the grand dames. Mum wouldn't have let us wear trousers at all if we hadn't needed to wear something a little more practical than dresses when we worked in the gardens.

  His voice was gentle. “Is something the matter?”

  I hesitated. Yes, something was the matter. And yes, I wanted to talk about it. But who could I trust? Everyone I knew would seek to take advantage if I told them the truth ... I wasn't even sure they’d be wrong. And yet, the prospect of accidentally encouraging the Great Houses to make more and more use of magic didn't sit well with me. What if the magic could run out?

  “You can talk to me, if you wish,” Magister Niven said. “Or we can discuss your appalling lack of attention in class?”

  Ouch, I thought. I’d be writing lines until my hands fell off. Or sitting in the stocks, having pieces of food or stinging hexes thrown at me. I didn't think the Castellan would put a firstie in the stocks, but I hadn't thought that upperclassmen would attack a firstie either. Old certainties were falling everywhere. What do I do?

  I forced myself to look at him. He wore make-up, but dabbled on so intensely that he looked like a bad parody of a girl dressed for a garden party. There was a fine line, Mum had told me, between touching up one’s looks and going overboard and he’d crossed it. But then, he’d crossed quite a few lines already. Mum had never let my sisters and I wear make-up in public. We were too young.

  “I want to talk,” I said. “But ... can I ask for your sworn oath never to tell anyone? Without my permission, I mean?”

  His eyes narrowed, sharply. Asking for someone’s oath was a breach of etiquette. And ... I had no way of knowing if he could swear an oath with me. I’d been told never to even think of swearing an oath unless the situation was dire, but ... I had no magic. Would an oath bind me as strongly as it bound magicians? I didn’t know.

  “You drive a hard bargain,” he said. I wondered just what he was thinking. It was hard to read his face behind the layers of make-up. Did he think I had some typical teenage problem that would make an adult laugh? “I will swear the oath, on the condition that you actually listen to my advice.”

  I tried to keep my face expressionless too. Oaths couldn't be broken, but they could be cheated. Magister Niven was clever. He might find a way to spread the word, without triggering the oath. And yet ... I needed to talk to someone. Who better than the man who questioned everything?

  “Agreed,” I said.

  We haggled over the precise wording of the oath for a few minutes, then he swore. A faint shimmer of light enveloped him, just for a second. I hoped that was enough. A magician might be able to sense someone oathbound, but I couldn’t. If he had figured out a way to cheat me ...

  “It’s what I discovered in the Eternal City,” I said. “The assumption none of us thought to question.”

  Magister Niven studied me for a long moment. “Start from the beginning,” he said. “And then carry on until you reach the end.”

  I sucked in my breath and began, outlining everything that had happened from the moment we’d been kidnapped to our rescue by the Kingsmen. I told him about the Objects of Power I’d forged, about the weird feelings I’d had near the Eternal City and, finally, I told him about Tyros and the magic field. His mouth fell open when I explained that there were no real magicians, certainly none with any inherent power. They all absorbed and stored magic from the magic field.

  “So that’s where the power comes from,” Magister Niven said, slowly. “Have you found a way to measure the field?”

  “Not yet,” I told him. I wasn’t going to discuss the Whirlpool with him. “I can't figure out how to track the magic.”

  “That’s something you’ll have to work on,” Magister Niven said. “If the magic isn't inherent to us” - he looked down at his scarred hands - “then ... it must change, somehow, when we absorb it into our bodies. And that’s why magicians can't produce Objects of Power.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. I’d already worked that out. “Even when a forger isn't trying to infuse magic into his work, the magic seeps into the spellform and slowly wears it down. A complex spellform might go badly wrong from the start.”

  “That explains why it did seem possible to forge Objects of Power,” Magister Niven said. He laughed, humourlessly. “Magicians g
ot some results, didn't they? They thought it was a sign they had to try harder.”

  I met his eyes. “What if the magic goes away?”

  Magister Niven looked back at me, thoughtfully. “Is there any sign we’re draining the field completely?”

  “No, sir,” I said. “But if the overall magic level is slowly going down ...”

  “Then we might not have to worry about it for thousands of years to come,” Magister Niven said. I thought he was trying to be reassuring. “But if the magic did suddenly go away ... it would be bad.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. I’d already considered the possibilities. “Civilisation would collapse.”

  “We’d certainly have to learn to live without magic,” Magister Niven agreed. He looked curious. “Was that bad for you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But I was the only one without magic. A whole society without magic ... it would be different.”

  “Then our first priority is figuring out a way to measure the magic field,” Magister Niven told me, reassuringly. “It’s possible to measure a person’s magic potential, Cat. It should be possible to measure the field itself.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “On the other hand, the magic might simply flow back into its natural form,” Magister Niven said. “We know that spells bleed magic, over time. That’s why they don’t last. The raw power might simply be returning to its natural state, shedding our controls along the way.”

  “And then waiting for us to absorb it again,” I said. It sounded believable. But then, I wanted to believe it. “Or there may be ... ah ... something comparable to plants sucking in carbon dioxide and producing oxygen.”

  “There might be,” Magister Niven agreed. “Dragons and other creatures use magic to fly.”

  He paused. “Have you ever been to the Desolation?”

  I shook my head, resisting the urge to point out that it was a stupid question. Mum and Dad had never taken me out of the country, let alone to one of the most dangerous places on the planet. The barren mountains that dominated the lands between Maxima and Hangchow were inhabited by dragons - and other, even nastier, creatures - and ravaged by magic storms that posed a threat to anyone brave or stupid enough to enter. Huntsmen might go hunting for dragons in the northern wastes, but very few of them returned. And some of those who did were changed in ways no magic could undo.

  “I’ve been along the edges,” Magister Niven said. “I felt the raw magic in the air. It was like walking through a thunderstorm. No one lives there ... now tell me. Is the raw magic there so much more powerful because no one tries to use it? Or because the magic level there is so much higher than Maxima?”

  “I ... I don’t know,” I said. “Are there no lost civilisations within the Desolation?”

  Magister Niven shrugged. “There are stories,” he said. “Places within the Desolation that are safe, I believe, or hidden communities on the other side of Maxima that are functionally inaccessible. Very few people can get a ship around the North Pole, Cat, and hardly anyone will try to cross the Desolation. There are easier ways to commit suicide.”

  I felt my heart sink. “So we have been draining the magic field.”

  “Maybe,” Magister Niven said. “Or maybe we’ve been taming it.”

  He met my eyes. “We will figure this out,” he added, calmly. “But here’s another question for you. Do you think your ... talents ... will breed true?”

  I looked at my hands. I hated to admit it, but my apparent lack of magic had blighted any hopes of arranging good marriages for my sisters. Alana had been right to protest. But now ... I had no way to know if my children would be Zeroes too. I could easily see the Great Houses trying to arrange my marriage in hopes of breeding more Zeroes, but ... there was no way to know what would happen.

  “Dragons and suchlike evolved to use magic,” Magister Niven said. “They developed the ability to draw on the magic field to fly. And if you’re right, so did we. Except ... does that make you a throwback? A remnant of an age where we couldn't use magic?”

  “A freak,” I muttered, feeling a stab of the old pain. Alana had called me that often enough, once she’d become convinced I had no spark of magic. “Didn't we always have magic?”

  “The Thousand-Year Empire was the first civilisation - the first known civilisation - to codify the laws of magic,” Magister Niven reminded me. “Before then, who knows?”

  I thought back to the old tales, the ones that existed as nothing more than broken tablets and incomplete manuscripts, many of which referred to documents that had been lost somewhere over the last thousand years. There had been magic, but ... magic had been a hindrance as well as a help. I wondered just what it meant to live in a society where no one really understood magic. A powerful magic-user like Rose might be a threat ... no, would be a threat. I dreaded to think what someone like Alana would have done if she was the only person who had magic.

  “We teach children to flex their magic from infancy,” Magister Niven said. “It helps them to channel power as they grow older. But back then, it would have been actively dangerous to encourage magic. The parents might have exposed their children as soon as they showed the first signs of power.”

  Exposed, I thought. It was a custom that had thankfully died with the Thousand-Year Empire. Left outside to die, you mean.

  I pushed the thought aside. “You mean I might be the only Zero of my generation?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Magister Niven agreed. “But it’s equally possible that there are common-born Zeroes who have no idea what they are.”

  I said that, I thought. And Dad is looking now.

  Magister Niven sat back and took a long breath. “You really do have something to worry about,” he said. “Forget the detention, I think. Although ... if you do want something to do, I do have some old documents that need sorted.”

  I looked up, interested. “How old?”

  “Only a couple of hundred years or so,” Magister Niven told me. “I’d understand if you didn't want to do it.”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “Is ... is there any point in reading them?”

  “You might be surprised,” Magister Niven said. He pointed a finger at my chest. “You, of all people, ought to be aware that what we take for granted isn't always so.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And quite a few of the older researchers devised experiments they were unable to carry out,” Magister Niven added. “It’s sometimes worth revisiting them now, with our greater understanding, and seeing if we can make something of them.”

  “Like I’ve been looking at some of the old designs for Objects of Power,” I said. I could see a few ways to improve on what the ancients had done, given how hard our society had worked to rediscover the laws of magic. I’d have to diagram a few ideas out first ... I wondered, suddenly, if Magister Niven would be prepared to help me. “Sir ... what are you going to do now?”

  “Think about what you told me,” Magister Niven said. “And what it might mean if the magic really did start to go away.”

  He stood. “Thank you for telling me, Cat. And we will discuss it some more later, once I’ve had a think and checked a few old books. There are passages that may make more sense now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I rose and turned towards the door, then stopped. He was still talking.

  “And yet, there are dangers here too,” he said, carefully. His voice became contemplative. “Like you said, it might have been sheer luck that the entire magical field wasn’t drained. What would have happened then?”

  I shivered. “Nothing good, sir.”

  “Good and bad,” Magister Niven said. “It would certainly be different. And static.”

  “Sir?” I turned back to face him. “What do you mean?”

  “There are quite a few ... devices used by commoners that don’t involve magic,” Magister Niven said. “Waterwheels and water mills, windmills, wheelbarrows ... harbour cranes and even sails and rudders ... there’s
no magic in them. But they’re also very limited. You can't scale a water mill up too high and there are limits to what you can do with a windmill beyond grinding corn. Society would be unable to progress beyond those limits. And ... well ...

  “I’m stronger than you. That is a physical fact. But commoners are often physically stronger than aristocrats and magicians. If there was no magic, the strongest would rule.”

  “The strongest in magic do rule,” I said. I loved my father, but I had to admit that he would never have become Patriarch if he hadn't been so puissant. There’d never been any hope of me being declared Heir Primus. “That is also a fact.”