Mum rested her hand on my shoulder. “It will be fine,” she repeated. “You never know. It might all blow over.”
“Hah,” Alana muttered.
Dad gave her a sharp look. “Tensions are rising all over,” he said. “It may be time for another House War.”
I sipped my tea, sitting back in my chair as Dad passed around the cakes and Mum made a valiant effort to talk of other things. Taking tea was a long-established tradition, but now ... the sweet pastries tasted like ashes in my mouth, again. I told Mum about my potions discovery and she listened carefully, offering a handful of comments. She’d have told me at once, I was sure, if she knew I was barking up the wrong tree. Unless it was something I could have learned from a book ...
“I wish we could stay longer,” Dad said, as the dinner bell rang. I hadn't even been aware of time passing. “But ... we have to go.”
He stood. “Alana, learn to feel as well as think,” he said. “Bella, learn to think as well as feel. And Cat ... remember that the three of you are sisters and your parents love you very much.”
I felt a lump in my throat. “Dad ...”
“Alana, Bella, we will see you again,” Dad continued. “Cat, I want a private word with you.”
I expected Alana to say something, but she was quiet as Mum escorted Bella and her out of the room. I could tell Alana was bothered, even though she was trying hard not to show it. We’d been children. We were still children. But we had to grow up.
“I’m disturbed by the report about you being threatened by older students,” Dad said, sinking back into his chair. “I hope you are protected?”
“I have some protections,” I said, carefully. “But ...”
I met his eyes. “Should I be forging Objects of Power for Robin and his friends?”
Dad frowned. “Ideally, no,” he said. “But they’re not likely to forget your talents, are they?”
It took me a moment to realise he meant House Rubén. “Will they demand I be handed over to them?”
“If they win, perhaps,” Dad said. “But ... I told you. Your mere existence changes the balance of power.”
“Until they find another Zero,” I reminded him.
“There doesn't seem to be one in the city,” Dad told me. “If there’s one to be found in Tintagel, he or she will be in the countryside.”
He looked up at me. “I’d take you with me now, Cat, except Jude’s is likely to be safer than the Hall,” he admitted. “I wish ...”
“It isn't your fault,” I told him.
Dad shook his head. “Here,” he said, reaching into his briefcase. “This belonged to Anna the Artificer. I was going to give it to you for your sixteenth birthday ... I wasn’t sure if you’d get a Season or not, but you’d definitely get something. It may come in handy now.”
He pulled his hand out, revealing an old manuscript. “Alana and Bella have some of their inheritance put aside for them already, just in case,” he added. “You too. If we lose - and lose badly - you won’t be destitute. But this ... this is something I thought I should give to you in person.”
I took the manuscript, very carefully. It was written in New Script, rather than Old Script, but it felt old. Someone had drawn a handful of preservation runes around the cover, but it still felt dusty against my bare fingertips. The charm for infinite pages seemed oddly frayed, even though it was still working. Inside, there were dozens of diagrams of Objects and Devices of Power, annotated in a neat feminine hand. Some of them were familiar, others ... others were new. I’d never seen anything like them.
It dawned on me, in a moment of insight, just what the manuscript had to be. “This is Anna the Artificer’s notebook, isn't it? Her private notebook.”
“Yes,” Dad said. “It was put into storage after her death, along with the workbench I gave to you. Now ... you might be the first person who can actually turn some of her dreams into reality.”
I met his eyes. “I will see you again, won’t I?”
“I hope so,” Dad said. He looked back at me, evenly. “But I can't make any promises.”
I lowered my eyes, suddenly unable to look at him. I wanted him to lie to me, to promise that it would all be fine, but I knew he wouldn’t. There were things Dad had never told me, and things he’d never known, yet ... he’d never lied to me. Even now, when a comforting lie might be better than the truth, he wouldn't lie to me.
Tears started to prickle at the corner of my eyes. Dad reached for a handkerchief and held it out to me. I took it and wiped my eyes, hating myself for being so weak. I’d taken Alana’s torments - and the humiliations of being powerless - in my stride, if only because I’d known that crying only made it worse, but now ... it was suddenly very hard to breathe.
Dad leaned forward and hugged me, gently. I hugged him back. I didn't want to let go. But I knew I had no choice.
“There’s one other thing I need to tell you.” Dad’s tone was regretful, but firm. “And it’s important.”
I looked up, warily. “What?”
“You have been spending a great deal of time with Akin of House Rubén,” Dad said. I knew what he was going to say before he said it. “I want you to stay away from him.”
“Dad ...”
“I know you think he’s a friend,” Dad said. “And you’ve been through a lot together. But right now, his family is the enemy. I will have to respond to their provocations soon, which will make them either raise the stakes or back down. And Carioca Rubén is not known for backing down.”
I stared. Akin was a friend. One of the only two friends I had. Dad couldn't mean it, could he? Akin wasn't Isabella. He wasn’t!
“Dad ...”
“I mean it,” Dad cautioned. “Don’t defy me on this, Cat. Stay away from Akin.”
Chapter Seventeen
“And so ... ah ... you will read chapters fourteen and fifteen for your homework,” Magister Von Rupert informed us. His beady eyes flicked around the classroom. “You will be tested on the material next week in class.”
I groaned, inwardly, as my stomach grumbled in protest. I’d been too upset to go to lunch, after my parents had left, and this was the result. I should have eaten, but ... there was no food. I had some cakes and sweets stashed away in the dorm, yet how could I go there before the next class? I simply didn't have time.
And I don’t want to be late for forging, I thought. My stomach rumbled again. Maybe if I ran to the dining hall before going to the workroom ... I might just make it. Unless I got spotted by a bad-tempered upperclassman. I’ll be writing lines all evening ...
“Magister Grayson will take you down to the gardens to test your spells,” Magister Von Rupert added. He looked at me. “Caitlyn, you will remain behind.”
I nodded slowly as the rest of the class stood and headed for the door. I was used to it by now, but it still felt strange to watch them go. There was no point in me taking the practical side of the class, yet ... I felt excluded. Some of them probably thought I was lucky, getting out of the class. Magister Grayson was one of the strictest teachers in Jude’s. But it came with a high price.
“Come into my office,” Magister Von Rupert ordered, once the door was closed. “And bring your notebook with you.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, standing. I’d liked Magister Von Rupert’s office, the last time I’d seen it. “I ...”
My stomach made another sound of protest. I gritted my teeth, determined not to show weakness. And yet, how could I concentrate? Magister Von Rupert made up for my lack of practicals by giving me theoretical questions a year or two ahead of the rest of the class. I was going to fail and fail badly. I stood and walked after him, entering the office with great care. There were stacks of manuscripts, scrolls and loose sheets of paper everywhere. The room was meant to be bigger than my bedroom back home, but there was so little space to manoeuvre that it looked a lot smaller.
“Ah ... take a seat,” Magister Von Rupert ordered, as he picked his way through a small mountain of manuscrip
ts. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
I looked around. There were only two visible chairs, one of which was clearly a teacher’s chair. The other was playing host to a vast pile of books. I wondered if I was meant to sit on the floor as I studied the pile. Magister Von Rupert wouldn't be happy if I moved the books, certainly not without permission. The office might be messy enough to give Mum a heart attack, but I was fairly sure Magister Von Rupert knew where everything was. I certainly hoped he knew where everything was.
“I ... ah ... showed you this before,” Magister Von Rupert said, returning. He held out a dusty scroll. “Ah ... unfortunately, you and I did not have time to study it.”
I took the scroll and carefully unfolded it as he cleared a space on the desk. It felt crackly against my fingers, as if the slightest mistake would be enough to damage it beyond hope of repair. There would be preservation spells, of course, but they wouldn't last indefinitely. I was fairly certain that someone should have made a copy - or a few hundred copies - a very long time ago.
The diagram was exactly as I remembered, the school’s wards focused around an Object of Power. It was an impressive piece of work, all the more so as the school had expanded in all directions long after the Object of Power had been forged. The wards might be having problems now, but compared to some of the problems other schools had had ...
I frowned as a thought occurred to me. “Did the people who built Jude’s also build Magus Court?”
“Ah ... they might have been,” Magister Von Rupert told me. His fingers traced a line on the parchment, pointing out the handful of illegible signatures. “The two buildings were ... ah ... certainly built at roughly the same time. I think they wanted Jude’s to be some distance from the centre of Shallot.”
We bent our heads over the parchment and studied it, carefully. It had been impressive before, but - knowing what I did now - it was all the more impressive. Whoever had forged the Object of Power had been a very skilled craftsman. I’d assumed that the Object of Power produced and channelled magic, but it actually drew on the magic field to power the school’s wards. No wonder it had proven so tolerant when the school started to expand ...
And no wonder we’re finally running into problems now, I added, silently. The spellform was perfect. The simple fact that the Object of Power was still working was proof enough of that. But it was also having problems supplying power to a far larger school. Every demand weakens the local magic field that much further.
“We’re currently having problems routing power through the wards,” Magister Von Rupert said, stiffly. “We may have to replace the Object of Power entirely.”
I blinked in surprise. “You want me to forge a new one?”
“Eventually, yes,” Magister Von Rupert said. “Until then ... I want you to check the spells and determine if there's anything we can do as a short-term measure.”
He reached for a hall pass. “Go fetch your cloak, then meet me by the statue of Magister Farnham,” he added, as he gave me the pass. “We’ll be going under the school.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, not bothering to conceal my excitement. It was better than magic theory any day. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Ah ... ten will be sufficient,” Magister Von Rupert said. “But make sure you bring your cloak!”
I nodded and hurried out of the room, keeping the hall pass in one hand. There would be prowling upperclassmen who’d wonder, quite rightly, why a lowerclassman was out of class between bells. If I didn't have the pass ... I scowled at the thought of being dragged back to the classroom by my ear. I’d seen it happen, once. And the teacher had not been amused.
The dorm was empty when I entered. I pulled on my spectacles and peered through them, noting the array of protective spells surrounding the beds. Everyone, even Rose, had been warding their beds as thoroughly as possible. I didn't blame them, either. The school was on a knife-edge. It felt as though the slightest misstep would trigger a bloodbath.
I sat down on the bed and rummaged through my trunk for the cakes. Henry had baked them specially for me, after my true talents had been revealed. I had wondered, at the time, if it was a form of apology. Henry and the other lesser family had never really liked my powerless self. They’d seen me as a family embarrassment. Or worse, perhaps. They were family, yet they were also servants ...
The cakes were sweet, sweet enough to make my teeth ache. I ate them anyway, then scooped up my cloak and headed for the door. It wasn't much, and I’d have to try to cadge a snack before forging class, but it would have to do. I promised myself that I’d pick up a few sandwiches or something for later use - the spells on the trunk would keep them fresh - as I hurried down the stairs and along the corridors. Magister Von Rupert was standing next to the statue, looking faintly ridiculous in a cloak that had gone out of fashion when my father was a little boy. I resisted the urge to smile. I didn't think genius cared for such little details.
“Very good,” Magister Von Rupert said, when I arrived. “Let us ... ah ... be off.”
He pressed his hand against the wall beside the statue, which slowly opened to reveal a dusty passageway. I opened my eyes wide in surprise. I’d known the school was riddled with secret passages, some more secret than others, but I’d never realised there was one here. I hastily redesigned the map of the school in my head. If there was a passage here, then ...
Magister Von Rupert led me down a long corridor, coughing slightly as our footsteps kicked up dust. I looked from side to side as I followed, studying the runes someone had carved into the stone wall. There was no apparent source of light, as far as I could tell, yet I could see without spells. The light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. I gritted my teeth as the passage sloped downhill sharply, heading into the bowels of the earth. The floor felt slippery under my feet.
I cleared my dry throat. “What is this place?”
“It used to be one of the maintenance tunnels, once upon a time.” Magister Von Rupert sounded hoarse. “It was turned into a power conduit, then sealed off. That was back when I was a young man.”
Ouch, I thought. It was impossible to imagine Magister Von Rupert as a young man. He was older than Great Aunt Stregheria. Did no one ever come down here since then?
“The tunnels are regularly inspected,” Magister Von Rupert said, when I asked. “But it’s difficult to actually perform any repair work without damaging the entire network.”
I nodded, slowly, as the tunnel opened up into a vast chamber, deep below the school. A single Object of Power hung in the centre of the room, suspended on invisible strings and glowing with a dull red light. It looked like a hovering crystal, pulsing with power, but ... I peered closer, noting how the glow obscured the details. The more I looked, the more I saw spinning wheels and strips of metal, moving around the core like planets around a sun. It reminded me of the Object of Power I’d built to produce a flying machine, but ... far more complex. It seemed to be bigger on the inside than on the outside.
A hand caught my shoulder. I jumped.
“Don’t go too close,” Magister Von Rupert warned. “You really have to be careful where you put your feet.”
I peered at the floor. The Object of Power nestled at the centre of an endlessly-repeating network of carved circles ... a power distribution network, I realised dully. An Object of Power distribution network. I’d never seen anything like it. The wards protecting my family’s home were different, very different. They were Devices of Power, not Objects of Power. I allowed my gaze to wander around the chamber, slowly noting how the workmanship had changed over the years. The later forgers hadn't known how to make best use of the Object of Power. They’d simply tried to tap the raw power in the chamber.
We shuffled around the outer edge of the carved circles, careful not to touch them. I had no idea what would happen if so much raw power was discharged into us, but I doubted it would be pleasant. I’d heard horror stories from the Desolation - men and women warped into monsters by raw
magic - that had chilled me to the bone. But then, I’d also read horror stories about the Eternal City.
And yet none of us were harmed when we went there, I thought. But we didn't go anywhere near the heart of the city.
“We need to make modifications here and here,” Magister Von Rupert said. He sounded firmer, now. “We’ve calculated that it should be possible.”
He held out a small notebook. I glanced at it automatically, trying to follow the work. It was years ahead of anything I’d done, even when I’d been working with Dad. I thought it made sense - a workable spell diagram was always understandable - but there were aspects I wasn't sure I followed. And ...
I swallowed, hard, as I realised the problem. Magister Von Rupert didn't know - he couldn't know - how the Object of Power really worked. He’d assumed that the problem lay in the power conduits. A logical assumption, I thought, but incorrect. The real problem was that the Object of Power tapped the magic field ... and the magic field was growing weaker. A chill ran down my spine as I considered the implications. How long would it be before the students above us could no longer do magic?
The Zero Equation (The Zero Enigma Book 3) Page 17
