The Zero Curse

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  It still nagged at me as I walked into the workroom at the end of the day. Akin was already there, working on a Device of Power. I nodded to him and strode over to the workbench, silently running through Magister Tallyman’s planned set of experiments. I wasn't too pleased about him getting involved - I’d been happier trying to parse out my talents on my own - but I knew I should be relieved. Magister Tallyman had more than earned his reputation.

  And you were glad enough of the prospect of studying under him, a little voice whispered at the back of my head. Weren’t you?

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Magister Tallyman said, striding into the room. “I trust you weren't too bored.”

  “No, sir,” Akin said. “I was just finishing my work.”

  Magister Tallyman glanced at it, then nodded curtly. “Come with me, both of you,” he ordered. “I’ve set up an experimental chamber for us.”

  We followed him through a series of passageways and into a larger workroom. It looked oddly bare, even though there was a wooden worktable and a set of supply cupboards. The walls were plain stone, without even a single rune linked to the ward network. A small selection of tools - and a single sheet of instructions - lay on the table. I scanned them quickly and frowned. The Object of Power was really nothing more than a set of interlocking discs on a horizontal axis that were - apparently - supposed to spin in unison. If it had a purpose - beyond decoration - no one had been able to figure it out.

  “Cat,” Magister Tallyman said. “How quickly could you make this?”

  I calculated it, quickly. “Not long,” I said. “Half an hour, perhaps.”

  Magister Tallyman nodded. “Then start making one,” he said. “Akin and I will be in the next room.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  I felt my fingers tingle in anticipation of the challenge as I opened the storage cabinets and started to assemble the materials. Sheets of copper, iron and a surprisingly flimsy gold foil, all wrapped in cloth to keep them pure. I wiped them down anyway, just to be sure, then picked up my tools and went to work. The Object of Power was astonishingly simple, almost as simple as the fan I’d built weeks ago. And yet, we honestly didn't know what it did.

  But it shouldn't be anything dangerous, I told myself. The runes made the discs spin - and that was it. I’d checked again and again, just to be sure. It's nothing more than a piece of art.

  The Object of Power took shape in front of me, piece by piece. I took a long breath as the last of the runes fell into place, the object glowing briefly as it started to spin. A faint light flared up as the discs spun faster and faster, casting an eerie radiance over the scene, but nothing else happened. I guessed I’d been right. It was nothing more than a piece of art.

  Unless it’s part of a greater design, I speculated. There were hundreds of Objects of Power that had no discernible purpose. Magister Tallyman’s flying machine was actually a trio of interlocking Objects of Power, if my calculations were correct. Perhaps it’s only useless because we don’t know what the other parts are meant to look like.

  I puzzled over it as Magister Tallyman stepped back into the room. “Very good, Cat,” he said, examining the spinning discs. “You may keep it, if you wish.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I remembered Magister Niven’s words and frowned. Where was the power coming from? “What do you want me to do now?”

  “I want you and Akin to build a second Object of Power,” Magister Tallyman said. “But he’s going to be the one to shape the discs.”

  I felt an odd rush of emotion as I carried the Object of Power into the main workroom and then returned. It was important - I knew it was important - to know just how much of the work could be done by someone else, by someone who lacked my talent, but I couldn't help feeling conflicted. What if Akin managed to forge his own Objects of Power? Cold logic told me that it was unlikely that a twelve-year-old would solve a puzzle that had baffled the greatest minds in sorcerous history, raw emotion reminded me that I had cracked the mystery. And what one magician - or whatever I was - could do, another could duplicate. My heart clenched as I watched him go to work. What if ...?

  Akin worked with practiced ease, cutting the discs out of the metal and placing them gently on the workbench. I kept my distance, torn between admiration for his obvious skill and a deep ache that tore at me. I liked Akin, perhaps more than I should, but his sister was a very different matter. And our families had been enemies for decades. Outside Jude’s, would we still be friends? Or would he hex me the moment he saw me?

  His father would expect him to do just that, I thought, sourly. I’d only seen Lord Carioca Rubén once, but he’d worried me. I would have felt sorry for Isabella if she hadn't been so horrible to me. Her father had good reason to be very annoyed at her. And if he really can get the rules rewritten ...

  I pushed the thought out of my head as Akin finished the third disc. Magister Tallyman checked them, using a compass and ruler to make sure they were perfect. I watched, unsure what I felt. It would be easier, much easier, if someone else could do some of the work, but it would diminish my value. I gritted my teeth as Magister Tallyman pronounced the discs perfect. I wasn't going back to being useless. I wasn't.

  “Cat,” Magister Tallyman said. “See if you can put them together.”

  I took the discs. A sour feeling rose up within me, urging me to make a tiny error that would render the Object of Power nothing more than a piece of scrap metal. It wouldn't be hard, either ... but Magister Tallyman would notice. He was watching me like a hawk, silently noting everything I did. And I admired him too much to want him angry at me.

  And Dad wouldn't be pleased either, I reminded myself. Dad and Mum took experiments seriously. Outright sabotage would get me in real trouble, whatever the motive. I’d be grounded for the rest of my life.

  I carved out the runes, one by one. It felt ... odd, although I couldn't put my finger on how or why. I ground my teeth in frustration. I’d been told that experimental magicians often had odd feelings when something was about to go spectacularly wrong, but nothing they’d been able to describe to me. Perhaps something was about to go wrong. Or maybe I was just imagining it. The feeling seemed to fade the moment I concentrated on it.

  The discs and axle assembled perfectly, of course. I fought to keep my face impassive, despite an uneasy feeling in my gut. Akin had done a very good job. And then they started to spin ...

  “Get down,” Magister Tallyman snapped.

  He slammed into me. I yelped in pain as I toppled over and landed on the floor, his huge body landing on top of me. A second later, the room shook violently. I heard pieces of debris flying in all directions, smashing into walls and crashing to the floor. Akin said a word I knew my mother would have washed my mouth out with soap for thinking, let alone saying.

  Magister Tallyman rolled off me a second later. He looked deeply worried.

  I forced myself to stand on wobbly legs. The workbench had been solid wood. It wasn't any longer. The wood was cracked and broken, scorched so badly that it could have been converted into charcoal with very little effort. Fragments of metal lay everywhere; some embedded into the wood, others lying against the walls where they’d fallen. The discs had shattered ...

  “I sensed a surge of magic,” Akin said, picking himself up. “It failed, didn't it?”

  Magister Tallyman gave him a sharp look. “Yes.”

  I nodded, slowly. “I made everything, from start to finish, and it worked. You made the discs and it failed.”

  “It looks that way.” Magister Tallyman strode across the room and opened one of the cupboards. “The question is simple. How much can Akin do before it explodes?”

  “Rose was standing close to the cauldron when it exploded,” I said, carefully. My face itched. We’d both been badly wounded when the potion destabilised. “Maybe Akin was standing too close.”

  “I was on the other side of the room,” Akin pointed out. He sounded shaken. “Magister Tallyman was closer.”


  “You weren't when you were making the discs,” I countered. “Perhaps your touch was enough to render the discs useless.”

  “Perhaps,” Akin said. “But anyone can touch an Object of Power.”

  “A working Object of Power,” Magister Tallyman said. He sounded pleased, even though we’d come far too close to being injured. “It seems that we need to carry out more experiments.”

  Akin looked as though he wanted to say something biting. “The discs exploded,” he said, instead. “Doesn’t that mean the whole experiment failed?”

  Magister Tallyman was too enthusiastic to reprimand him for his tone. “Something happened,” he said, patiently. “We now know that you cannot make all three of the discs without causing an explosion. That is a datum. Now, we see if you can make one of the discs.”

  “Or if Cat can make the discs and I can put them together,” Akin offered.

  I had my doubts. If Rose’s mere presence was enough to cause an explosion, Akin’s craftsmanship certainly would too. And yet ... I rubbed my forehead in frustration. The puzzle seemed unsolvable. I wasn't sure I wanted it solved, but still ...

  “I’ll need to get a new workbench,” Magister Tallyman said. He looked down at the wreckage, shaking his head in amusement. “And probably tighten up the wards.”

  Akin pointed upwards. “And maybe do the next experiment in the open air,” he added. I followed his gaze. Hairline cracks were clearly visible in the stone. “We don’t want to bring down the building.”

  “Or even the roof,” Magister Tallyman agreed. “They’ll take it out of my salary.”

  And what will they do, I asked silently, if one of us gets killed?

  Magister Tallyman glanced at the clock. “You may as well go back to your workrooms or straight to dinner,” he said. “I’ll plan out the next experiment and we can carry it out next week.”

  I exchanged a look with Akin, then followed him out of the room. “That was interesting,” Akin said, when we were alone. “What did you make of it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I needed to carry out more experiments. Perhaps Akin should have left the discs alone for a while, long enough to let the magic fade. If it did fade ... it should fade, I told myself. Runes gathered and shaped magic, but unmarred metal shouldn't have anything holding the magic in place. “Perhaps we can just keep asking questions.”

  “Yes,” Akin said. “I ...”

  He broke off. Jeannine was loitering at the door.

  “Go to dinner,” she told Akin. “Caitlyn, I want a word with you.”

  Akin frowned, but hurried out of the room without comment. I met Jeannine’s eyes and realised, to my surprise, that she was nervous. It wasn't as if she didn't have an excuse to be here, did she? She was an upperclassman, with access to workrooms specifically set aside for them. Magister Tallyman wouldn't say a word if he caught her in the workroom. But she was still nervous.

  “This way,” I said, leading her over to my makeshift workroom. “Don’t use magic once we’re through the door.”

  Jeannine muttered something under her breath as I opened the door. I chose to ignore it as I rooted through the drawers, eventually digging the amulet out of its hiding place. It glittered under the light, even though it wasn't quite finished. Jeannine leaned forward, admiringly. It wasn't my best work, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was an Object of Power.

  “It will dispel every spell tied to you,” I said. I wasn't quite sure what it would do if someone tried to hex her. I’d have experimented, if I could have cast the spell. “I just need some of your blood to anchor the spellform.”

  She looked reluctant, but held out her hand anyway. I cut her gently, collected a little of her blood and wove it into the final rune. The amulet glowed brightly - it dawned on me, a second too late, that I probably should have asked her to step well back - as the spellform blazed into existence. I let out a breath I hadn't realised I’d been holding. My first commission ... if it had failed, I wouldn't have received many others.

  “Done,” I said, quietly. I picked up the amulet and passed it to her. “Wear it for at least an hour, then take it off. It may interfere with your ability to cast spells.”

  Jeannine draped it over her neck. “It feels dead,” she said, slowly. I frowned. That didn’t sound good. “But ... I think it’s working.”

  “Good,” I said. The spellform wasn't difficult. I’d have made one for myself, if spells clung to me longer than an hour or so. “And make sure you don’t show it to anyone.”

  “Of course,” Jeannine said. She reached out and patted my hand. “And I will give you that favour.”

  I nodded. The favour would be worthless now, but later ... who knew where Jeannine would end up? I’d looked her up in Who Is Who. Jeannine had the connections to go far, if she escaped her overbearing mother. And even if she didn’t, the amulet had still cost me very little to make. I’d come out ahead.

  And this is just the first commission, I told myself, as the dinner bell rang. The sky’s the limit.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “And so ... ah ... we can devise a runic network to keep a spell in place,” Magister Von Rupert said. He sketched out a set of patterns on the board. “This is ... ah ... a key concept in protecting a building ... ah ...”

  I hastily copied down the diagram as Magister Grayson’s eyes swept the classroom. I didn't want to get in trouble, not with him. Magister Von Rupert was too focused on his work to care much about what we were doing - I’d never heard him issuing detentions to anyone - but Magister Grayson believed in ruling with an iron hand. I didn't really blame him, either. A careless student who miscast a spell during practicals might easily hurt someone.

  “The network has other uses, of course,” Magister Von Rupert added. The Incantations and Geomancy teacher glanced at us, looking as if he were faintly surprised to find himself in a classroom. “Can anyone name one?”

  “Turning someone into a frog and keeping them that way,” Alana said. I didn't miss the hard edge to her voice. She’d probably try to test the runic diagram on me as soon as she could, if she actually managed to make it work. “Or preventing someone from using magic.”

  “Correct,” Magister Von Rupert said. He didn't seem to have noticed the malice in Alana’s voice. “A spell does not remain in place unless held there by a network of runes. For homework--” I heard a groan echoing around the classroom as we reached for our notebooks “--you will devise a runic network that will hold a single spell in place.”

  “Do not attempt to test it,” Magister Grayson added, as we jotted down the assignment. He crossed his arms, daring us to defy him. “The network needs to be checked and rechecked before you actually try to use the spell.”

  Rose nudged me. “Would that work on you?”

  I shrugged. I didn't know. I’d discovered that spells fed on their target’s magic, which was why they never lingered on me. I simply didn’t have any magic. And yet, how could a runic network hold a spell in place past the point it ran out of power? I was starting to realise, between experiments, that a lot of what we knew about magic was incomplete. Perhaps it wasn’t even so. Magister Niven’s habit of poking holes in our assumptions only underlined it for me. We didn't know as much as we thought.

  “We’ll probably find out, later,” I said. I wouldn't mind if Rose wanted to test her runic diagram on me. “But for now ...”

  Magister Grayson cleared his throat. “We’ll be holding the practical lesson next door,” he growled. “Move it.”

  The room emptied, rapidly. Rose shot me a worried look before following the others into the next room. I half-wished Bella - or Akin - would stay close to her, but I knew neither of them would be interested. Bella couldn't be seen with Rose, not publicly, if she wanted to remain one of the popular girls. And Akin had the same problem, only worse. I was mildly surprised that he was talking to me outside class.

  And Alana would hex them both if she thought they were becoming friends, I
thought. My sister had driven off anyone who’d wanted to be my friend, at least until the rumours had started to spread. Bella isn't happy about defying her.

  Magister Von Rupert cleared his throat. “Ah ... perhaps you would like to come with me,” he said. “This classroom is not conductive to private study.”

  I could go straight to the library, I thought, as I rose. It was too early for me to be out of class, even if Magister Von Rupert wrote me a pass. The upperclassmen might let me go - I was working my way through a whole list of commissions - but the librarians would ask pointed questions. It isn't worth the hassle.

  I followed him through a hidden door and into a small office. No, I realised slowly; it was larger than it seemed, but it was utterly crammed with boxes, paper sheets filled with handwriting, manuscripts and books. The only visible wall was lined with bookshelves, all bulging under the weight of yet more books. Mum would have gone through the roof if I’d left my bedroom in such a state, I thought, as Magister Von Rupert removed a pile of books from a chair. There was hardly any room to breathe. And yet, there was something about the room I found endearing.