The Zero Blessing

by Christopher Nuttall

  And Great Aunt Stregheria turned my sisters into little frogs for a whole week, I added, mentally. But it didn't last on me.

  I felt as though I was on the cusp of a discovery. What was different about me? What was special about me? If I couldn't sense magic, let alone wield it ... was it possible that magic couldn't touch me? But if that was true, it would be impossible to turn me into anything ... and that was obviously untrue. And yet, the spells hadn't lasted ...

  My blood ran cold. The healer had said that some of the healing spells hadn't worked properly. I probed my memory, trying to remember precisely what he’d said. Some of his spells hadn't worked, but which ones? Dad hadn't had any trouble mending my leg after I broke it ... that was a simple spell, of course. Mending a broken leg was easy, unless there were real complications. No one had hexed the wound ...

  “The equations said the formula should work,” I said, slowly. “It did, when I tried it. But everyone else who tried it got an explosion.”

  “So did you,” Rose pointed out.

  I rubbed my itching jaw. “You were with me,” I countered. “You were standing right next to the caldron.”

  Rose glared. “I didn't make it explode!”

  “Not deliberately,” I said. “But I think your presence made it explode.”

  No one tried to make potions - no one could produce potions - without at least some magic. It was the only way to make the potion work. A person who tried without magic would get the same sort of useless sludge I got, when someone else didn't do the magic for me. But that meant that everyone who’d experimented with dragon scales had had magic. If Rose’s mere presence could make the brew explode, and I knew she hadn't touched the caldron, what would happen if she actually tried to make the potion herself?

  Bang, I thought.

  “You’re a strong magician,” I said. “What if you were close enough to destabilise the brew?”

  I sat down, facing her. “I have to try to brew it again. Alone.”

  Rose’s mouth dropped open. “Are you insane?”

  She leaned forward. “You got suspended - I got expelled,” she snapped. “And we were very lucky to have both punishments cancelled. And now you want to go and repeat the same experiment that nearly got us killed?”

  “Alone,” I said. “If you’re not with me ...”

  “You could get killed,” Rose insisted. “Cat ... are you mad?”

  I looked down at the floor. I knew the risks. In truth, I’d known the dangers well before I’d come to Jude’s. But I had to know. If there was an advantage to my condition, if there was something about it I could actually use ... I had to know. It was worth any risk just to find out if my life had any value.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I ...”

  “You’re talking about doing something that could get you expelled,” Rose said. “If it doesn't kill you! Why?”

  I looked her in the eye. “I was told that I would have magic,” I said. “Magic was my birthright. My father promised us that he’d teach us how to cast spells when we turned seven. Rose ... we all longed for that day. We wanted to be great magicians. And there were three of us ... we were triplets. Everyone knew we would be great.

  “But I could never get the spells to work. Our triplet-triad never came into existence. Instead ... Alana turned cruel, while Bella turned lazy. And everyone wondered what had happened to me. I heard people talking, when they thought I couldn't hear. They wondered if the blood was running thin. They asked if Dad had adopted a commoner girl because he wanted to fake a triad. They asked ...”

  I shook my head. “I don’t fit into my family,” I said. “And when Alana becomes the heir ... the best I can hope for is being disowned.”

  Rose lifted her hand. “Do I have to slap you again? There’s a world outside magic ...”

  “Not for me,” I said. I suspected she wasn't bluffing. “I have to try. I have to know. Even if it comes at the risk of my life ...”

  “You’re being an idiot,” Rose told me. “And you can't get into a lab without supervision ...”

  “I know,” I said. I’d have to get round that, somehow. I was pretty sure Sandy wouldn't agree to supervise. “I’ll have to find someone to help ...”

  Robin might, I thought. But what would he want in exchange?

  “I should report you,” Rose said. Her lip was trembling. “Cat ... I don’t want you to die!”

  “I don’t want to die either,” I said. “But if this can be used ...”

  I looked up at her. As far as I knew, I was unique. I was the sole person who couldn't sense magic, let alone use it. But that proved nothing. A zero like me, someone born out in the countryside, might never realise there was anything odd about him. He might think that he simply didn't have enough magic to cast a spell.

  “I have to try,” I said. Would she tattle? I didn't think so. And yet, if something went wrong ... if someone found out she'd known what I’d intended to do ... she’d be blamed. “Rose, I have to try.”

  “And let’s just hope it doesn't kill you,” Rose said.

  The bell rang. I sighed, then picked up my books. I’d have to come back later and make a more comprehensive reading list, perhaps with some help from my mother. There had to be lists of dragon scale experiments, buried somewhere within the vast library. Or maybe I could wait until I got home. Dad’s vast collection of books might hold the answer.

  Except I’ve been promised a grounding, I thought, as we hurried back to the dorm. Dad won’t let me read his books.

  Isabella sneered at us, but said nothing. She was writing in her Punishment Book, clearly trying to catch up on her lines. I wondered who’d given them to her, but decided it didn't matter. We took a quick shower, then headed to bed. I wasn't too surprised when Isabella came over to me.

  “You should do my lines,” she hissed. “It’s all your fault.”

  A madcap thought stuck me. Did I dare ...?

  Of course I did. “No,” I said. I stuck out my tongue. “It's all your fault.”

  Isabella glanced around - there was no sign of Sandy, while Rose was still in the washroom - then jabbed a finger at me. I made no attempt to dodge as the spell struck me. My body twisted and shrank, the sensation sending unpleasant prickles down my spine. Whatever she’d turned me into, I could no longer move or speak. I wasn't even sure how I was still seeing. My eyesight was hazy.

  “Hah,” Isabella muttered.

  She picked me up and dropped me on the bed, then pulled the drapes closed. I waited, sighing inwardly as the lights went out. There was no way to know how long Isabella had meant the spell to last ...

  ... And yet it wore off, only forty minutes later.

  I smiled. I didn't know what I was doing, but it was clear that I was doing something.

  And perhaps there was something special about me after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “And that ... ah ... concludes the lecture,” Magister Von Rupert said. The class let out a sigh of relief, quietening quickly as Magister Grayson glared at us. “Does ...ah ... anyone have any questions?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling sore. We’d just spent the last two hours listening to Magister Von Rupert explain the importance of a number of external factors to magic spells and diagrams. It was interesting, I had to admit, but my muscles were starting to cramp. The whole talk should probably have been classed as cruel and unusual punishment. On one hand, I wanted to listen; on the other, it was hard to concentrate. The warm air blowing through the classroom didn't help.

  “Yes,” Isabella said. “Why does a Casting Circle have to be drawn in Casting Chalk?”

  “Because chalk can ... ah ... be removed,” Magister Von Rupert informed her. “A simple sweep of your arm can wipe away the spell and defocus the magic. Resting the spell in something stronger will only make it harder to remove.”

  Isabella looked thoughtful. I wondered just what she had in mind. I’d learnt the uses of Casting Chalk from Dad, even though
I couldn't use it to cast spells. What had Isabella learnt from her parents? Did she plan to try to cast a more permanent spell?

  “For your homework, you will write an essay covering the uses of mud, wood and iron for runic magic,” Magister Grayson said. “Pay special attention to the dangers. Dismissed.”

  The class didn't quite run for their lives, but it certainly looked as though they wanted to. I didn't blame them, even as I lingered behind. They were probably just as cramped as I was - and besides, half of them had netball practice. Rose remained behind, with me, as I headed up to the desk. Magister Von Rupert was clearing his papers, his bald dome glinting under the light. His partner eyed us both suspiciously.

  “Magister,” I said. “Can I ask a question?”

  “Ah ... yes, of course,” Magister Von Rupert said. “About the homework?”

  “No, sir,” I said. “About magic.”

  I hesitated, then took the plunge. “What determines how long a spell remains in effect?”

  “Ah ... a hard question,” Magister Von Rupert said. Beside him, Magister Grayson snorted rudely. “The simplest ... ah, the simplest answer is that duration is a function of both complexity and power. The more complex the spell, the more power is required to hold it in place. Typically, a complex spell will last a shorter space of time than a simple spell.”

  He paused. “But ... ah ... there are other issues,” he added. “The spell’s target may be actively resisting the spell. Or the spell may be destabilised by an outside source. Both rogue flares of magic and ... ah, focused wards have been known to cancel spells. I ... ah ... attended a party in my younger days when the hosts triggered a ward. Half the glamours suddenly failed, leaving a number of young guests unaccountably exposed.”

  I giggled. It wasn't considered polite to draw attention to a person’s glamour - most magicians used them to make themselves look better - but who could have avoided noticing if all the glamours were cancelled at once?

  “Ah ... and even when there is no interference, the spell still degrades over time,” he said, his face reddening slightly. “It is impossible to enchant someone for more than a week without some very careful preparation.”

  I frowned. I wasn't sure how to ask the next question. It would be far too revealing.

  “If a spell kept wearing off ahead of time,” I mused, “what would you think?”

  “The spell ... ah ... might be underpowered,” Magister Von Rupert said. “I recall a student who garbled his equations so badly that half his magic was wasted. Ah ... the spell should have lasted for days, but it barely lasted an hour.”

  “It isn't easy to transfigure inanimate objects,” Magister Grayson put in. “They tend to shift back at the worst possible moments.”

  “True,” Magister Von Rupert agreed. “Ah ... there was that girl who went to the ball.”

  Magister Grayson shot him a sharp look. I kept my expression blank. I’d heard the story - and a dozen variations. The poor girl had wanted to go to the ball, but she’d had nothing to wear. In desperation, she’d transfigured her sackcloth dress into a beautiful gown and gone to the ball. But the spells had worn off midway through the dancing ...

  One of my father’s apprentices had had another version of the story. But Mum had shouted at her for telling it to us.

  “Iron is a pain to work with,” Magister Von Rupert said. “Ah ... it simply cannot be held in its transfigured state for very long.”

  And iron is magically neutral, I thought. Am I magically neutral too?

  “Thank you, sirs,” I said. “It was very interesting.”

  Magister Grayson lifted his right eyebrow. “Can I ask why you wanted to know?”

  I hesitated. “Some of my spells didn't last as long as they should,” I said. His left eyebrow rose too. “I was wondering if there was a reason for it.”

  “I hope we were of some assistance,” Magister Von Rupert said. “Ah ... hand in your homework on Friday.”

  We left the classroom and headed down the corridor. Rose caught my arm just as we reached the stairs. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You go to the library. I’ll meet you in the dining hall for dinner.”

  She paled. “Good luck,” she whispered. “Be careful.”

  I nodded, then turned and hurried down to the upperclassmen common room. A grim-faced fifth-year stood on guard outside, glaring at everyone who walked past. Younger students had a habit of trying to sneak into the common room, even though getting caught meant writing lines until their wrists threatened to fall off. It was just another long-standing tradition so old that no one remembered when it had actually started - or why.

  He scowled at me. “What do you want?”

  “I want to speak to Robin Brandon,” I said. “Please, will you ask him to come out?”

  His scowl deepened. “No,” he grunted. I didn't think he recognised me, even though I suspected I was one of the few firsties almost everyone knew. My face had nearly healed by now, but the rumours would take longer to fade. “Go away.”

  I felt a hot flash of anger. “I am Caitlyn Aguirre,” I said. “I am the daughter of Lord Joaquin Aguirre, who is Master of Apprentice Brian Brandon. Fetch his brother at once.”

  He stared at me in honest surprise. I groaned, inwardly. I was probably going to get a million lines - or worse. But instead, he merely motioned for me to wait as he stepped into the common room. Two minutes later, he emerged with Robin who gave me a surprised look. I’d visited once before, when I’d picked up the supplies he’d found for me, but we hadn't arranged another meeting.

  “Hamish looked peeved,” he said, when we were halfway down the corridor. “What did you tell him?”

  “I had an Alana moment,” I said. It was easy to imagine my sister ordering upperclassmen around. I didn't think she’d get away with it, but she might. Dad had always told us that you could get away with anything if you had the nerve. “I’m surprised he didn't give me lines.”

  Robin shrugged. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need a supervisor for the potions lab,” I said. “Will you help me?”

  He caught my shoulder and swung me around to face him. “Are you mad?”

  “No,” I said. I pushed his hand away, annoyed. “I need an upperclassman to help me ...”

  “You nearly manage to get yourself killed,” Robin said. “And you want to go back into the potions lab? And you want me to help?”

  “There’s no danger,” I insisted.

  Robin glared. “Rumour has it that you and your commoner friend were killed and they had to resurrect you,” he said. “No danger?”

  I glared back. “Rumour also says that we blew up the South Wing,” I snapped. “And that happened long before we came to the school.”

  “You were badly injured,” Robin said. He made a show of peering at my face. “I can still see the scars.”

  I put rigid controls on my temper. “Please.”

  “No,” Robin said. “Do you think I would threaten my future for you?”

  He turned to go. “Wait,” I said. He stopped. “Name your price.”

  Robin turned back to me. “Name my price?”

  I nodded. I didn't have anyone else to ask. Sandy was the only other upperclassman I knew, and she wouldn't help me. I didn't think she would do anything more than her duties demanded, particularly after I’d gotten her in trouble once already. Coming to think of it, someone had probably told her off after Rose and I had nearly been killed. The staff seemed more interested in looking for scapegoats than anything else.

  “Yes,” I said. “What do you want?”

  Robin studied me for a long moment. I could practically see the wheels turning inside his head. I couldn’t give him enough money to make the risk worthwhile, but there were other options. On one hand, it was vanishingly unlikely I would ever be in a position to really help him; on the other hand, a favour from me might be worth its weight in basilisk skin or dragon’s blood. If I had dev
eloped magic - and I had made a potion explode - I might just wind up in a position to be useful ...

  ... And a young magician, climbing up the ladder, needed all the help he could get.

  “A favour,” he said. “One day, I’ll ask you for a favour. And you will give it to me.”

  “Saving only the honour of my family and my power,” I said. It wasn't exactly a blank cheque, but it was alarmingly close to it. The ties of honour and obligation that bound the city together would keep him from demanding too high a price - I hoped - yet any reasonable price might be terrifyingly high. “Do we have a deal?”