The Zero Equation (The Zero Enigma Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “We got spotted,” Isabella said, as we hurried into the dorm. Thankfully, our dormmates had had the sense to pretend to be sleeping. “I don’t think they saw who we were, but ...”

  Gayle snorted. “Did you get any food?”

  “Of course not,” Isabella said. “But we did learn something useful tonight.”

  I shrugged off a handful of questions and crawled into bed. Isabella was probably telling her cronies - and everyone else - how I’d nearly gotten us both killed. I found it hard to care. If she was telling the truth, the family hall had been attacked ...

  ... And, if that was true, did it mean we were going to lose the war?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Morning brought no relief.

  I stumbled out of bed at half past eight, splashed cold water on my face and headed for the door. I was so far out of it that I nearly went through the door and out into the corridor without braiding my hair. If Rose hadn't stopped me, I would probably have made it all the way down to the dining hall before realising what I was doing. I could hardly have caused more scandal if I’d walked down naked.

  “What really happened last night?” Rose asked. “Are you well?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, as we reached the bottom of the stairs. I probably looked ghastly, but I was too nervous to look in a mirror. “We had a bit of an argument ...”

  “Cat,” Val called. I looked up to see her standing in front of the dining hall door. “Have you seen the news?”

  She thrust a handful of broadsheets towards me. I took the first one and skimmed the lead story as quickly as I could. Aguirre Hall had indeed been attacked ... and smashed into a pile of rubble. My heart sank into my boots as I reread the story, then reached for the next broadsheet. This one claimed that Aguirre Hall had been damaged, but remained intact. The third broadsheet insisted that the attack had done nothing more than scorch the brickwork and melt the paint. I didn't want to know what the remaining papers claimed.

  I looked at Val. “Which one of these is true?”

  “Well, Aguirre Hall doesn't appear to have been smashed flat,” Val said. “I went up to the roof and looked. But it was definitely damaged.”

  She smiled. “Can I get a quote ...?”

  I very nearly hit her. She must have seen the murderous glint in my eye because she stumbled backwards, allowing us to enter the dining hall. I dropped the broadsheets on the floor and walked into the chamber, leaving her behind. All eyes turned to look at me as I entered. There was no sign of either of my sisters.

  They must have heard already, I thought. I wasn't sure how either of them would react to the news. Alana must be planning something.

  I shuddered. The stories had agreed that our parents were still alive - which suggested that Aguirre Hall hadn't been seriously damaged - but they hadn't agreed on anything else. Our parents could be fighting back, or they could be planning to surrender, or ... I didn't know. Not knowing was worse than anything else. My imagination offered too many possibilities for my peace of mind. If the hall had been stormed ...

  Rose looked at me. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don't know,” I said. I tried to imagine how the hall had been attacked, but drew a blank. Anything powerful enough to shatter the wards would turn the entire building into a pile of rubble, killing anyone inside. A wardcracker? It was easy to believe that Akin’s father might have been backing Fairuza, except for the simple fact he’d sworn an oath. Maybe whoever had been behind Fairuza had offered to sell him one of the wardcrackers I’d made. That wouldn't break his oath. “I just don’t know.”

  I ate my breakfast slowly, not tasting any of it. I wanted to run out of the building, straight to the hall ... I would have done it too, if Dad hadn't ordered us to remain at Jude’s. People were being snatched off the streets, if rumours were to be believed. I might be safe, as long as I stayed within the school grounds, but it would be open season if I left. And yet ... I didn't believe the school was safe any longer. I’d already been kidnapped once!

  A hand fell on my shoulder. I flinched. I hadn't seen anything of Isabella in the morning, but I was sure she hadn't forgotten what I’d said to her. And then ... I looked up and saw the Castellan, his blue eyes grim. He wore a long robe covered with protective sigils. My blood ran cold. Somehow, he’d figured out that I’d been one of the students who’d tried to raid the kitchen. And, as I was the only one they could prove had been involved - and I wasn't going to tattle - I was going to get all the blame.

  “Report to my office at nine,” the Castellan ordered, gruffly. “I don't expect you to be late.”

  I swallowed. “I’ve got charms theory and ...”

  “You’re not going,” the Castellan said. “Report to my office at nine.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  He turned and walked away, leaving confusion in his wake. I’d once seen him march an older student out of the hall by his ear, heedless of the watching eyes. He could have done that to me, except he hadn't. I didn't know what to make of it. If he knew I’d been out of bounds, he’d practically have to make an example of me. Deterring other students was more important than my dignity.

  I looked at Rose. “What does he know?”

  “Maybe nothing,” Rose said. “It might be about your family.”

  My heart sank. She was right. It might be about my family. Or ... maybe I was being expelled. Or simply kicked out of the school. I took a final bite of my breakfast, then pushed it away. I wasn’t hungry any longer.

  “Good luck with the charms,” I told her. “Try and stay close to Akin.”

  Rose looked nervous. I understood, all too well. No one went around alone these days, no one. There was just too great a chance of being randomly hexed. Rose should be reasonably safe - she was Akin’s friend as well as mine - but I knew better than to count on it. Isabella loathed her enough to take the risk of angering her brother.

  The bell rang. I stood and headed for the door, making my way up the stairwell to the Castellan’s office. I’d already been in his office more times than the average firstie, alternatively threatened with suspension or feted for being a heroine. His secretary looked up as I stepped into the antechamber, then pointed at the door. I nodded and tapped on the wood, waiting for it to open. Inside, the office was strikingly warm. A massive fire was burning in the grate.

  I half-expected to see Alana and Bella there too, waiting for me, but instead it was just me and the Castellan. He was sitting behind his desk, reading his way through a stack of exam papers. I frowned - we hadn't had the mocks yet - then remembered that the upperclassmen were supposed to practice with the older exam papers before their mocks. They’d hate it, of course, but at least they’d learn how to cope before it became real.

  And we have to take the mocks seriously, I reminded myself. Maybe not for us firsties, but later ... they’ll be used to predict our final marks.

  “Please, sit down,” the Castellan said. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  I sat, resting my hands in my lap. Dad had taught me that pretending to be busy was a power ploy, but the Castellan hardly needed to pretend to be busy with me. It didn’t feel as though I was in trouble, yet ... I had to fight to keep myself under control. Why didn't he just get on with it?

  “We have a number of matters to discuss,” the Castellan said finally, looking up at me. His voice was calm, without a hint of anger. “I need ...”

  “My family,” I said, quickly. “Are they all right?”

  I saw a flicker of sympathy cross his face. “Your Hall was attacked, I believe, but your parents are alive,” he said. “I have reason to believe the damage wasn't serious.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. I almost fainted from relief. “I’m sorry.”

  “It is quite understandable,” the Castellan said. “You’ve had something of a shock.”

  I frowned, suspiciously. Interrupting one’s elders and betters was one step below high treason, in the eyes of the grand dames. Ch
ildren like me were meant to be seen, yet never heard. Mum might have tolerated it if we’d been alone, but never when we were visiting friends and family. Some of the grand dames would probably have ranked speaking without being spoken to as a very serious crime. It wasn't a harmless little prank like stealing money from the family.

  And it just goes to show they lack perspective, I thought. The grand dames didn't have that much actual power. There are worse things than speaking out of turn ...

  My blood ran cold. The Castellan was very much my elder and better. No one would say a word if he gave me lines for interrupting him. And if he was prepared to simply ignore it ... what had happened? What did he want to say? I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

  “Three months ago, we discussed your prospects for remaining at the school,” the Castellan said. “There are classes you simply cannot pass, as you are well aware, and other classes where you are well ahead of your peers. Magister Von Rupert, for example, has urged that you be allowed to join the third-years, while Magister Tallyman and Magistra Loanda believe a period of private study might be more useful.”

  I swallowed. I’d never expected to have the chance to join a higher class. It was almost unknown, no matter how advanced the younger student. Akin and I were both well ahead of the other firsties in forging, but ... we’d never fit in amongst students two or more years older than us. Better to grow older with the other firsties than forever be the babies of the class.

  “There’s also the problem of the exams,” the Castellan added. He held up a report. “Your theory is good, great even. But your practicals ... you couldn't pass. You’d need to use Objects of Power during your potions exam, which is - technically - cheating. There would be complaints which, on the face of it, would be fully justified.”

  “Yes, sir.” I kept my voice low. I knew he was right. Potions class was about learning how to precisely focus one’s magic as much as it was about brewing potions. I could do the latter, but not the former. If I used the stirrers, I was effectively cheating. But without them ... I couldn't produce anything more than a cauldron of sludge. “I understand.”

  I looked down at my hands, feeling - again - a sense of despair. I could produce wonders. I had produced wonders. But I couldn't even pass a mock exam for first-year students. Alana was right. I was a freak. I was alone ...

  “I confess I’m not entirely sure how to handle the problem, particularly now,” the Castellan told me. “So, I’ve decided that you will be withdrawn from most classes and embark on a private study program. A handful of your teachers have volunteered to continue to work with you, either to develop your theoretical magic or enhance your forging skills. It will be difficult, of course, for you to claim you have passed exams, but I dare say that making a working flying machine should silence any doubters.”

  I frowned. “I do have a two-star in forging.”

  “And you can earn more, if you wish,” the Castellan said. “But tell me. Is there any point in you remaining in your classes?”

  “Maybe,” I said. I didn't really want special treatment. And yet, there was no point in trying to argue. He had a very good point. “I could stay in the theoretical classes ...”

  “You’re too far ahead of most of the other firsties,” the Castellan pointed out. “Magister Von Rupert is already talking about taking you as an apprentice. There’s very little point in having you advancing in baby steps when you could be moving ahead by leaps and bounds.”

  I blinked. “An apprenticeship?”

  “Not until you’re older,” the Castellan said, dryly. “You’re far too young.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. An apprenticeship from a respected Magister would remove all doubt about me. To have such an offer at twelve, made freely ... it would make my reputation. And yet ... it would be limiting. Very limiting. “I don’t think it would suit me.”

  “Perhaps not,” the Castellan agreed. “Realistically, we need to devise a training course for Zeroes like you. It will not be easy.”

  “No, sir,” I said. “It might be better to hold it somewhere else.”

  I looked down at my hands. I’d had enough problems, growing up with my sisters. Other Zeroes might find it worse, far worse. Better to teach them how to forge - and follow magical geometry - somewhere far away from Jude’s. Dad could purchase a disused building on the edge of the city, or establish a training institute on one of the family estates. Now we knew what I actually was, it would be easier to train someone else like me.

  If they want to learn, I thought. I’d wanted to learn, if only because I had hoped I had magic hidden away deep inside me. But others might see it as thankless work.

  “That’s something that will have to be sorted out after the war,” the Castellan said. He looked pained. “That is an argument in favour of an apprenticeship, of course.”

  I shook my head. I liked Magister Von Rupert. And I would have been happy to work with him for years to come. But I doubted he had the determination to stand up to House Rubén if they demanded that he surrender me into their custody. Magister Grayson was a much more formidable man, yet even he could be pressured. The apprenticeship might end badly if my family lost the war.

  “No, sir,” I said, finally. “Not now.”

  “As you wish,” the Castellan said. He picked up a piece of paper and held it out to me. “Your new schedule. I expect you to follow it. I’m afraid that--” he smiled, rather wanly “--despite your special status, you are still a firstie. You’re not allowed to ignore upperclassmen when they speak to you.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  I looked down at the paper. It was surprisingly simple. I’d have a lecture or a theoretical discussion in the morning, then do practical work or private study in the afternoon. It looked as though I’d still be taking lunch with the other firsties, but there was room for me to eat later if I wished. Come to think of it, I could simply get some sandwiches from the kitchen and eat in a study room.

  “You do have one privilege,” the Castellan added. He smiled, but it didn't quite touch his eyes. “You’ll be allowed to claim a study room permanently, if you wish. No one will be able to kick you out.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I mumbled. It was a privilege. But it was also not as useful as he might have thought. “Ah ... a workroom might be better.”

  “We may have to put one aside for you,” the Castellan said. “Right now, with mocks coming up, we need every workroom open to everyone.”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  The Castellan leaned back in his chair. “Magister Von Rupert will meet with you at ten,” he told me. “You’re expected to assist with his current project.”

  I met his eyes. “Why me?”

  The Castellan looked back at me. I wondered, suddenly, if I’d gone too far. He’d gone out on a limb for me and now ... now I’d been a cheeky little brat. Except ... he didn't look angry. He looked old.

  “Right now, I don’t know who I can trust,” he said. “And far too many of the city’s magicians have been dragged into the war.”

  I blinked. “You can't get them to come work here?”

  “I don’t know which ones I can trust,” the Castellan said. “Every wardsmith of repute, Cat, is connected to one of the Great Houses. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem. But now ... at best, they have too much work to do outside the school.”

  “And at worst they’re untrustworthy,” I finished. The thought was terrifying. “How will this end?”

  The Castellan sighed. “I believe the Crown Prince is making noises about bringing his Household Troops into the city to stop the war,” he said. “Technically, this will be a breach of the city’s charter, but I suspect His Highness doesn't care. Shallot is very important to the kingdom, after all. And besides, if he does manage to impose peace, everyone will be quietly grateful.”

  I frowned. “But it won’t make the problem go away, will it?”

  “Perhaps not,” the Castellan said. He certainly didn’t sound as though he believed
it would make the problem go away. “But if he can impose a ceasefire, he can convince the various Matriarchs and Patriarchs to discuss a long-term solution to their problems. It might not be that hard to come up with a face-saving solution.”

  “Perhaps we could give House Rubén the sword, but in such a way it cannot be used,” I said, remembering Rose’s suggestion. “Or ...”

  “Maybe,” the Castellan said. He shook his head, slowly. “But the sword isn't the real problem, Cat. It’s just the excuse both sides seized upon to justify their conflict.”

  He shrugged. “Go report to Magister Von Rupert,” he told me. “And don’t mention what I told you about the Crown Prince to anyone, even your closest friends. It’ll leak out, sooner or later, but by then we should be ready to handle it.”