Something was forcing its way through the winter.

He couldn't put his fi,nger on it, but there was something. Maybe a warming breeze, a fl,icker of light smack in the middle of the mass of gray clouds, or possibly just the fact that he heard a splash rather than a crunch when he stepped in the puddle that all winter long had encircled his personal parking space--the one that still bore his name.

He paused for a moment and squinted up at the morning cloud cover. It looked the same as usual, hovering there like a virtual ceiling of security above the bank, bidding him welcome.

The same silence as always.

A short distance away was the little town, undisturbed, sending up only one sign of life: fi,ne tendrils of smoke from chimneys. He heard the repetitive cheeping of the marsh tit and saw it peek from its nest just under the eaves. Then he locked the car and strode the few yards to the small, modest door of the employees' entrance. He took out his even more modest key ring and one by one opened the three deadbolts.

Inside the bank offi,ce it smelled like an ordinary Monday, a bit stuffy from the weekend, but Lisbet would soon air it out when she arrived second, as usual, bringing her fl,ood of cheerful chatter.

He himself was always the fi,rst to arrive, that was the routine.

Everything was exactly the same as always.

That was what he told himself several times: Everything is exactly the same as always.

He may have said it once too often.

He stood at his teller's window and pulled out the drawer. He took out an oblong gilded case and cautiously weighed one of the long, bristled darts in his hand. His special weapon.
Not many people, even among the initiated, really knew how a dart was supposed to look. His darts were long--specially designed to four and three-quarters inches, almost two and three quarters of which were a long point that always surprised his opponents, and very short, bristly fl,ights.
He picked up the three darts and slipped around the dividing wall into the offi,ce interior. There was the board. Without looking down, he took up position with the tips of his toes on the little black throw line exactly seven feet nine and one-quarter inches from the dartboard and rhythmically fl,ung the three darts. All three stuck in the large bed of the 1. He was just warming up.

Everything landed where it should.

Everything was as it should be.

He clasped his hands and stretched them outward until they made a light cracking sound, then let his fi, ngers fl,utter freely in the air for several seconds. Again he took the key ring out of his jacket pocket, swung back around the dividing wall to the public area of the bank, went over to the vault, and unlocked it. The vault door opened slowly, ponderously, with a muted groan.

It sounded the way it always did.

He carried a box containing thick bundles of banknotes to his teller's station and spread them out over the work surface. He studied them for a moment, just as he always did.

Soon Lisbet would come drifting in through the employees' entrance and start babbling on about her family, then Albert would arrive, clearing his throat in a slightly superior way and nodding stiffl,y, and last would be Mia, dark, silent, and reserved, peering out from under her bangs. Soon the smell of Lisbet's coffee would waft away any remaining stuffi,ness and fi, ll the offi,ce with an air of quiet humanity.

Then the scattered knots of customers would appear: the farmers fumbling with ancient...