by Kirsty McKay
‘The rest of us are potential victims,’ Rick says. ‘And only us. Don’t touch non-Guild.’
Beside me, Martin shoots up a hand. Alex rolls his eyes. ‘We’re not in the Cub Scouts, Martin. What is it?’
Martin beams, the gappy grin in full effect. ‘What if I don’t want to be Killed?’
There’s laughter.
‘Sure, you can fight back, to some extent.’ Marcia scoops the sheet of hair back from her face and nods at him, encouragingly. ‘If a masked attacker is chasing you with a rubber machete, yes, you can run away.’ She waves the book at us. ‘It says so in here. But look, it’s really important that we all play fair. You get whacked, you stay whacked. Honour system.’
‘That’s right, Marcia.’ Rick nods. ‘And remember, every-one, dead men don’t talk. You know who did you, you keep shtum, on pain of excommunication from the Guild.’
Alex smiles again. ‘You manage to stay alive? Different matter. It’s all about finding the Killer. We meet here, every weekend, for a Summoning. We hang out, we talk—’
‘We par-tay!’ Roger, one of the Journeymen shouts, and everyone cheers.
‘We vote.’ Alex’s words cut through the revelry. ‘Every weekend, everyone still in the Game casts a vote. If you know who the Killer is, write the name down. If you don’t, write something else down – Mickey Mouse, Ezra or “I don’t know”.’ He claps a hand to his chest. ‘I read the votes, I’m the only one who gets to see. If you guess right, the Killer is exposed, you win. You guess wrong, you’re dead and out of the game.’
Rick picks up the ball again. ‘The Killer can Kill as often or as little as they want, but don’t be a mug and bore us to death. Make your Kills entertaining. Give us something to talk about.’ He looks down at us, struggling to cross his muscled arms over his broad chest. ‘Yes, if you can get your victim on their own you can do anything you want – shoot ’em with a water pistol, stab them with a rubber knife, whatever. But it’s much more fun to do stuff in public. I know – I know we’re not supposed to let the Game be “disruptive to school life”,’ he flicks his stubby fingers as speech marks, ‘but give us all a show, won’t you? It’s what we deserve.’
The Elders and Journeymen all laugh in agreement.
‘Don’t go slapping little red skull stickers on people!’
‘Don’t be that doof that puts a note on someone’s desk saying “Boom!”’
‘If the Killer IMs me with “You’re Dead”, I’m totally giving them up.’
‘Oh no, that’s been done and doner!’
Marcia cuts in, ‘We outlawed that one officially. It’s a yawn. Check your book.’
‘Yeah, read it thoroughly,’ Alex intones. ‘No-nos are all in the book – paint guns, no, fireworks, no. No computer viruses, and nothing that’s going to hurt anyone or give Ezra cause to call the anti-terrorist squad. Keep it classy; put an alarm clock in a hollowed-out book, or pop a friggin’ balloon, but don’t get our Game stopped, or you lose, big time.’ He waggles a finger at us.
Marcia winds her hair into a thick rope with one hand. ‘The only major rule we haven’t mentioned is that Killing more than one person at a time is not allowed; you’re a serial Killer, not a mass murderer. Other than that, go crazy.’
I’m beginning to get serious anxiety that I’ll be the Killer. What pressure.
Alex continues, ‘So be safe, be clever and be exclusive. And remember, although your victim is sworn to secrecy, the best Killers are secret. It’s so much more satisfying if you can be the ninja you were born to be, and get in and out without being seen.’
Rick glares at us. ‘Questions?’
‘Nope. Crystal clear, m’dear.’ Becky smiles at Rick. I almost laugh out loud as he struggles not to melt under her gaze.
‘What if no one guesses the Killer?’ Beside me, Emily stretches her long legs out on the rug.
Alex checks out her legs, then answers her. ‘The Game goes on until there are only three people left, Killer included. A final Summoning and vote is scheduled at the earliest opportunity. The Killer then has to choose to try and kill the others quickly before the Summoning, or take their chances, go to the final vote and hope nobody guesses it’s them.’
We all take this in. I make a promise to myself that I’ll be in the final three, Killer or not.
‘Enough talk!’ Alex says. He stands; he’s holding the large dark velvet bag, tied at the top with a ratty gold cord. ‘Time to choose your destiny.’
Everyone straightens up a little. I’m holding my breath. Alex unravels the golden cord and opens the bag just wide enough to put a hand in.
‘No reading your card until everyone has one.’ He offers the bag to the Elders first. Each solemnly takes out a folded matt black card. Then he moves into the group, everyone taking it in turns to cautiously dip in a hand. I’m one of the last to get the bag; before I reach in I wonder if this puts me at an advantage or a disadvantage, but not being a maths genius I can’t work out the odds. I stretch out my hand towards the bag, feeling like it might be bitten off by something hidden in there. I feel around for the cards; just two or three remain. I toy with them for a second, then choose one, pulling it out and in close to my chest, as if it will jump out of my hand and reveal itself unless I hold it tight.
The last few take their cards. Alex moves back to his place and sits, looking at us, smiling. He doesn’t speak. We wait. We wait a little longer.
‘Delicious, isn’t it?’ Alex’s voice is hoarse and thick with pleasure. ‘The anticipation? This is one of the best moments, the moment before, the moment when no one is the Killer, and all of us are.’
No one giggles. The generator hums in the background. The lights flicker a little, prompting a ripple of noise, half-muffled screams and nervous laughter.
‘Yes,’ Alex nods, smiling. ‘The spirits of assassins past are with us! On my count, open your cards. Three, two, one . . .’
I hardly dare to. I’m not only afraid of what is written there, but also of how I will react when I see it. I mustn’t give the game away. I cup the card in my hands, and slowly – oh, so slowly – unfold the stiff card. The inside of the card is blood red, and there is black writing. I see the large capital ‘K’ and feel a rush of adrenaline shoot up my spine into my head. As the lights flicker again, I squint at the card:
KITTEN
Disappointment, then huge relief, then fear.
I look again, just in case I’ve read it wrong. But no, I’m a baby cat, not a murderer. Funny, Alex. I wonder how many different ‘K’ words he could think of that would give everyone the same heart attack. I suppose I should be thankful I’m not ‘Kisser’ or ‘Kipper’.
Of course, as soon as I’ve looked at my own card, I’m looking around at everyone else to try and read reactions. And that’s exactly what everyone else is doing too. Alex is chuckling away to himself. How very amusing we must look to him. I wonder if he can tell who got the Killer card, because whoever did won’t be looking around at everyone else to see who got it. Probably only a split second, but Alex would have been looking for it. One of the myriad ways he makes this all entertaining for himself.
‘OK folks, cards away,’ Alex says. ‘You need to keep your card so I can check the Killer is for real. But don’t keep it anywhere anyone else can find it.’
‘It’s getting late,’ Marcia says, leaning over on to a rock ledge and blowing out some candles. ‘We need to show up for High Tea, or they might send out the search parties.’
I shove my card, burning hot, into the inner pocket of my parka.
‘OK, we’ll move out,’ Alex says. ‘Staggered, not everyone at once.’
‘Yeah, girls,’ Rick sneers, looking at Tesha, Whit and Anvi. ‘You do know you don’t have to do everything together.’
Alex and Carl snicker, the girls sneer back at Rick. More candles are blown out. Martin and Anvi start to extinguish the oil lamps, and Martin knocks one down, smashing it on a rock.
‘Think stealthy, peo
ple!’ Alex moans, and looks at Carl, who shakes his auburn head. ‘Give me strength. If the Killer’s worth his or her salt, I give these intakes a week, no more.’ He gets up. ‘I’m around this evening if anyone wants to talk to me.’ He winks. ‘Read your book, and remember to watch the board in the common room for news.’
Suddenly, the room plunges into darkness.
Several yells, and beside me, Emily screams.
‘Nice one, Rick,’ says Carl. ‘Did you not fill the genny up again?’
‘I did!’
I hear Alex chuckle. ‘Seriously, Killer. Tasting blood already?’
Silence. Someone has grabbed me on the arm; I think it’s Tesha. I hope it’s Tesha.
Nothing happens.
‘OK, Rick?’ Alex sighs. ‘It is the genny. Where did you put the torches?’
A torch flicks on, but it’s not one of Alex’s. A huge figure is standing in the doorway, cloak billowing, torch pointed, and in its other hand, a dagger. The figure roars, and slashes the air.
‘What the—?’ Alex says.
Someone barrels past me, heading for the door. There’s a scuffle, the torch dances on the wall, and then suddenly the generator is humming and the lights are back on.
Rick is on the floor, panting. The figure is still there, standing above him, laughing at the assembled Guild. It flings the hood of the cloak back and screams, ‘Time to die!’
It’s Vaughan. Time to die, indeed.
‘Who the hell are you?’ Alex is purple around the gills. I’ve never seen him look so rattled.
‘I’m Vaughan,’ says Vaughan, smiling. He waves a hand. ‘Hello.’
‘You’re not Guild!’ says Rick, struggling to his feet. ‘Bloody hell, Alex, he’s not even Umfraville!’
Alex moves towards Vaughan, and my stomach hits the floor. But he stops short, and I see something I’ve never seen before: Alex is scared.
‘Oh, I am Umfraville, I assure you!’ Vaughan says brightly. ‘I’m new, I admit it. Missed the first week of school – just got here today, in fact – but I’ll be in the classroom with you all on Monday, I promise.’ He squints at everyone. ‘Well, with the clever ones, anyway.’
Alex, Rick and Carl all kind of surge towards Vaughan, but he’s quick. He leaps back.
‘How long have you been here?’ Alex demands.
‘Long enough,’ Vaughan says. ‘You’re playing a game. It’s secret. Someone’s a killer.’ He tuts. ‘And you really shouldn’t be in this cave.’ He shakes his head. ‘Breaking all the rules . . .’
‘You tell anyone, and I’ll—’
‘Oh, I don’t want to tell anyone!’ Vaughan says. ‘All I want is to join in.’
Alex barks out a laugh. Everyone in the room relaxes slightly. Some of the others begin to laugh too, except Rick, who looks like he’s going to explode, his cheeks red with boiled-up rage.
‘Dude,’ Alex says. ‘You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. But do yourself a favour and walk out, before we kick you out.’
Vaughan looks hurt. ‘But why can’t I join in?’
‘Because, you loser,’ Rick spits at him, ‘you don’t just join the Guild, you get invited.’
‘Oh, I know,’ Vaughan sings, ‘Initiation, blah-blah, cowpats, whatever. But you’ll let me in, because I have something you want.’
‘Right,’ Alex says. ‘I’m going to be nice for a couple of seconds more, Vaughan, but then we’re really going to mess you up unless you get out of here. If you don’t want to be even more of an outcast than you already are, then I suggest you move it.’
Vaughan frowns. ‘Hmm. Cate said you wouldn’t let me in, but I didn’t believe her.’
Oh, just no. Thanks so much, friend.
Everyone looks at me. Alex is shooting me daggers almost as real as the one in Vaughan’s hand – where the flob did he get a frigging dagger at school?! I cringe into myself. Don’t, don’t drag me into this, Vaughan. But I don’t say anything, because I’ve already betrayed him once in this lifetime and I won’t do it again, even if he just shoved me under the biggest bus in ToyTown.
‘Now, don’t blame Cate,’ Vaughan says. ‘We were besties in a previous life, but she has no part in this. Anyway, as I was saying, I have something you need, and that is why you’ll let me into the Game.’
‘What could you possibly have that we want?’ Rick scoffs.
‘I can build you a social network,’ Vaughan says. ‘Wouldn’t that be wonderful fun? The pinboard in the common room is terribly old-school – if you’ll excuse the pun – but wouldn’t it be rather more millennial of you to have your own social network? Profiles, IM, posts and threads? Think of the possibilities. Updates, news, strategy, theories? Pictures too. Selfies with the Killer? You’re a little deprived of internet here, no? A social network all of your own, just think of it.’
‘Been done, friend,’ Carl says. ‘More than once someone’s tried to put a student network up. Staff find it, staff take it down.’
‘They won’t find this,’ Vaughan says. ‘Imagine. Space to post whatever you like. Clues, hit lists, the possibilities are endless. Plus, tracking individual users, the ability to see who is online and where at any time. How cool would that be? It would bring a whole new element to the Game.’
‘Sure it would,’ Rick says sarcastically. ‘What, the library, the studies and a handful of classrooms? The only places in the school where we can pick up Wi-Fi?’
‘Oh, there are other places. Aren’t there, Marcia?’ Vaughan looks at my friend. ‘The ones no one thinks about.’ He points to the laptop on the table. ‘The newspaper office has Wi-Fi, if I’m not mistaken. You can even get online at the art studio. And the PC in the secretary’s office in Main House. Staff members’ machines in their private quarters – encrypted Wi-Fi there.’ Vaughan shrugs. ‘Even so, even discounting those other opportunities . . . a murder is carried out while half of the users are logged on in the library? You instantly know where those users are. Could be interesting.’
‘It would be great, no doubt,’ Marcia says. ‘But they would find it within a week, and take it down. Probably shut the Game down too, because our headmaster is so paranoid about us actually being able to get online, that he’d think he had a mutiny on his hands.’
‘They won’t find it,’ Vaughan repeats.
‘OK, OK,’ Alex says. ‘You have the guts to come here and throw your cards on the table? Let’s talk. But first,’ he looks around the cave, ‘you droogs need to get back to civilization. Only Elders for this.’
Everyone groans, reluctantly beginning to leave. I cannot wait to get out, but I’m terrified of what Vaughan is going to lay on them when I go. In any case, I don’t get the chance to escape.
‘Cate!’ Alex says. ‘This nutter is your chum? You can stay.’
Great.
Everyone looks at me as they leave. Especially Daniel.
When they have all cleared out, Alex sits, and the rest of us – Carl, Rick, Marcia, Cynthia and lil’ old me – follow suit. Except Vaughan. He stands in the middle of the cave, still wearing the cape, looking a little like a dishevelled crow that got left out in the storm. But he has a glint in his eye and the air of one who tastes victory. That’s a little premature of him, I think.
‘I know you all have trust issues,’ Vaughan grins at Alex. ‘That’s only sensible. But I’m good at this. Ask her.’ He looks at me, again.
Marcia looks at me too. I don’t like her expression.
‘He is good at this,’ I say. ‘Well, I think so, anyway; I haven’t seen him since we were eight. But even then he used to take computers apart and put them back together, program games for us to play and that kind of thing. Then we . . . moved apart . . . and I heard he was a whizz-kid. He was at Cambridge, I think?’ I look at Vaughan. He nods, encouragingly. ‘He probably knows a bit about computers.’
Vaughan snorts at this. ‘A bit?’ He thinks about it, smiles. ‘Oh, a bit! I get it. Quite good!’
Alex looks him up and down.
‘We’re not lacking in talent at Umfraville, if you haven’t already noticed. Don’t you think that if anyone had the skills to effectively hide something like that, they would have done it already? What makes you so certain your site could stay hidden?’
‘Because it already is.’ Vaughan points his dagger at the laptop. ‘Wi-Fi. Are we capable here?’
‘Only just,’ Marcia says. ‘We put signal boosters on the cliff, directing the signal down from Main House, but it’s patchy.’
‘Well done you,’ Vaughan says, moving to the laptop. ‘May I?’ he asks no one in particular, and brings up the Umfraville home page. He taps away with his slim, quick fingers. ‘Et voila. A portal.’
A piece of art pops up on the screen. Seeing as art is the only thing I know anything about, I recognize it. It’s by William Blake. My tastes are pretty modern, but this guy I like; he knows his spooky all right. And this picture doesn’t disappoint. It’s of a wood, with two people walking through it, and three weird owl-creatures sitting in the trees. And on first glance you don’t necessarily see it, but the trees are made of people, there are faces and body parts in the trunks, as if they are trapped there. It’s heavy stuff. I can’t remember the title, but is it something to do with murders?
‘Excuse the obviousness. I couldn’t resist.’ Vaughan moves his mouse in a pattern over the owl-creatures, then clicks on something and a password prompt shows up over the signature at the bottom. He types something quickly, and the picture explodes in a thousand pixels. It is replaced by a faded red background with a watermarked image of a skull, and the header, CRYPT, at the top. Below there is what looks like a newsfeed, with pictures down the side.
‘When I knew I’d be coming here, I hacked the Umfraville intranet and built this. I’ve been updating regularly. Rather a strange business, posting while no one’s watching. If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?’ He grins. ‘This site went live four months ago. Plenty of time to have shown up on the radar by now.’