The office exudes the grandeur of a long-gone glorious era—an era when, from rooms like this, the seven seas were ruled and continents were conquered.
The century-old furniture has been polished so thoroughly that it shines, even in the faint light of the street lanterns filtering through the ornate, five-meter-high windows.
The voice of the tall, dark figure in the high leather chair behind the monumental desk doesn’t need volume or sarcasm to command authority. It ís authority. He addresses three miniature silhouettes, neatly arranged on his computer screen.
“This has gone on for far too long now.”
Although they shift restlessly, the silhouettes in the neatly arranged boxes on Mastro’s screen remain silent, and he has no issue allowing the silence to stretch uncomfortably long.”
“Well, alright then.” he finally says with a soft sigh. “You, Tobias—what happened tonight?”
“Eh... Mastro... first, I have to say... that break in... I’m shocked. It wasn’t my responsibility, of course, but...” He struggles to finish his sentence.
Before he can embarrass himself further, Mastro interrupts. “I know exactly whose responsibility it was, Tobias. That’s not what I asked.” Though Mastro’s voice is almost soothing, Tobias shoots up as if jolted by an electric shock and begins rambling at breakneck speed. It only makes one thing clear: he is utterly terrified.
"Reckless first-years, Mastro. You know how they are... well, of course you do. They have no idea how seriously we take the security of this school. There are always a few who dare to do something foolish... Hahaha, the things you do when you're young. They’ve surely learned their lesson by now." His laugh is uncomfortably high. "So, I don’t think we need to take any further action. Though, repairing the lock on that door is necessary, of course. Strange we didn’t catch that during the last inspection and—"
"That’s enough, Tobias, thank you." Tobias stops mid-sentence. "Interesting... reckless first-years, you say."
"But Mastro, I—"
"I heard you, Tobias. It's alright." His eyes shift to the next box on the screen. "Charles?"
The answer booms hard and low out of the speakers. "Obviously, I hold a different opinion, Mastro. I think this is quite serious." Despite the pompous and self-assured tone, there's a nervous, high-pitched squeak at the edges of his voice. The pauses between his sentences are unnaturally long, as though he’s seeking approval. Mastro, however, gives no indication of his thoughts or whether he approves.
"A prank, as my “friend” Tobias suggests, doesn't explain how they could have evaded our security teams. Those men are so well-trained they could defeat a small army—they are a small army. Something unexpected must have occurred, something they weren't prepared for, despite all their training. Something... they lacked the imagination for, perhaps. If we knew what that was, we could develop a plan that..."
"Thank you, Charles. There’s some truth in what you say, but not enough. At a defining moment like this, I would have expected you to contribute more." The silhouette of Charles seemed to shrink to half its size as Mastro's gaze shifted to the last box. "Charlotte, you then."
"Yes, Mastro. I believe we have no choice but to conclude that it has begun. All signs point in the same direction, and I think it’s irreversible. The time for stealth and secrecy is over." Although her voice is soft, Charlotte doesn’t seem as afraid as the other two, who appeared to shrink even further.
"Your assessment of tonight’s events is spot on," Mastro agreed. "It doesn’t surprise me that you're the only one willing to tell it like it is. Gentlemen, I truly don’t understand why you failed to reach the same conclusion. We’ve been preparing for this moment for centuries."
"But Mastro, isn’t it possible that…" booms the second screen.
“Leave it, Charles. I don’t have time for your evasive tactics.” His voice is unwaveringly calm, but now carries an icy edge.
“Charlotte, what was the most significant observation you made this morning?”
“Where to begin, Mastro? So many things. Most importantly, it seems we’ve witnessed the resurrection of a Key Keeper.” Protests erupted from the other two screens. “I agree, it sounds unlikely,” she continues, “but it's the only way to explain how half a corridor opened into another dimension and we can only hope Williams will be able to undo that before the first lessons begin this morning.”
“A Key Keeper?” rumbles Charles's voice softly but defiantly. “… that means there has to be a key! That’s impossible…”
“Let her finish, Charles,” Charles falls immediately silent again.
“Well, Mastro, it must have been a freshman or an older student new to the school, otherwise the Key Keeper would have been activated earlier. It’s hard to imagine, though. This year's talents seemed mediocre at best.”
Finally, Tobias gathers enough courage to squeak an objection in a shrill, high-pitched voice. "But we followed the exact same procedures as always. We never faltered and we found nothing. Nothing! Of course, we had our eye on a few students who seem to have some promise, but up until now, there was no reason to think any of them could cause something like this."
"I have to agree, Tobias," Mastro acknowledges. "This year turned out to be extremely disappointing. Only that African girl seemed to have some mastery over her talent."
"That’s what we all thought, Mastro," Charlotte pitches in, "but tonight, there was something even more troubling than the disappearance of the corridor: the puddle of vomit. History recounts only one other instance of a revelation that provoked such a strong physical reaction. 457 years ago, it resulted in a gruesome witch hunt." Tobias’s squeaking protest now sounded higher than a dog whistle. "No, no, no, that’s absurd! It’s pure speculation. That corridor could have disappeared in a multitude of ways, and that vomit... it’s just youth, too much to drink. It’s—"
"You’re leaving out one crucial fact," Charlotte interrupts. "He or she was not alone, and that makes this situation unique. Normally, keys are extremely solitary. A key that gets help from others is unheard of. This is serious, and we need to treat it seriously."
"I agree, Charlotte, and I will." A fourth small screen flickers to life beside the other three. In it appears a round silhouette, thin strands of hair standing in every direction. A venomous hiss escapes the other three, even from Charlotte.
"What is he doing here?"}
"He doesn’t belong here!"
"He only wants one thing!"
The new person doesn’t seem deterred by this hostile reception, nor does Mastro.
“What do you think, Peter? Do we have a key on our hands?”
“It could well be, Mastro, but it's not my area of expertise. The mere fact that this person—or persons—managed to mislead our elite corps is alarming. That alone warrants decisive action.”
“Extermination, you mean,” Tobias scoffs shrilly.
“Ausradieren!” Charles rumbles darkly. “Why don’t you call it what it is, like your great role model from the last world war?”
“Gentlemen, restrain yourselves. There’s no use quarreling in a time of crisis. Remember, we all have the same goal, even if we disagree on the methods. I’m not inclined to use force lightly, but I’d rather use a small amount of violence now if it can prevent greater force later. The signals are too clear, and the consequences too far-reaching.” Then, turning to the fourth box: “Peter, do what you have to do.” Peter’s silhouette responds with barely concealed excitement.
“As you wish, Mastro. I’ve already taken precautionary actions. Consider them eliminated.” His screen fades to black. The others remain silent as Mastro wraps up the conversation and unceremoniously dismisses them. “That’s all. You can go now.”
Once all the screens have extinguished, the room is completely dark again. Mastro sits motionless in his regal chair for another minute or two, thoughtfully bringing his fingertips together. After a while, he glances at the clock and slowly rises from his seat. If his calculations are correct, he’ll still be on time.