Everything hisses, cracks, and rustles. Everything breaks and crumbles at the lightest touch. Even sound itself seems to have slowed down in the intense cold. Fred's attack was explosive and devastating, but also very brief. It was over almost before it started, the moment the vice-principal intervened, hard, decisive and mercilessly.
Fascinated, I look at him—his arms still raised but now trapped in a massive block of ice. Can he still breathe like this? I wonder. Or is breathing unnecessary at such low temperatures, like the astronauts in science fiction movies who are put into cryo-sleep to travel to stars light-years away without aging? I've never been sure whether that concept is more ‘science’ or more ‘fiction’.
Involuntarily, I groan as I try to get up. I'm sore and stiff, but to my surprise, otherwise unhurt. When I finally dare to turn back to the vice-principal, her mummy-like appearance seems to reveal her true age. Her dehydrated, parched features also betray that she’s in pain. Neutralizing Fred must have nearly killed her. What really shocks me, however, are her eyes. They show no anger or arrogance—only grief. Century-old, heart-wrenching, deep grief.
When she speaks, her voice sounds broken and saturated with loss. “Betrayal is an unbearable thing, Max, but to be betrayed by someone you’ve embraced like your own brother—that’s truly unbearable.” The fact that she calls me “Max” instead of “Maxime” gives her words an unexpected intimacy.
Suddenly, I feel a surge of empathy for this tiny shriveled woman, dressed in her immaculate three-piece suit, at least four sizes too big now. Her spectacles lie carelessly on her desk, now her nose gone.
"Eh... I know the feeling, miss. I have…” But before I can finish my sentence, I realize how inadequate my own experience must seem compared to hers. Still, it brings a smile to her face. A skull that laughs—it’s unexpectedly moving.
“That’s sweet of you, Max. That’s also your father: empathy. Always wanting to help.” For a moment, her eyes lose focus. “You have no idea how much I admire him. Everyone makes sacrifices, but some make more than others. Like your parents. Yes, your mother too, but she is not as much loving as she is determined. She just hates losing.” For once, I let the unwanted reference to my parents slide.
We both stare at the enormous lump of ice with Fred trapped inside. For a brief moment we are silent, but then, with a sudden sense of urgency, she says, “It’s time to go, Max. I thought this whole list business would be over by now, but it isn’t. On the contrary, it’s only just beginning.”
I look up in surprise. “Not over? But you have the list. That’s what it was all about, right?”
“I thought so too,” she replies. “This list is so old and magical that everyone involved in its creation passed on centuries ago. It’s supposed to be infallible. Still, as it turns out now, someone has tampered with it. Names have been removed and shifted around. There’s only one person I can think of who may have the power to do this, and if that’s true, it’s not only a personal disaster for me but a catastrophe for the world.” She looks me straight in the eye. “This is your new mission Max: find Kwant. Tonight, you've proven that if anyone can find him, it’s you. I need to speak to him. Find him, no matter what it takes, and don’t stop trying, even if you never see me again. He will know what to do.”
Before I can respond, my eyes are drawn back to the block of ice. Something is wrong with it. It blurs at the edges. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s vibrating. Fred is starting to fight back.
“Leave, Max. I don’t know how much longer I can control Mister Pugno. As you can see, he’s finally discovering the full potential of his talent.”
“But shouldn’t I help? Or...”
“No, if I can’t save myself, nobody can. Leave this office and let Williams escort you out. He will keep you safe. Go home, and after the weekend, come back to school. Act as if nothing has happened, start your new mission without delay, and train, train, train. Not only you—your friends too. Trust them.”
Little cracks appear in the ice, spreading quickly. I move toward the door, but it takes an inconveniently long time because I have to melt a path through the knee-high layer of ice that covers everything.
Before I open the door, I look back one last time. Everything is shaking and shuddering, like an extended earthquake. Fred’s talent is on full display. The vice-principal’s face is twisted; she can't hold it much longer, and when the first lamp falls from the ceiling and three bookcases topple over, I step over the threshold, pull the door closed behind me, and find myself staring directly into the wrinkled landscape of Williams' face.