Fatal Lies

44

Gerold Sommer peered out of his window. He was grateful that the sky had cleared and the moon was shining brightly. A lamp at this hour would be conspicuous on the grounds of the school. He put on his coat, picked up a paraffin lamp and a box of matches, and hopped down the corridor on his crutches. Thankfully, Lang was a heavy sleeper. Sommer turned the key carefully and pushed the front door open. The air was freezing. He thought of returning to his room to get some gloves and a hat but decided against it. Too much noise.

The path sparkled with frost and was easy to follow. It took him to the front of the school. He passed the statue of Saint Florian and entered the courtyard. It was much darker beneath the cloisters, and it was at this point that he lit his lamp. He adjusted the wick so that it provided just enough illumination for him to find his way-but no more.

Once inside the school, he progressed to the back of the building and with great difficulty descended a flight of stairs that led to a large damp basement room, one wall of which was covered in lockers. They were arranged in alphabetical order. Sommer lowered the lamp, and read the names: Zehrer, Zeigler, Zelenka. He pulled the wooden door open and waved the lamp around, attempting to illuminate the shadowy recess.

Nothing.

He placed the lamp on the floor and thrust his hand inside the locker, frantically exploring the space with his fingertips.

Still nothing.

He cursed under his breath.

“Looking for something?”

It was a young voice-one of the boys.

Sommer started and swung around.

On the other side of the room the speaker struck a match. The flame slowly rose to meet the end of a cigarette and cast a yellow light over the distinctive features of Kiefer Wolf. “It's no good, sir,” said the boy, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “All Zelenka's possessions were removed. Well… with the exception of one item.”

Sommer swallowed.

“What… what was it?”

“The only thing that I thought was worth taking: a rather fine dictionary.”

“Give it to me.”

“Why should I?”

“It's of no use to you.”

“True. But it's clearly of considerable use to you!”

As Wolf drew on his cigarette, his face reappeared-infernal, in the red incandescence.

“What do you want, Wolf?”

“Only that you continue to honor our arrangement.”

“I've already said that I would. I'll keep my word… You don't need that dictionary as well!”

“Have you read much Nietzsche, sir?”

“What?”

“Nietzsche-the philosopher.”

“I know who he is, boy!” said Sommer, suddenly angered. “According to Nietzsche,” said Wolf, “you can never have enough power.”