Twelve minutes remained.
Niko, currently leaning back in his chair, reflected that although he rarely felt sure about much anything, he could at least be confident of that. After all, the contraption glimmering peacefully high above his head was likely the most perfect timekeeper in the whole world.
An "armillary sphere" is the proper term for these things, though everyone at the Academy simply called it "The Ticker." It was an intricate mess of interlocking brass rings that represented planets, moons, major comets, or outer celestial spheres. It told you all astronomical information you could possibly need while working magic, the time included -- at least once you learned how to make sense of it all. And so it was now definitely thirty-five minutes past midnight.
True to its name, the mechanism discreetly filled the silence with delicate, slick ticks. Considering the weight of the whole setup (the outer rings a good twenty feet in diameter) it was astonishing how light that ticking was. And the thing wasn't even itself magical. It had all been carefully designed and crafted by meticulous silver-whiskered men in golden pince-nez, solely with the use of mathematics, metallurgy, and patience. This mechanism, suspended from the glass ceiling of the Great Conservatory of the Vallnord Academy, was quite deservedly famous nationwide.
And its ticking was now the only sound in this vast space... okay, not really. There was also the faint squeaking of Diane's pen.
Niko moved his eyes from the Ticker down to the girl seated across the table corner and absorbed in the pile of notes in front of her. Niko smiled. Every other student at the Academy, when focused on schoolwork, generally looked either worried or frustrated. But Diane, now as always, was calmly leaning forward in her chair, body in graceful, effortless balance, face partly covered by light blond hair -- hair that seemed almost silvery where it poured over her shoulder, against the stark black velvet of her uniform. A tiny dimple above her right eyebrow was just about the only thing that betrayed any mental effort on her part.
He yawned, cleared his throat, and looked around the Conservatory. In this great round room, all was very familiar: the marble floor with its pale colourful tiles; the heavy bookshelves; the walls and the ceiling, all plate glass on a cast iron skeleton. "Knowledge and Virtue," the school's motto, shined at him reliably in gilded all-caps from above the door. And yet the place felt alien. It simply shouldn't be this still. Of course, people would naturally default to a furtive silence when working here -- the cathedral-like acoustics demanded that -- but there is always a distinct sound to many people being quiet together. With nobody around, the reality of all things seemed eerily altered.
The Conservatory was always gas-lit, and with that light reflecting off the glass, Niko could see nothing of the early-spring landscape outside. All the world was obliterated beyond the mirror panes. He and Diane might as well be the last people on earth.
What a thought. He looked back at her. And this is when she lifted her eyes, their probing blue meeting his. Well, it looked like he now had to say something.
"Weird here, isn't it," he ventured.
"How so?" The tone of her voice matched her poise, a little remote and formal, though far from dismissive.
"I mean, the Conservatory. It's just so different so late at night."
She looked around. "Yes, I suppose so. I don't know, I'm kind of used to it."
"What, you mean you come here often? At this hour?"
"Not often, but sometimes. It's a good place to work."
He snorted. "Of course."
"Of course what?"
He gave her a grin which he hoped was charmingly mocking. "You're just the most perfect student in the entire Academy, aren't you?"
She tilted her head forward just a little bit, and produced a light smirk that he could only describe as gently condescending. Niko returned with a laugh, then stretched, stood up, and started pacing around. This was Diane for you. No matter how good or how terrible a joke you made, it was very difficult to make her laugh out -- or even show her teeth -- always just a stoic half-smile. But he liked her, actually. Sure, she was a little intimidating. When he had been accepted into the Academy, he'd felt like an impostor -- a talentless hack from a small town that had somehow lucked his way among the nation's most promising young magicians --until he gradually found out that everyone else felt pretty much the same way. Everyone except her -- nah, she was definitely in her right place, confident natural competence and like five generations of alumni hanging out in the branches of her family tree. To be honest he'd felt a pang of pride when she proposed they do this project together, in class the week before.
Presently she tossed her notebook aside. It glided on the table and stopped by the small stone bowl that was the reason of them being here at such dreadful hour. She glanced at Niko. He had left his uniform jacket tossed carelessly over his chair, leaving him in his white shirt. She watched it drape around his body as he stretched, pacing, with his back to her. He wasn't bulky really, but his body had a nice, healthy definition to it. He'd been on his school's five-a-side fireball team back in his hometown, he had mentioned that. Brown hair waved down almost to his shoulders. Diane's eyes narrowed, and she was suddenly deep in thought. She never could quite guess what was going on in his head. He was thoughtful, quiet, a little nervous. But he had this playful side to him too, surprisingly bright and upbeat when at ease. Who was he, really? Perhaps she could find out. That little contingency of hers... well, steady now. First -- she glanced at the Ticker; five minutes remained -- first, the midnight catalyst.
"Alright," she said, getting up, "let's get ready."
He walked back and stood by the table opposite from her. Right between them, in the middle of the table, stood the small stone bowl filled with coarse powder, ashen-red like dull cinders. It was a generic germinal powder, the kind that gardeners sprinkle on young plants to help with their growth. But more importantly, it was their trimester project for the Intermediate Alchemy class.
They had spent the better part of the last two days carefully grinding its ingredients, roasting them on a kerosene stove, blending them with the exact timing required. Now there it stood, almost ready. All it needed now was the catalyst.
See, you can't just mix together ingredients of a potion, powder, or any other magical compound, and just expect them to work -- that would be like stitching together an animal from leftover bits at your local butcher's and expecting it to trot off to the nearest pasture. No, obviously first you need to imbue your concoction with living magic. This magic you take from any object, being, or event with magical significance -- your catalyst -- and channel it in. The mind of a magician is the channelling agent. This is the bread and butter of most people in the industry. Also all this is really basic stuff that you have learned at school, I'm not sure why I'm dwelling on this.
A germinal powder, which acts on vital forces, obviously needs a vital catalyst -- which was a bit of a complication. Any sensible first-year student of the Vallnord Academy always picked something with a fire catalyst, and then went off to Zargyll, the fire demon that dwells in the basement under the kitchens, who would trade you a nice burst of magical flame for a bottle of methanol. But no, Diane insisted they do this thing instead. Because, she said, boring old germinal powder belongs to a broader class of allaying materials, substances which help overcome obstructions to potential, which ease out hidden energies of living things; and is therefore a springboard into things which are not boring at all. Oh well.
Fortunately, if you don't mind skimping on sleep, there is a broadly available catalyst which can be channelled for vital magic -- and that is good, old, reliable midnight. Humans have always sensed its power. When life is at its stillest, when the sky is at its blackest, when your world turns its back on the sun and faces the ageless void -- that's when you do magic, vital or otherwise.
Just don't go by the clock. These new-fangled time zones that put entire countries on the same hour are as relevant to midnight as meridians are to mountain ranges. The actual midnight over the Vallnord Academy is at 0:47 local time. The Ticker can tell you that, too.
This time had now come. Diane nodded, and closed her eyes. Niko followed suit.
Alright:
Loosen your muscles. Imagine that the crown of your head is hanging from a string. Relax your breath. Feel your awareness expand. Sense and note the bowl of powder on the table. Expand, root yourself, let the mind glide over the marble floor, beyond the glass walls, into the night... feel its chill. Feel the movement of the world. This is ancient magic, and very strong. You can sense it easily. Midnight, the witching hour, the solar nadir. Familiar sensation builds up. Magical energy surges all around you. The tide comes. Now feel the power build up inside you, accumulate, and... falter.
