“Well, dear boys and girls, that was the first school day of this week all ready. Time flies on wings of speed, to paraphrase our angry young rock poet Paul Weller.” The default chuckle that accompanies all Perkins’ “funny” remarks is drowned out by the murmur of voices, closing bags and shuffling feet.
“There we go,” Gnat mutters while locking his leather CEO-style brief case, but before he can take two steps, mister Perkins intervenes.
“No, no, no. Misters Monteque and Stanislav and misses N’godo and Kwintens, I’m afraid you’ll have to stay a little longer. I believe you all have an appointment with mister Scroptz? You’ll be called one at a time, so please sit down.”
All four of us sink back into our chairs, restlessness tingling beneath our skin, but before I can think of something to kill the time with, there's a knock on the door. A man in a blue uniform asks if Charles Monteque would be so kind as to follow him. Gnat gets up and walks to the door with his best I-think-you’re-a-neo-fascist-pig expression on his face. He doesn’t return.
After what feels like an eternity, the same man in uniform comes to get Shadow. She seems unimpressed, but I know better. She flickers like a lightbulb about to go out. Once she’s gone, time seems to crawl even slower. I glance quickly at Slug, gesturing to ask if he’s messing with time, but he only shakes his head.
Finally, Slug moves in slow motion toward the door, leaving me alone. Involuntarily, I wonder if it’s a coincidence that I’m the last. Am I the main course? I try to shake off the wild variety of doom-filled scenarios that keep flooding my mind, until there’s finally a knock on the door for me. I quickly get up and leave the classroom without acknowledging Perkins.
When we arrive at Scroptz's office, the man in uniform spins expertly on his heel, performing a well-practiced move, and leaves me without a word. I take a deep breath, straighten my back, lift my head, push the door open, and step inside. To my surprise, the office is so dark that I can hardly see my own hand. I hesitate. What is the meaning of this? But then, with a soft ‘click’, a sharp-edged ellipse of light is projected onto the desk in front of me, vaguely revealing the round shape of Scroptz in the chair behind it. Although his head remains outside the light cone, his eyes glow ominously in the darkness. When I cautiously approach, a strange crunching sound comes from under my shoes. I have no idea what it is, but it doesn't sound good. After I’ve lowered myself into the chair in front of the desk, the lamp is suddenly turned straight into my face.
“Hey! Is that necessary?” My eyes start to water, but I refuse to look away.
“The more honest you are, the faster this will be over, Kwintens. Your friends sang like little birds.”
"Bluff," I think. I can’t imagine Scroptz could have done anything to force my friends to talk. This is a school, and a school has rules, doesn’t it...? But then I see the clock on the desk. The hour hand moves backward at a tremendous speed, while the second hand crawls extremely slowly the other way around.
Slug must have been freaking out.
“Have a sip of water, Kwintens.” What now? Is he playing good cop/bad cop all by himself? I glance around for a glass but see nothing.
“Go on,’ he encourages. “It’s right in front of you.” Slowly, I stretch out my hand and cautiously fumble around, feeling really stupid. But then I feel something cold, smooth, and round. My fingers close around it. A glass—an invisible glass. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I also notice that a whole third of the desk to my left seems to have disappeared.
“With compliments from your colonial friend,” Scroptz adds with a grim smile. “She’s not only the toughest of the four of you, but she’s also the most talented. Pity she can only use her full potential when she’s scared to death.” I swallow hard. No good cop, bad cop. Only bad cop. He’s trying to make a point. And suddenly, I realize why it’s so dark in here and what caused the crunching sound under my shoes. Gnat must have exploded all the light bulbs. Scroptz must have screwed in a new bulb just before I entered.
“Where are they?! If anything’s happened to them, then—”
“Yes, Kwintens, then what? What is it that you can do? I wonder. What’s your talent? Are you anything more than an ordinary cheat? Why have your files—and those of your friends—vanished from the archive? Why did the vice-principal protect you? Some of us think you’re the new messiah, our savior destined to become a legend. But I know better. I will prove to them all what a fraud you really are. So save yourself the embarrassment. I know you had the list. Roberto isn’t exactly a genius, but he’s just not smart enough to be a convincing liar. His account of what happened last Friday is muddled and confusing, but he insists it’s the truth—and I believe him.”
His eyes gleam maliciously in the dark contour of his head. But I say nothing. I must keep my mouth shut. I must keep my mouth shut. I must…
“Well, well, I didn’t know self-control was part of your skill set. Let’s see how long you can keep this up. You’re simply not in the same league as your mother. She possessed not only an extraordinarily strong will but also an immensely well-developed talent. She was admirable in every way, whereas you are just like your father—a spineless failure whose only notable achievement was somehow managing to seduce your mother. What a waste. Things could have turned out so differently..."
“And you think you would have been a better match?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I bite my tongue, but it’s already too late. I've broken my silence, and there’s no turning back now. Once you say A, you have to say B. That’s not Gran’s rule, it’s mine. So, B it is. “And why would she choose a sadistic, power-hungry tyrant over a normal, decent guy, even if he has no powers?” Am I actually defending my father? Scroptz’s eyes shoot fire now.
“Your father? No talent? What a joke! He had plenty of talent. What he lacked was character.”
This catches me off guard completely. My father? Talented? What kind of talent? Nah, he’s just trying to confuse me.
“My father is useless. He sits in a wheelchair, for Christ’s sake.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter what you think or believe, does it? The list, Kwintens. Now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Be careful, Kwintens, when your friends tried to deny it, I made them regret it. They talked until my ears nearly fell off, when I was done with them.”
Bluff. It has to be a bluff. He couldn’t have forced them, right? He’s a teacher for Christ sake. There are rules. But... I’m not so sure anymore.
“I’ll give you one more chance, Kwintens.”
“Or what?”
“Or this.”
Suddenly, clamps spring out of the armrests and legs of my chair, binding me so tightly that I can barely move.
“Hey… what the…”
“Ah, yes, the chair. I made a few modifications. My ‘guests’ always try to escape my office at some point and we can’t have that, can we?”
“Is this official school policy now? Or are you just paying tribute to the Middle Ages? What’s next? Torture?” I shoot back, desperately trying to make it sound like a joke.
“I have a talent too, Kwintens. It's not like most others—I can't manipulate an element. Mine is more of an instinct. I not only instinctively understand how even the most advanced weapons work, but I can also turn ordinary household objects into lethal tools. Call it intuition. Right here on this desk, I’ve got a stapler, a roll of adhesive tape, and a hole punch. Imagine what I could do with those.”
Scroptz picks up the stapler, pushes his chair back, and starts walking around the desk toward me. I begin to struggle against the clamps, but they only tighten further. I shut my eyes, bracing myself for things to come, for a few long moments nothing happens, and then...
“Fire,” Scroptz whispers with a low excited voice. “Of course. A toddler's talent—how typical.”
When my eyes shoot open, it takes a second to realize that I’m surrounded by flames. The chair, with me in it, is ablaze. I didn’t even mean to do it, but I’m happy I did. If I have to burn down this entire office to free myself, so be it. Can be any moment now. I just need to wait until the chair is damaged enough and falls apart. But… that doesn’t happen. The flames rise higher and higher, but somehow, the chair remains unscathed. Scroptz watches me with a triumphant smile on his face.
"This is a school full of untrained children with devastating talents, Kwintens. Talents that can flare up in a multitude of destructive ways at any moment. Did you really think this office wasn’t prepared for every eventuality? Especially fire? Fire is nothing but a nuisance." He eyes the chair. "Glad it still works. I rarely have to use it. Most kids with a fire talent don’t make it past four years old—they literally burn out. Maybe you’ve got more grit than I thought. No matter, let’s stop this now.” He presses a button on his desk, and immediately, the flames die down. My breathing grows labored. I start to pant.
"A small innovation of mine. I won't bore you with the technical details, but I've installed a device that allows me to control the air circulation in this office with remarkable precision. So precise that I can cause a lack of oxygen exactly where you sit. And what is fire without oxygen? What are you without oxygen?!"
“I... I...” I stammer, gasping for air.
“First, turn off those flames, Kwintens.”
I try but I can’t. No control. Never had. I'm choking. My eyes roll back and everything goes black.
When I open my eyes again, the flames are gone. I’m no longer tied down, and somehow it is night. Even with my eyes swimming, I can recognize stars twinkling against the deep, dark sky through the high windows.
In front of the classroom Scroptz faces someone. I try to focus... The vice-principal? His usual chilling arrogance seems to have disappeared as he looms over the small figure in the gray suit before him. Though he's seething and nearly twice her size, she appears completely unimpressed.
“... And when were you planning to tell me all of this, Maät? If Roberto hadn’t come to me, I would still be in the dark. Does Mastro even know?”
“Peter, more and more you’re starting to resemble a puffed up frog. You know full well I will only inform the rector when I have something concrete to present to him. What happens inside the school is my responsibility.” She watches with a hint of amusement as his round cheeks puff up in frustration before he finally manages to respond.
"But this has gone beyond the school, hasn’t it? We can’t keep it a secret much longer. These kids go home. They tell stories."
"After centuries of this, I know how to assess someone, Peter—especially someone as transparent as Maxime Kwintens. She won’t speak."
"Still, she managed to surprise even you," he snorts indignantly. "I don’t like any of this, and I’m not the only one. Students doing things even we can’t? How on earth were they able to enter that classroom? What’s Kwant up to? This reeks of treason. He should be executed on the spot."
The vice-principal nods. "Maybe you’re right. This whole thing may be a mistake, but it's my mistake to make. My decision is final. Maxime Kwintens and her friends will get the assignment to get the list out of that classroom. Roberto’s efforts over the past few months have brought nothing but chaos and an overwhelming amount of destruction that I’ve had to clean up. If those four can get into that classroom, I will let them. I need that list. Something’s wrong, and it’s our only chance to figure out what.
She walks toward the door, but before stepping out, she turns back. "Almost forgot to mention, Roberto and his friends are working for me now." When the door closes behind her, Scroptz cries out in pure frustration.
The office blurs, but now I at least know where, or rather, when I am. This must be right before Scroptz send me out of class, and before the vice-principal ordered me to retrieve the list.
The office comes back into focus and again I see the vice-principal and Scroptz facing each other. This time, however, it looks completely different. The vice-principal leans heavily on the desk. Her right foot hangs limp from her pant leg, her suit is torn, one sleeve of her jacket is completely missing.
"There’s something wrong, Peter. The list has been tampered with, though that should be impossible. It turns out Roberto Pugno wasn’t working for me after all." Suddenly, she looks up. "Tell me it wasn’t you? I need to be sure."
"Maät, do I really need to answer that? You removed him from my service yourself, and you know I don’t have the authority to overrule you. Regrettably, I have to say. Things might have turned out much better. No, I haven’t spoken with Roberto since our last... ‘meeting.’"
"Then, there’s only one other possibility,” she almost whispers. “I think you’ll be promoted very soon, Peter. Congratulations. ” She turns to leave but suddenly, as if conjured out of nowhere, Scroptz holds a long, ancient-looking knife in each hand. Where did those come from?
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Maät. I will have to bring you to him.”
With a well-trained move, the knives twist in his hands as his arms move downward with lightning speed, releasing them both. The distance to the vice-principal is short. She doesn’t stand a chance. That’s to say, if the knives had actually left his hands. But they didn’t. They are frozen, along with his hands, in a thick layer of ice. The vice-principal smiles a little sad smile. “Your arrogance has always been such an obvious flaw, Peter. Forgive me that I don’t stay. No need to escort me to the door, I’ll see myself out.’
Hopping on one foot, she heads toward the door. Scroptz wants to go after her, but only then does he realize his feet are also secured in a block of ice. For the second time, a frustrated scream escapes his lips as she closes the door behind her.
The sharp odor of something burning hits my nose. My eyes roll back, and when I open them again, I’m staring Scroptz right in the eyes. His face not only contorted with anger but also marked with astonishment.
“How… how did you do this, Kwintens?”
Confused, I look around. Somehow, I’ve ended up on the ground, amidst the charred remains of the chair and only now I notice that Scroptz is holding a fire extinguisher. I’m covered in foam.
“How are you able to burn so fiercely with so little oxygen? Any less and you would have suffocated—and I have explicit orders to keep you alive. Regretfully.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, you sadist,” I groan as I scramble back to my feet. “But I don’t want to stay here a second longer.”
“Yes, go, Kwintens. Go to your sorry friends. This is only the beginning.” However badly I want to leave, I still have some dignity left. So, I suppress the urge to run and walk to the door, head held high, expecting a knife in my back at any moment. But it doesn’t come.
Only when I’ve closed the door behind me do I start running to the exit to find Gnat, Shadow, and Slug at the bike shed, where we agreed to meet.
“I didn’t tell anything, Firehead,” Gnat starts.
“Whatever he may have told you. I swear—”
Finally, I succeed in what Shadow does so effortlessly—I stop him mid-sentence with just a gesture. Maybe it’s because smoke is still rising from my clothes, maybe because I’m covered from head to toe in foam, but probably it’s because, for the first time in a long time, I’m convinced of what we need to do.
“Tonight,” I say.
“Are you sure?” Shadow asks.
“Very sure. Every moment we wait is a moment wasted.” All four of us are silent. No protests, no discussion, no resistance. Gnat nods, and Shadow simply states matter of factly: “I’ve figured out the guards’ patrol schedules.”