“You must have shelled out a lot of money,” I gibed. I knew it wasn't wise to provoke her, but I couldn't resist. “Or did you promise a place in your household or ...”
“And why is everyone tracking mud through the dorm?” Sandy shouted. She’d come back into the dorm while everyone was watching Isabella and me. “What are you thinking?”
Isabella shot me a murderous look, but she wasn't stupid enough to do anything while Sandy was on the warpath. Instead, she muttered an apology in Sandy’s direction and hurried into the washroom. Her cronies followed, looking tired and sweaty themselves. I pitied the washerwomen who’d have to deal with their clothes. Whoever had designed the sporting outfit was a sadist beyond compare.
Rose poked me. “Are you mad?”
“I can't back down,” I muttered back.
Sandy stomped up and down the room, snapping at anyone moving too slowly to suit her. I guessed she had some reason to be up early, just like me. Even Isabella looked cowed when Sandy threatened her with a ghastly punishment if she didn't get into bed by Lights Out. It was almost a relief when everyone was in bed and the lights were out. But I was too excited - and nervous - to sleep. I lay back in my bed and waited, thinking about ways to escape yet another humiliating disaster in Charms. Rose simply didn't know enough to help me without being caught.
It was nearly thirty minutes, I think, before I heard the sound of someone scratching. It had to be Isabella. She was trying to be quiet, I thought, but there was no other noise in the dorm at all. Everyone could hear. The sound was growing louder and louder, as if the itching had grown too overpowering for Isabella to care about being heard. And I knew that the runes I’d carved - and the chalk I’d used to direct the spell - were steadily breaking through her protections.
I stifled my laughter with an effort. Most magicians don’t pay too much attention to basic runes, even though they’re used to direct magic. They tend to jump straight to the geometric designs used in Charms. I’d only studied them intensely because I’d hoped they would provide a key to magic - and, perhaps, a way to master forging. Akin would probably guess what was happening, but would Isabella? I rather doubted it. Alana hadn't known, the few times I’d done something similar to her. She’d focused on her charms and ignored everything else.
The sound of scratching grew louder. I could hear muffled giggles coming from some of the beds. Isabella wasn't universally popular, even in the dorm. I heard her mutter a counterspell, then a more advanced counterspell. It didn't sound as though it had brought her any relief. I concealed my amusement with an effort. The runes wouldn't last very long, but they were effective.
“For heaven’s sake,” Sandy snapped. Her voice was so loud that I jumped. “You’ve been hexed, you silly girl. Cast the counterspell!”
“I've been trying,” Isabella said. “It’s not fading!”
“Then cast it again, stronger this time,” Sandy ordered. There were more giggles, echoing round the dorm. “And the rest of you, get back to sleep!”
Isabella said a vile word, then cast a third counterspell. I caught enough of the words to be impressed, despite myself. Dad had told us that the spell should only be used if one was desperate. It was harder to target on a specific spell, which meant that a magician could accidentally knock down his own protections while trying to eradicate the pesky hex. I wondered, absently, if there was a way to convince Isabella to use the spell again, when we were waiting to ambush her.
I lay back in my bed, satisfied. Isabella’s spell should have cleared the air - and the runes wouldn't last long enough to recharge. She would have an uncomfortable night and probably feel utterly wretched in the morning. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep ...
... Only to be jerked back to wakefulness by more scratching.
“I said cancel it,” Sandy thundered, from her bed. “Do it!”
“I can't,” Isabella pleaded. “I just can't stop itching!”
“You did annoy one of the fifth-years,” Clarian Bolingbroke offered. She sounded as though she was trying not to laugh. “I bet she hexed you ...”
I frowned in disbelief. The runes ... they should have faded by now. They’d channelled enough magic to give Isabella an itch ...
“Shut up,” Zeya ordered. “Isabella won fairly!”
“Sure,” Clarian called. “If you define fairly to include bribing the team captain.”
“Be quiet,” Sandy snapped. I heard her climb out of bed and push back her drapes. “The next one of you to speak before dawn will be stunned.”
Ouch, I thought.
I could hear Sandy walking down the dorm towards Isabella’s bed. A couple of others were opening their drapes to peer into the semi-darkness ... I took advantage of the noise to slip up and remove the rune-carved iron from its hiding place. It felt warm to the touch, but otherwise intact. The runes didn't seem to have faded at all. I stared at it in astonishment, ignoring the ear-blasting Isabella was getting from Sandy. The runes should not have lasted long once they gathered enough power to work the spell.
I calculated them perfectly, I thought, numbly. It shouldn't have lasted.
There was no time to figure it out. The Casting Chalk wouldn't prove anything, but Sandy would have me writing lines for the next seven years if she found proof I’d disturbed everyone’s sleep. I hastily scratched out the runes, cancelling the spell, then hid the Device in my cabinet. Sandy would find it, if she bothered to look, but I didn't dare put it somewhere safer. She might hear me opening my trunk and realise I was still awake.
“The hex is gone,” Sandy said, crossly. I wondered, precisely, what she’d found. There hadn't been a hex anywhere near Isabella’s bed. “I suggest you all go to sleep.”
I leant back into bed and pretended to be asleep as I heard Sandy walking back towards her bed. Isabella was still moaning faintly, a sound that cut off abruptly. I hoped that meant Sandy had cast a silencing charm, rather than freezing or stunning the younger girl. The former would probably drive Isabella mad. I’d itched before, when my sisters had frozen me, and it was horrible.
It felt like no time at all had passed before I jerked awake. Sunlight was streaming through the windows. I glanced at my watch - it was nearly eight - and hastily jumped out of bed, grabbing my clothes and dressing hastily. I didn't want to be late. Magister Tallyman would not forgive me. I opened the cabinet and blinked in surprise. The Device I’d made had crumbled into iron flakes, as if it had rusted away overnight. I stared at it for a long moment, then swept the remains into the bin. Sandy could look for the Device all she wanted, if she worked out what had happened. She wouldn't find anything.
I pulled open the drapes and headed to the washroom. Isabella’s drapes were open, but I didn't think much of it until I walked into the washroom and saw her standing in front of the mirror. Her face was covered in tiny blotches, as if the spell I’d cast had been massively overpowered. I stared at her, torn between grim satisfaction and guilt. Even after everything she’d done, I felt guilty.
She turned and looked at me. I knew she knew who’d hexed her.
We stared at each other for a long moment. I could see anger - and confusion - written all over her face. She knew I was a weak magician ... and she suspected I couldn't do magic at all. And yet, she also knew I’d hexed her. Or did she? She might wonder if Clarian might have been right after all. A fifth-year student, kicked off the netball team, might just retaliate, even though it would get her in trouble. There was no way Isabella could cancel a fifth-year spell without help ...
I tensed, bracing myself to jump. If she decided to hex me ...
She didn't. Instead, she stalked past me and out of the washroom. I breathed a sigh of relief, then hastily splashed water on my face before hurrying down to breakfast. Rose would be sleeping in today ... I hoped, grimly, that Isabella would let her sleep. She might wonder if Rose was the one who’d hexed her. And yet, her instincts were clearly telling her that I’d done it.
And she’s right, I th
ought.
I wrestled with my conscience as I walked down the stairs to breakfast. On one hand, Isabella had been awful to both Rose and me. She deserved to suffer. But on the other hand, the itching spell had been nasty - nastier than I’d realised. I still didn't know how it had lasted as long as it had. No matter how I worked the problem, I couldn't think of an answer.
She froze you in place on your very first day, I thought. And she picked on Rose too. She won’t stop until she gets slapped down.
Akin was sitting at a table as I entered, munching his way through a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. I tensed, then reminded myself that Akin wasn't likely to start a fight. Magister Tallyman wouldn't hesitate to toss him out on his ear if he did something stupid. I’d just have to share forging with him, at least until he gave up. He didn't have to remain tied to forging for the rest of his life.
“Caitlyn,” he said. He sounded as though he was trying to be friendly. “Did you sleep well?”
I eyed him suspiciously. Was that a trick question? Had Isabella spoken to him before I woke? I didn't see how, but they were twins. They might have mastered twin-speak before coming to Jude’s.
“Well enough, after I got to sleep,” I said. “There was a lot of noise in the dorm.”
“Snoring,” Akin said. He smiled, rather thinly. “If you get off to sleep quickly, you keep everyone else awake.”
“Cast a silencing spell,” I advised. I picked up a plate and filled it with eggs, sausages and fried tomatoes. Magister Tallyman had told us to eat well. There was a good chance we would miss lunch. “That would work, wouldn't it?”
“Too many wards around,” Akin said. He smiled. “And too many idiots tossing pillows around, too.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Caitlyn, Akin,” Magister Tallyman said. “Come on in.”
We glanced at each other, then stepped into Magister Tallyman’s private workroom. It was immense, easily the size of a ten-person dorm. Workbenches were everywhere, half covered in Devices of Power that looked to be in the experimental stage. The walls were covered in bookshelves or giant tool cabinets, including a number of tools Dad had only permitted me to use under supervision. A couple of large textbooks lay on the nearest workbench, open to reveal a diagram of an Object of Power. Beside it, a smaller textbook contained notes for using the diagram as a base for a Device of Power.
“Close the door,” Magister Tallyman ordered. “I’ve keyed you both into the wards. You may use this room for your private projects” - he pointed a finger towards a smaller workbench in the corner - “as long as you work for me. My budget will cover any reasonable use of materials.”
I smiled. Unless we made a habit of using very rare materials, it was unlikely anyone would even notice our work. And I doubted we would be experimenting with something rare ... I glanced at Akin, and saw that he was smiling too. I felt an odd moment of kinship, even though he was the enemy. He loved forging as much as I did.
Akin coughed. “Are we allowed to bring our friends?”
“No,” Magister Tallyman said. His mouth turned down. “And don’t defy me on this.”
He pointed to the textbooks before Akin could come up with a response. “What do you make of this?”
It took me a moment to switch gears and decipher the text. The Object of Power drew on magic and used it to provide locomotive force, which could then be used to drive a ship - or even an airship. It all looked to make sense, as far as I could tell, but ... something had to be missing. There were plenty of stories about the great flying machines of the Thousand Year Empire, yet no one had managed to duplicate them. Airships, thankfully, had balloons to keep them in the sky. Flying machines almost always crashed within minutes.
“It looks doable,” Akin said, doubtfully.
“It does,” Magister Tallyman agreed. He stabbed a finger towards one of the nearer workbenches. Two immense machines sat on it. “One of these is a genuine Object of Power, dragged from the wreckage of a flying machine that was discovered in mud, somewhere in the Black Mountains. The other is my work, put together from diagrams and examinations of two similar Objects of Power. And neither of them work!”
I stared at him. “Neither?”
“I should have been able to fix the recovered Object of Power,” Magister Tallyman said. I watched as he walked over to the table and ran his scarred hands over the machine. “It looked so simple. A few components needed to be replaced ... that was all there was to it. I made them myself - I didn't even let my last set of assistants touch the work. And do you know what happened?”
I nodded, mournfully. “It didn't work.”
“Precisely,” Magister Tallyman said. He tapped the machine in frustration. “The original Object of Power simply refused to work. My duplicate worked for a short period, then collapsed into rubble. I replaced half the components and tried again. Still no luck. There must be something missing from the instructions, something so simple the Ancients never bothered to write it down.”
Akin shot me a mischievous look. “I seem to recall there was some hoo-hah about feminine vibrations being different from male vibrations,” he said. “And how the presence of women altered the magic field ...”
“That was discredited within a year,” Magister Tallyman said, before I could give in to the impulse to land a punch on Akin’s nose. “The Congress of Ruthven considered it as a possible theory, as they were dealing with an outbreak of forbidden magics at the time, but experimentation proved that there is very little difference between male and female magic and certainly nothing that should interfere with Objects and Devices of Power.”
He tapped the machine, again. “We have experimented in many different ways,” he said, rather crossly. “Yes, we have had machines built by all-male and all-female teams. And hundreds of other variations besides. None of them have worked. It is a major frustration.”
I caught his eye. “Why did the Congress of Ruthven consider it as a possible theory?”
“They were running out of ideas,” Magister Tallyman said. He shook his head as he led us towards another workbench. “By then, they were getting pretty desperate. One theory was that the laws of magic themselves changed after the Thousand-Year Empire; another that the Objects of Power were tied to a specific bloodline and no one who wasn't a blood relative could handle or produce them. But all our research suggests that neither theory is remotely accurate. We just don't know.”
I heard his frustration growing stronger. “There are hundreds of Objects of Power, ranging from swords and spell-casters to movers and flyers,” he added. “And all of them are completely irreplaceable.”
He sighed, then pointed to the workbench. “You have used charmed knives, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “They’re used in potions and harvesting and ...”
“Quite,” Magister Tallyman said. He opened a box, revealing a handful of sharp knives and a couple of golden sickles. “There are five knives in this box and two sickles. I want them all charmed for potions work. Magistra Loanda made me promise to charm some personally.”
I couldn't help feeling disappointed. Compared to some of the work we’d done in class - and I’d done back at the Hall - charming knives was boring. But I had a feeling we didn't really have a choice. I wanted access to the workroom, even if it meant doing boring work instead of working on Objects and Devices of Power.
And the blades are technically Devices of Power, I thought, as I took one from the box and held it up. Or they will be, after I have finished.
“I’ll be checking your work in an hour,” Magister Tallyman said. “If you’re both finished before then, give me a shout. I’ll be in my office.”
He turned and strode off, leaving us alone. We exchanged glances, then opened the toolboxes and went to work. Charming a knife isn't actually that hard - Dad carries one he says can cut through any defensive spell in existence - but doing it so the magic doesn't interfere with potions is a great deal harder. Getting it wrong would make th
e blade worse than useless. It would have to be melted down and recycled.
“You could add a sharper rune at the top,” Akin offered, as I finished the first knife. “It’ll cut through bare skin.”
“The runes can't be tuned to discriminate without using too much magic,” I countered. Mum had charmed some of her blades to keep them from cutting our skin, but it had had the unfortunate side effect of rendering most of the potions ingredients useless. The practice blades had screamed loudly whenever they’d brushed against our skin, teaching us what to avoid. “We don’t want to contaminate the ingredients.”
“Some of the others have been cutting their skin,” Akin pointed out. “We could make money selling practice knives.”
The Zero Blessing Page 18