The Zero Blessing

by Christopher Nuttall

  I glowered. My father hadn’t taught me. And I didn't think he’d taught Alana or Bella either. I knew most of the important lords and ladies, the heads of the greater families and the masters of the guilds, but not the students. Had Isabella been forced to memorise them all? I could believe it. A show of knowing who she was talking to - and proving that person had been noticed - could move mountains. Dad had always taught us to take an interest in the servants, even though they were servants ...

  And if Isabella had to memorise everyone who might be important, I thought with an odd flicker of sympathy, no wonder she’s in such a cranky mood all the time.

  “I know everyone who’s important,” I said, dismissing the thought. Right now, I had no room for sympathy. “And somehow, my father forgot to mention you.”

  Isabella reddened. “No one bothered to mention you either,” she snapped. “I suppose a mere zero isn’t worth mentioning.”

  “I’ve done magic,” I said, sharply. “And ...”

  “It’s a trick of some kind,” Isabella said. “If you had magic, if your parents had three children who were strongly magical, they’d never let anyone forget it.”

  “Like your parents talk about you and your brother?” I asked. She was right, so I chose to ignore her. “It must be hard having to be constantly told you’re the great hope of your generation.”

  Isabella took a moment to calm herself. “I didn't sneak on you,” she hissed. “And you are a liar for even suggesting it.”

  She lifted her hand. “Recant.”

  I met her eyes. “Or what?”

  “Or you’ll be a toad for the next year,” she said, icily. “Recant.”

  I shrugged, mockingly. It was an empty threat. There was no way she could keep me as a toad for more than an hour, not unless she’d somehow mastered very advanced charms and spell formations over the last few months. Even if she had, she would have to turn me back on Monday or explain to the teachers why I was missing class. I didn't think she’d enjoy scrubbing floors for a week ...

  “We were caught because someone tipped off the upperclassmen,” I said. I touched the rings on my fingers, bracing myself. “And that person had to be you.”

  I jumped to one side as a nasty-looking hex flashed over my head, expending itself uselessly against the far wall. Isabella swung around, turning her hand to follow me; I triggered one of the rings, shooting a hex back at her. She deflected it with a wave of her hand - I would have been impressed, if she hadn't been fighting me - and shot another hex at me. I triggered a second ring and deflected the hex, feeling odd tingles running down my fingers. Clearly, I hadn't quite mastered the art of forging the rings ...

  “See?” I said. I threw a second hex at her. “I do have magic.”

  Isabella deflected the hex, straight into Sandy’s back. It fizzled out against a protective ward, multicoloured sparks flying in all directions. We both jumped in shock, then tried to look innocent as Sandy spun around. That hadn’t been meant to happen. The look on her face promised that we were both in deep trouble.

  “Enough,” she said. She made a show of glancing at her silver watch. “You do know what time it is, don’t you?”

  “Midnight,” Isabella said.

  I resisted the urge to shoot her a rude gesture. Sandy was clearly on the warpath.

  “Close enough,” Sandy said. She gestured. The packet of biscuits lifted up from the floor and shot into her hand. “Taken from the kitchen, I see.”

  Isabella snorted. “How do you know?”

  “Jude’s has its own bakery,” Sandy said. She held it up so we could see the label. “Every day, they produce thousands of biscuits for the staff to dunk in their tea. You can't buy these outside for love or money.”

  She gave me a thin smile. “How did you get past the hexes?”

  “I grew up sneaking around the hall,” I said. It was true, although much of my knowledge had been hard-won. Dad didn't bait the interior hexes with anything lethal, but being caught had still been unpleasant. “The kitchen wasn't that heavily defended.”

  “Very well done,” Sandy said. She glanced at Isabella. “I trust you accept, now, that they actually did get into the kitchens?”

  Isabella turned red, again. “Yes,” she said, slowly. “But I didn’t tell on them?”

  Sandy studied her for a long moment, then clapped her hands. “I want everyone in bed, now,” she said, raising her voice. “It’s been an adventure, I am sure, but all good things must come to an end.”

  She caught my eye, then nodded to Rose. “And you two did very well,” she added, quietly. “I tried to sneak into the kitchens myself at your age.”

  Rose smiled, weakly. “What happened?”

  “I got through the door, then ran straight into a hypnotic hex,” Sandy admitted. She looked embarrassed. “They had me clucking like a chicken for days, every time someone mentioned the word. Do you know how many ways you can work the word chicken into a conversation?”

  I flushed. Alana had been particularly fond of the hypnotic hex. Thankfully, none of her commands had lasted very long, but they’d still been embarrassing. It was funny how I’d never noticed I was acting like a dog, even when everything I said came out as a barking sound. Someone had had to tell me I was running around on all fours before I’d managed to stop myself.

  “And then I was scrubbing floors afterwards,” Sandy added. “I’d say the two of you got off pretty lightly.”

  “Thank you,” I said. She was right. I knew she was right. But being betrayed still stung. I had never even considered that Isabella would rat us out. I’d assumed she had just hoped we’d either be caught naturally or ensnared by one of the nastier hexes. But betrayal ...

  I glowered at Isabella as she climbed into her bed, using a spell to pull the drapes into position. She’d betrayed us. I was sure she’d betrayed us. And I was going to find a way to make her pay. And yet ...

  We had sneaked in and out of the kitchen, hadn't we? That was something to be proud of.

  And on that thought, I climbed into bed and fell asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I was surprised, waking up the following morning, to discover that I was still human. I had honestly expected Isabella to try to hex me in my sleep, although I had scattered a few surprises around my bed and drapes to make that difficult. But Rose and I were still meant to be scrubbing floors for the entire day, so perhaps Isabella had decided it wasn't worth risking the wrath of the janitor.

  Indeed, I barely saw Isabella for the entire day. She was at lunch, but then she vanished again until dinner, looking so tired that she didn't even bother to make snide remarks about how dirty and smelly we were after scrubbing the toilets. I suspected she was up to something, but what? Alana, sitting on the far side of the dining hall, eyed me curiously, yet said nothing. She had to know that Bella and I had reached some kind of agreement.

  I was expecting trouble when I went back to the dorm, tired and sore and filthy, but nothing materialised. The water didn't turn to ice when I showered - a trick Alana had mastered as a child and used ruthlessly - nor did I stumble over a hex on my bed. Isabella looked too tired to say anything as she went to bed, somewhat to my surprise. What was she doing? I slept lightly, half-expecting to hear her sneaking through the drapes. But the night was still and quiet and eventually I dozed off.

  “We have double charms,” Rose told me, the following morning. “And most of it is theoretical.”

  I allowed myself a sigh of relief. My charm marks had improved over the last two weeks, but I knew they wouldn't get much better. I was good - great, even - at theoretical work, yet practical spells continued to defeat me. My best spell formulations failed when I tried to cast them, even when I had a charged ring. It was difficult - perhaps impossible - to charge a ring and then use it to cast a diagrammed spell. Some of the old forgers must have done it - there were Objects of Power that cast remarkable spells - but I had yet to master the techniques. I suspected there were more det
ails that had been lost, over the years.

  “Ah ... we move now to dedicated spell fragments,” Magister Von Rupert informed us. “I ... ah ... trust that you have each cast various hexes on each other?”

  He plunged on without waiting for an answer. “Each magician has his own unique signature,” he continued. “A spell cast without careful preparation can be traced back to the caster, without delay. Resonance spells can be used to locate the caster - if the forensic sorcerer is incapable of recognising the caster directly. This is often true of potions too, although rarely so of potions that ... ah ... require two brewers. Ah ...

  “You may be wondering about the importance of such signatures. In truth, such signatures often tell the inspectors more about the caster than may be supposed.”

  He launched into a long lecture about different styles of training and how they affected the casters. I listened with interest, noting how a Jude’s graduate could almost always be identified from his spells - and how a magician who’d been given private tutoring could be detected, simply by the more focused signature. It wasn't something I’d ever considered, even though I’d loved reading the Inspector Sherringford, Detective Sorcerer books as a child. But then, Inspector Sherringford had been long on drama and short on realism. He’d always wound up exchanging spells with the murderer, normally after a dramatic parlour scene ...

  I frowned as a thought struck me. If Rose cast a spell for me - and the spell was stored in a ring for later use - which of us had actually cast the spell? Me ... or Rose? And if the latter, could someone determine that Rose had cast the spell for me? A thought struck me and I smiled. If I could trap some of Isabella’s magic, I could get her blamed for something. It wouldn't be nice, but it would give her a taste of her own medicine.

  She deserves it, I thought. She betrayed us.

  “Magical signatures have a tendency to fade,” Von Rupert said. “Ah ... it normally takes between an hour to a day for the signature to fade completely. At that point, it is still ... ah ... possible to determine that magic was used, but ... ah ... impossible to identify the caster. And magic itself can fade back into the background ...”

  He paused. “Homework for the week involves studying the use and abuse of magical signatures,” he concluded. “I want you to pay specific attention to how signatures can be used outside the criminal investigation sphere.”

  I heard several students groan. I didn't really blame them, even though Magister Grayson was giving them nasty looks. Criminal investigation was interesting, if nothing else. I’d once dreamed of being an inspector myself. But instead ... the class was dismissed, leaving Rose and I behind. I wanted to ask the magisters a couple of questions.

  “Ah ... yes?” Von Rupert asked, as we approached his desk. “You ... ah ... you have a question?”

  “Yes,” I said. “What would happen if something caused the signatures to mingle?”

  “It would depend,” Von Rupert said, after a moment. “Ah ... magic spell structures do break up over time. If there were two or more signatures, they might blur together and render themselves useless, if ... ah ... someone wanted to tell who had cast the spell. Or a skilled sorcerer might be able to separate the two. Ah ... that would be easier if the two magicians came from different schools.”

  Rose leaned forward. “Because they would have traces of all the teachers in their magic?”

  “They would be taught to cast their spells a certain way,” Grayson said. He sounded oddly distracted by a greater thought. “Your practical casting comes from me and Magistra Solana, so you would have elements of both of us in your style. You also gained elements from Magistra Loanda, as she drilled potions into your head. Someone who only learnt from me would essentially copy my style.”

  I nodded. “What if someone copied my spell?”

  Von Rupert looked up. “Ah ... I beg your pardon?”

  “If I wrote out a spell and someone from another school cast it,” I said, “would I get the blame?”

  “Probably not,” Grayson said. He gave me a sharp look, as if he was wondering precisely why I was asking. “The spell might be yours, and it would be obvious that you were taught here, but the actual style would be different.”

  “I see, I think,” I said. “And what if someone used someone else’s magic?”

  “There ... ah ... have been cases where a person was mind-controlled into casting spells,” Von Rupert said. “I ... ah ... I believe that Magus Court was able to identify the casters and free them from their enslavement. They were not held responsible for their actions.”

  “But what if someone used a wand I charged?” I asked. “Or ...”

  Magister Grayson gave me a sharp look. “Is there a reason for these questions?”

  I thought fast. “There was a story,” I said. “Inspector Sherringford and the Golden Ear of Zangaria. The culprit borrowed magic from a friend to cast his spells.”

  “Ah,” Von Rupert said.

  Grayson snorted. “And, in the real world, borrowing magic is not possible,” he said. “I believe that several of the more ... unpleasant dark wizards have tried to steal magic from their captors, but the results have always been limited. It has simply proven impossible to deny a person access to their magic permanently. Warding the prisons is a complex, constantly ongoing task.”

  But I did manage to borrow Rose’s spells, I thought.

  “I suggest you hurry onwards to your next class,” Grayson added, coldly. “Unless you want some extra homework ...?”

  We grabbed our bags and fled out of the door, heading for the dining hall. I heard them muttering together as we left, probably wondering just why we’d been asking such odd questions. I didn't know if they’d believed my story or not. There were just too many tales of magic - and magicians - that were clearly made up, when the reader knew a little about magic. Stealing a person’s magic was impossible. If it was possible, I had no doubt my parents would have found someone like Rose and forced them to give me their powers. Dad wouldn't have hesitated for a moment.

  But I have power of my own, I thought. I couldn't wait to tell him. And that will change everything.

  “I never read those books,” Rose said, wistfully. “Are they any good?”

  “They’re fun,” I told her. I stopped as a thought struck me. “And there’s a couple of really mushy romances you should read too. They’re sickeningly sweet, but they do tell you a lot about life in the big city.”

  Rose didn't look convinced. “What happens?”

  I shrugged. “Boy meets girl. Girl likes boy, but mother-in-law wants girl to marry someone else. Boy elopes with girl. Mother-in-law declares war on boy’s family. Lots of people get injured or killed because of this pointless feud. Father realises that mother-in-law is a shrew and kicks her out into the street, then blesses the match. Boy and girl live happily ever after.”

  “I’m sure it’s a great story,” Rose said, sardonically.

  “It was turned into a great play,” I said. “The mother-in-law is normally played by a man in drag, for comic relief. And they throw pies instead of hexes ...”

  I shook my head as we entered the dining hall. “There’s two or three like it, but with all the roles switched around,” I added. “They may be boring and soppy, yet they do tell you a lot about High Society.”

  Rose glanced at me. “Do you ever wish you’d been born somewhere else?”

  “I don't know,” I admitted. I had wished that, years ago. Growing up on a farm ... I would never have known what I’d missed. “My parents are great, but they put a lot of expectations on me. Even now ...”

  We ate lunch together, then headed down to Forging and joined the line waiting outside the classroom. Isabella was leaning against the wall, chatting quietly to Akin. I couldn't help noticing that her cronies were keeping their distance, something that meant ... what? Akin didn't seem to have many cronies, at least as far as I could tell. But then, the boys would probably be more careful about showing their allegiances too openl
y. Swearing blood brotherhood at their ages would bring their families down on them like the wrath of an angry god.

  “Welcome, welcome,” Magister Tallyman told us. He hurried us into the classroom and pointed at the workbenches. “I trust that you all read the chapters I specified?”

  I nodded, hastily. The chapter had been nothing new to me, but I’d reviewed it anyway and then broken it down for Rose. Interlocking runes and sigils had always been interesting, even before I’d uncovered my true talents. These days, I had a whole new reason to study. I might have access to thousands of books - all useless to anyone else - but I figured I might be able to craft Objects of Power I’d designed myself. We knew a great deal more about certain runes and their interactions than the ancients had ever done.

  “I want you to start carving out a basic runic diagram,” Magister Tallyman said. He pointed a finger at the blackboard. A series of runes appeared in front of us, all carefully angled away from each other. “Plot out their interactions, then check with me or my assistants before you actually start carving. You do not want to waste the iron sheets.”