The Zero Equation (The Zero Enigma Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  But I might be able to create them, I thought. I lacked the ability to infuse magic into the liquid directly, but I could forge an Object of Power that would produce a precise amount of magic for the potion. There would be no risk of an explosion through accidentally overcharging the spell. I wonder if I’ll be allowed to try ...

  “I don't get this,” Rose said, as she drew out a second diagram. “Why don’t the four runes go together?”

  “Because they keep reversing the polarity of the magic flow,” I said, glancing at her work. “Those two runes basically keep the magic flipping between them, rather than actually doing anything. The other two actually make it worse, because they hold the first two in place.”

  “But at least the runes won’t burn out,” Rose said.

  “Not in a hurry,” I agreed. “But you’re not going to be able to do anything with it either.”

  “They could have said that in the textbook,” Rose grumbled. “It kept implying that it was possible to make it work.”

  I shrugged. “It does work,” I said. “It just doesn't actually do anything.”

  “I am too tired for that to make sense,” Rose said, rubbing her forehead. “Why even bother drawing the diagram in the first place?”

  “Same reason we brew useless potions,” I pointed out. “The idea is to practice our skills, rather than just cast magic. If the runes weren't perfect, the entire diagram would come apart very quickly.”

  Although you could probably use it to store magic, I thought, slowly. And if you built something to channel the magic afterwards ...

  I considered it for a long moment, then dismissed the thought. The trick was workable, but there were other - better - ways to conserve and store magic. They just didn't last very long without constant maintenance. Unless ... I wondered, absently, just what I could do if I built an Object of Power designed to store magic. It wouldn't be difficult.

  Footsteps echoed towards me, loud enough to break into my thoughts. I looked up, feeling a flicker of hope. Akin? No, it was a fourth-year girl with a freckled face and plaited brown hair that was slowly starting to turn grey. I blinked, torn between surprise and disappointment. Grey hair on a fifteen-year-old? A curse? I found it hard to believe that it was a fashion statement.

  “Caitlyn,” she said. “I’m Val. Pleased to meet you.”

  “And you,” I said, automatically. She was strikingly forward. Not someone raised in a Great House, then. “What can I do for you?”

  “Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you for a quote,” she said. “I’m currently writing a story about the brawl in the hearing and if you ...”

  I frowned. “The brawl?”

  “Sure,” Val said. “The brawl in front of King Rufus.”

  Rose snickered. I had to look down until I was sure my face was under control. “There was no brawl,” I managed. It was hard to talk clearly. “And King Rufus wasn't there either.”

  Val’s face fell. “You’re sure?”

  “I was there,” I reminded her. “And ... what do you want to do with the story, anyway?”

  “I’m trying to get a post at one of the broadsheets,” Val said. “And if you gave me an exclusive I could ...”

  “Definitely not,” I said, flatly. It made sense, I suppose, but I wasn't feeling inclined to cooperate. There hadn’t been a brawl. And the king hadn't been there either. “I’m trying to study. Please, could you go away?”

  Val ignored me. “It might be very useful to have the broadsheets on your side,” she insisted, firmly. “A reporter who actually favoured you ...”

  I shook my head. No one in High Society paid any attention to the broadsheets, although they always seemed to know what was in them. Val could write a story that was completely truthful and no one would believe it ... if, of course, she was allowed to publish it. The truth just wasn't spectacular. And besides, the readers would be more interested in the Crown Prince and his wife’s tour of the city.

  “Please,” Val said. “I ...”

  A bulky upperclassman walked over, looking like a bear with a toothache. “Are you bothering these students?”

  Val reddened. “I ...”

  “Go back to your dorm and write five hundred lines,” the upperclassman snapped. “I will not bother students who are trying to revise. Hand them in tomorrow evening.”

  I felt a flicker of pity. Five hundred lines would take hours. Val would have an aching wrist by the time she was finished. And there would be no getting out of it either. Even if the upperclassman forgot he'd ordered her to do the wretched lines, her punishment book would not forget. I wasn't sure what would happen if she didn't do them, but I doubted it would be pleasant.

  Val shot me a pleading look - I’m not sure what she thought I could do - and then slunk off in the direction of the door. The upperclassman hesitated, looking strikingly awkward for a man of his bulk, then sat down on the far side of the table.

  “I need a favour,” he said. He looked at Rose. “Scram.”

  “Anything you say in front of me can be said in front of her,” I said, flatly. I had the vague feeling that I’d met the upperclassman before, but I couldn't remember where. Probably one of Dad’s tedious dinner parties. In any case, I wasn't in the mood to let him push me and my friends around. “What do you want?”

  “I need you to forge me an Object of Power,” he said. “I will pay ...”

  I tensed. Rolf had lured me out of the school by convincing me to forge him an Object of Power. I’d forged a number of small Objects of Power for various students, in exchange for future favours, but now ... I wasn't sure I wanted to do it again. And yet, I hadn't had the chance to think about what I’d say when someone asked me - again - to make one.

  “I don’t have the time right now,” I hedged. I didn't want him getting angry and handing out lines. “What exactly do you want?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” the upperclassman said. “But I will pay ...”

  I shook my head. “I don’t have time right now,” I said. “I have to prepare for my exams.”

  The upperclassman eyed me nastily. “I can give you lines ...”

  “Then you’ll get a selection of lines and no Object of Power,” I said, sharply. If he wasn't prepared to tell me - and Rose - what he actually wanted, I doubted it would be anything good. A couple of the requests I’d been given had been dubious, to say the least. “I won't do you any favours if you try to force me.”

  I watched him warily for a long moment. He could give me lines ... or throw a punch at me. I was stronger than the average firstie, thanks to the years I’d spent forging, but I doubted I was strong enough to best him. Or he could try to hex me ... that would probably get him in trouble, if his hexes actually defeated my protections. I was fairly sure they wouldn't.

  “We will discuss it again when you are not so busy,” he said. “Goodbye.”

  He stomped off, earning himself a sharp shushing noise from the librarian. I was surprised he had the sense to realise that trying to force me to do something - anything - for him would be pointless. I wouldn't rat him out for dumping thousands of lines on me - or hundreds of detentions - but someone would notice and start asking pointed questions. Who knew what would happen then?

  Rose glanced at me as I settled back into my seat. “What was all that about?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. I was going to have to think of something, though. That upperclassman wouldn't be the last to ask for an Object of Power. What was I going to tell someone intelligent enough to realise that the exams were pointless for me? “I guess he wanted something illicit.”

  “Another way to get out of the school?” Rose stroked her chin, thoughtfully. “Or maybe a weapon of some kind?”

  “Or just a protective amulet,” I guessed. I’d had some very odd requests, but this had been the first one where he’d flatly refused to tell me what he wanted. I wondered, absently, if he thought he could force me to swear an oath to keep my mouth shut. “Or ... maybe he wants
a pair of stirrers.”

  “Makes sense,” Rose agreed. “An upperclassman who hasn't learnt how to moderate his magic in potions is going to be in trouble.”

  I shrugged. I could make him a pair of stirrers, if he wished, but Magistra Loanda would have no trouble spotting and confiscating them. They were cheating, as far as she was concerned. And she was right.

  “I don’t know,” I said. I yawned. Lights Out was still an hour away, but I was tired. And I needed to be up early in the morning. “Shall we go to bed?”

  Rose yawned too. “It would probably be a good idea,” she said, as she started to tidy away the books. “Monday can't be bad, right?”

  “We’ll be back in class,” I pointed out. Hopefully, Akin would be there. I tried not to think about the prospect of his father pulling him out of school for good. “I’m sure it will be fun.”

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m glad to see that some of you are continuing the proud school tradition of stumbling into class five minutes after the last bell rings,” Magister Tallyman said. He sneered rudely at the latecomers, resting his muscular arms on his hips. “Do you have something resembling an excuse?”

  I barely heard him. I was too busy being relieved. Akin was back! He hadn't been at breakfast, but he’d made it down in time for Forging. Maybe his father had kept him at Rubén Hall overnight and brought him back in the morning. No one was going to say anything to him about it.

  Magister Tallyman kept speaking. “Your mocks are a bare two months away,” he reminded us, sharply. “Those of you who didn't know anything about forging when you entered my class will be tested - oh, yes; you will be tested - on what you have learnt since summer. If you don’t practice, you won’t pass.”

  His gaze swept the room. It wasn't like him to snap so badly at latecomers. Something must have happened ... and I thought I knew what. My father had probably already had a long chat with him about precisely what he’d been thinking, when he’d given me the sword. Come to think of it, Akin’s father had probably had a chat with him too. Magister Tallyman hadn't been alive when the sword had been lost. Who knew how many hands had held it before the sword ended up in Magister Tallyman’s classroom?

  “We’re going to be practicing nexus wiring today,” Magister Tallyman added, after a long moment. “By the time the bell rings, I expect each and every one of you to have put together a perfect nexus. You’ll be using them for the rest of the year, so it is a skill you have to master.”

  I kept my face expressionless as groans echoed around the room. I’d mastered nexus wiring long ago. It wasn’t difficult, as long as one was careful, but it was fiddly and the slightest mistake could render the entire nexus useless. Trying to do it in a hurry was asking for trouble. And I had never been able to test my work. I’d had to get Dad’s apprentices to test them for me.

  “There’s a diagram on the blackboard,” Magister Tallyman said. He gave us a thin smile, revealing that he’d lost a tooth sometime in the last few days. An experiment must have gone spectacularly wrong. “And if you didn't do your homework ... believe me, I’ll know about it.”

  Rose nudged me as we hurried over to the supply cupboards. “What does he mean?”

  “The homework covered how power is channelled through the nexus wiring,” I said. No wonder he’d told us he wouldn't be marking the homework. If we hadn’t read the books and done the exercises, our nexuses were going to be subpar. Thankfully, Dad had made me go over it again and again when I’d started to forge. “He’ll know we didn't do the homework if we can't get the nexus point to work.”

  “Ouch,” Rose said. She smiled, rather wanly. “And to think I stayed up all night working on that essay.”

  I snorted and looked around the supply cupboards. They were bulging with everything from wood and metal to gemstones and dragon scales. The mocks were coming up, I reminded myself. Magister Tallyman wouldn't want to risk running out of supplies when the upperclassmen were practicing everything, time and time again. He probably reserved a ton of materials for the exam rooms, just to make sure there was no prospect of running out during the exam itself. The examiners wouldn’t give the upperclassmen a simple diagram to follow. They’d set them a problem to solve instead.

  And we’d better be careful not to accidentally touch their work, I thought, as I looked at the locked cupboards. They’d go mental.

  Magister Tallyman intercepted us as we made our way back to the workbench. “Cat, I want you to watch everyone on this side of the room,” he said. “Akin can handle the other side.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. I’d made enough nexus points for Magister Tallyman to have no doubt about my abilities. I had earned that qualification. There was no point in having me do it again - and again - when I could be helping other students. “I ... can we talk after class?”

  Magister Tallyman gave me a long look, then nodded reluctantly. I allowed myself a moment of relief as I moved to the first workbench and watched Amber putting together a nexus link. She’d clearly been practicing over the last few weeks. Her fingers, once better-suited for sewing than forging, put the link together with confidence. I was almost impressed.

  I moved to the next table. Isabella shot me a nasty look, twisting her body to conceal her work. I hesitated, then decided that if she didn’t want help, I didn't have to offer it. Besides, her brother was Magister Tallyman’s other assistant. She could swallow her pride and ask Akin for help, if she needed it. I could feel her eyes watching me as I made my way slowly to the third workbench. My back itched, expecting a hex at any moment. Isabella seemed to have recovered from the drubbing I’d given her in the duel.

  She can't do anything to me in the dorm, I reminded myself, sharply. But she can try to harass me in the corridors.

  I touched the protective bracelet, gently. Isabella wasn't stupid. She knew that firing hexes at my back would be pointless. But that wouldn't stop her trying to find a way to get at me. I’d humiliated her in front of the entire school. Her family name would stop her falling too far, but it wasn't enough to keep her from being a laughingstock. She’d have to find a way to rebuild her reputation somehow or she’d never have the chance to reach for power.

  Not that her father would let her have the chance, I thought. He wants a male heir.

  The class started to drag as I moved from table to table. Forging was normally my favourite class, but it was almost a relief when the bell finally rang for lunch. Magister Tallyman glared at a couple of boys who’d made an immediate dash for the door, then supervised as we returned our tools and supplies to their boxes. I was pleased to see that Rose had managed to forge a perfect nexus link. All that practice was finally paying off.

  “Can you wait for me outside?” I kept my voice low as Magister Tallyman dismissed the class with a final warning about keeping up with our homework. “I need to speak to Magister Tallyman.”

  Rose nodded and headed for the door. I thought I saw Akin outside, just for a second; I wanted to hurry out and try to catch him before he went to lunch. But he was surrounded by a handful of other boys ... it hurt, somehow, to know he had friends apart from me. I couldn't show too much interest in him, or people would talk. Mum’s lessons had made that clear.

  People are meant to come to me, not have me come to them, I thought. A thought struck me as Magister Tallyman cleared his throat for attention. Maybe they're going to him ...

  “Cat,” Magister Tallyman said. “What can I do for you?”

  I studied him for a long moment. His bare arms seemed to have acquired even more scars, somehow. The leather apron he wore bore mute testament to the force of the explosion that had wounded him. I wondered, as I tried to choose my words carefully, just what he’d been doing. Magister Tallyman’s obsession with recreating long-lost Objects of Power had driven him to take dangerous chances before.

  My mouth was dry. “Did you ... did you know who owned the sword?”

  “Who used to own the sword,” Magister Tallyman corrected.

/>   I looked up at him, trying to gauge what he’d said. Ownership was sometimes hard to define, particularly when Objects of Power were involved. Magister Tallyman wouldn't want to set a precedent for having to surrender a repaired Object of Power back to its original owners, particularly when they’d lost the sword over two hundred years ago. And yet, the blade was practically useless to anyone who didn't have a blood-tie to its original owner.

  “That sword is the long-lost Rubén Sword,” I said, suddenly too tired to be polite. “Did you know what it was?”