Winter shepherded the little boy back to the fold, listening to some story he couldn’t quite understand but nodding approvingly even so. One of the ladies in charge was standing halfway up the slope.

“I didn’t know there was a fence there,” said Winter.

“It’s a good thing there is,” she said. “We’d never be able to keep them on the premises otherwise.”

He caught sight of Elsa on her way out into the grounds: She’d clearly decided it was time to take a rest from all that paperwork.

“Hard to keep an eye on all of them at the same time, eh?” he said.

“Yes, it is now.” He detected a sort of sigh. “I shouldn’t stand here complaining, but since you ask, well, it’s a case of more and more children and fewer and fewer staff.” She made a gesture. “But at least we’ve got them fenced in here.”

Winter watched Elsa playing on the swings. She shouted out when she saw him, and he waved back.

“How do you manage when you take them out for trips? Or take the whole class to the park, or to a bigger playground?”

“We try not to,” she said.

Ringmar was with the student, Jakob Stillman. The latter had been living up to his name, but now he seemed able to move his head slowly, and with some difficulty he could focus on Ringmar from his sickbed. Ringmar had introduced himself.

“I’d just like to ask you a few questions,” he said. “I suggest you blink once if your answer is yes, and twice if it’s no. OK?”

Stillman blinked once.

“Right.” Ringmar moved the chair a bit closer. “Did you see anybody behind you before you were hit?

One blink.

“Ah, so you did see something?” Ringmar asked.

One blink again. Yes.

“Was it far away?”

Two blinks. No.

“Were you alone when you started walking across the square?” Yes.

“But you were able to see somebody coming toward you?”