The Assassin Game

by Kirsty McKay

  Nobody’s going to care? Daniel will care. Daniel will care a lot.

  “Fine.” I turn tail and head off, not sure which direction I’m heading in. It’s true—in the grand scheme of things, this will be five-minute news. I’ll suffer for a few days, and there will be jokes forever, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Daniel? A different matter. He will be devastated. He’ll leave the Game for sure. He might leave school. He hates, hates this kind of thing. He cannot cope with it. Oh God, I hope he doesn’t think I’ve got anything to do with it. Would he think that?

  But instead of heading for his study or the music rooms, I run in a different direction.

  When I burst in to the study, Vaughan is bent over his laptop, tapping away.

  “Take it down.”

  He holds a hand up, still typing with the other. “Just a sec.”

  “Take it down!”

  He looks at me, shocked. Hits Enter. His hands lower. “OK. What am I taking down?”

  “The video, of course. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.”

  “Yeeeah.” He nods, overly serious. “You and Daniel.”

  “Of course me and Daniel!”

  “Of course.” He tilts his head to one side. “I’m curious. Past or present?”

  “What?” I say. “Past! Last-term party past!”

  He nods understandingly. “One-off?”

  “Look, not that it’s any of your business.” I step inside the room and shut the door, becoming aware that a few people are lingering at the other end of the corridor, attracted by the drama. “But yes, it was a one-off. A random, stupid mistake on my part. Not to be repeated. And definitely not to be broadcast.”

  “On your part.” Vaughan taps the top of his laptop with a restless finger. “But not a mistake as far as Daniel was concerned?”

  “Just take it down,” I say. “Now.”

  I turn and am about to flounce out when I see a white school mug of hot chocolate sitting on the table next to Vaughan. Untouched.

  “Did you make that?” I point to it. “Did it come with a note?”

  “What?”

  I don’t wait for a proper reply, just grab the handle, lean forward, open the window, and chuck the drink out into the grass.

  “Oi!” Vaughan protests. “What are you doing?”

  I stare at the bottom of the mug. No writing. Just an ordinary mug. An ordinary hot chocolate. Ex-hot chocolate.

  I fling it down, and the mug breaks. I leave.

  By the time I reach my own study and log in, the video is down. I’m relieved but also slightly aggrieved. I wanted to view it again, in the privacy of my own room, and process how bad it really was. And also to look in that laughing girl’s eyes and try and see what she saw that night.

  Daniel’s not at high tea, nor in the library that night. I drop by his study and the music rooms, but I can’t find him anywhere. Last thing before curfew, I find myself at the Loathsome Toad office. I see Marcia working in the brightly lit room. She’s on her own. I twist the temperamental doorknob and look in.

  “Knock knock.”

  “Hi.” She doesn’t look at me but continues to type.

  I sigh. Walk in, sit down. Put my feet up on the desk so she knows I’m not going anywhere.

  “Want a smoke?” she says, still not meeting my eye.

  “No,” I say. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. You sneak in to the dorm right before curfew. You avoid me at meals. You’re never in the study.”

  Marcia keeps typing, shakes her head. “I’m not sneaking, and I’m not avoiding. I’m busy.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” I stretch my arms out, faking a relaxation I do not feel. “But you know, I’d have thought you’d make the time to apologize for ditching me at the beach the other night. And maybe check I was OK the next day. I’d have also thought you’d come and seek me out when some idiot posted that video on Crypt.”

  It’s Marcia’s turn to sigh. She leans back and snaps the lid of her laptop shut.

  “I knew you were OK after the beach. I ran because I wanted you to run. I didn’t want you to be caught.”

  “What about Vaughan?”

  She shrugs. “I felt scared for him, but what’s he to me, compared to you? I wanted you out of there.”

  My chest feels tight. “You should have known I wouldn’t leave. I’m funny like that. I don’t leave my friends when they’re in trouble.”

  She holds her hands up. “We all do what we think is best.”

  I look at her, but now it’s me who can’t hold her gaze. I stare at the floor. “And you thought it was best not to tell me when that video was posted?” I tap my feet. “Posted first thing this morning, apparently. Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it.”

  “I did.”

  I look up at her, and she nods.

  “But I thought it was more important to tell Daniel about it. You can deal with this; Daniel…may not.”

  She has a point. “You could have IMed me at least.”

  She stays silent. She’s not one for saying sorry. She doesn’t have the British way of overapologizing for everything, and sometimes that hurts.

  “Did you find Daniel?” I sit up.

  “Yes.”

  “I looked… I couldn’t find him.” When she doesn’t enlighten me further, I go on. “How was he?”

  “How do you expect?” She pushes her chair away from the desk and turns around to look at me, face on. “He’s broken. He hates to look a fool. He didn’t even realize that anyone else knew, so it’s even worse for him.”

  Irritation rolls over me. “Most boys would be bragging and having a laugh about it.”

  Marcia frowns at me. “Daniel is not most boys. Or didn’t you know that?” She begins to pack up her stuff into her big tote bag. “It’s worse because he actually wants you, of course, and he knows you don’t want him.” She puts on her coat, clearly ready to get out of here and away from me as soon as possible.

  I cringe at her words. But it’s all true, of course. I change tack.

  “Do you know who Smee is?”

  She pauses. “Even if I did, it wouldn’t be in the spirit of the Game to discuss it with you.”

  “Oh, come on!” I stand up. “Posting make-out videos is hardly in the spirit of the Game, is it?”

  She pushes her long hair out of her face. “Smee’s female, I’m sure. I think I have some of the boys’ usernames guessed, but Smee has a female voice, and I don’t know who. Whitney, maybe?”

  “Whitney was with me when Anvi showed me the video.” I think about it. “If she is Smee, she’s a great actress.”

  “Then Tesha? Or Emily?” She scratches her head. “To be honest with you, before this, I thought that Smee was you.”

  I blink at her. “But you don’t think that now, do you? Nobody thinks that I’d post this myself, do they?”

  Marcia doesn’t say anything but grabs her bag and swings it over her shoulder, heading for the door. I stride after her, reaching for her arm.

  “You don’t think I posted it, do you?”

  She turns around. “I said before this happened I thought you might be Smee. I don’t think so now, no. But do others think that?” She nods. “Yes. Yes they might.”

  She turns and goes out of the door. I’m not going to run after her, partly because I’m finished with making a fool out of myself for one day and partly because I now feel weighted to the floor with the horror that the Guild members think I did this myself.

  I move to a desk, to one of the PCs, turn it on, log in to Crypt. There’s some chatter.

  AllKillerNoFiller

  Awwww…the skin flick is gone. Bring it back, Smee!

  I_did_it

  I think we’ve seen enough

  AllKillerNoFiller

  Is that you, Danny boy
???

  I_did_it

  I’m not Daniel. That’s why I think we’ve seen enough ;) You can bet D is staying far awaaaaay from here!

  AllKillerNoFiller

  No change there then

  General Disarray

  Question is, where’s Smee?

  AllKillerNoFiller

  He’s taken Smee out…KILLLLLLLLED

  I_did_it

  Smee, nooo! We love you! Everyone forgives you!

  General Disarray

  Daniel doesn’t

  I_did_it

  Hey, maybe Smee IS Daniel

  General Disarray

  Or Smee is Cate. That would be more like it

  Skulk

  Smee’s not Cate.

  I_did_it

  How do you know?

  Skulk

  Because I know who Cate is.

  Skulk

  I’m watching her.

  AllKillerNoFiller

  Yeah we all were, before her gal-pal Vaughany took the vid down! :P

  I log off, quickly. “Skulk” knows who I am, do they? They’re watching me? As in, hot-chocolate-watching me?

  I move to the window of the office, but outside is overcast and gloomy. Anyone out there can see me, but I can’t see them. I draw the blinds, but that seems even worse. I move to put out the lights, but before I do, I find my keys in my pocket and hold them between my fingers like a knife. It feels ridiculous—what am I going to do, stab one of my classmates in the eye?—but it makes me feel better to step out into the dark. I part the blinds a little and peer out. Now the darkening sky has more definition, shapes of trees in the distance, the roof of the Main House silhouetted against a scarlet-and-purple sky. I can’t see anyone lurking out there, but that doesn’t mean they’re not hiding. There’s Marcia’s water bottle on the desk where she was sitting. It’s almost full. I pocket my keys, take off the top of the bottle, and move back to the door. If Skulk—or anyone else—is messing with me, I’ll drench them with water and run.

  I make it back to my study and hide there, skipping high tea, doing little work, and watching the Crypt chatter. Around 7:00 p.m., Alex posts something:

  Evening, assassins. This is your Grand Master.

  Please remember that Crypt is to be used for the Game, and the Game only. All posts that contain anything outside the interests of the Game will be removed, and the user who has posted them will be banned from Crypt for the remainder of the Game. I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that there should be absolutely no reference made to Crypt or anything posted on it to non-Guild members. Breaking this rule means instant and eternal excommunication from the Guild without negotiation!

  Thank you, and have a pleasant evening.

  Phew. With the latter half of that post, Alex has effectively prevented the rot from spreading to the rest of the school. Of course, he’s just protecting the Game, but I’m grateful to him anyway.

  I await reaction, and the IMs start. There is a little comeback from a couple users, mainly arguing that anything concerning the players of the Game is relevant to post on Crypt, but that is quickly knocked on the head by Alex. The fact is, gossip about the video is already on the wane. People move on quickly.

  I watch the users come and go, and post a few comments so it’s not obvious I’m hiding. Only two users don’t join the discussion this evening: Skulk has disappeared, and just before curfew, the other absentee finally shows up online.

  Smee

  Sorry, everyone

  Smee

  I’ll be a good Smee from now on

  Smee

  Only hope I haven’t upset the wrong person…

  I log off. My watch is telling me I have precisely five minutes to run up to my dorm and check in with my housemistress or else risk getting a late mark. I close my laptop, run out into the courtyard. There is no one around. The lights in the library are off, and the studies are dark too. I exit by the archway, turn right, and start to run toward the Main House dorms.

  Something—a noise? Or just the feeling of being watched—makes me look around, back in the direction of the courtyard.

  A hooded figure is standing there. I can’t see the face, but the height, the posture…

  I’m sure it’s Daniel. He stands perfectly still, looking toward me. I realize I’m standing under one of the Victorian streetlamps that line the pathways between Umfraville’s central buildings. I feel exposed; he can see me, but I can’t properly see him. I step into the shadows. He takes a step toward me.

  Is it Daniel? Doubt creeps in now. I feel for the band around my wrist. I’m immune! But somehow, this doesn’t make me feel any better. The figure takes another step. I turn on my heel and sprint for the dorms, not feeling safe until I’m up the stairs and in the comforting light and bustle of the girls’ corridor.

  Marcia is in the dorm, reading. When she sees me come in, she gives me a quick smile. But this time, it’s me who doesn’t feel like talking. I return the smile, however, and reach for my pajamas, changing quickly. I visit the bathroom, clean my teeth, and the lights are out in our room by the time I return. Thank goodness. I feel my way into bed, and as I do, I feel the rustle of a little slip of paper someone has placed in my bed. My heart beats faster in spite of myself. Oh, Killer. Let me guess: You’re watching me?

  I hold the paper up to the digital clock to see what is written there.

  Chin up!

  V xx

  Warmth spreads through me. I hold the paper in my hand, and lie there, wondering if Vaughan will sneak in here tonight. Wondering and hoping.

  I lie there awake for ages. He doesn’t show up.

  Chapter 16

  Friday, and the blood is still coursing through my veins.

  I sit on a gray chair in the ballroom and play with the two bands around my wrist: the black one that denotes I’m still alive, and the red one that ensures I’ll stay that way for another two days at least.

  Morning Exchange is what other schools would call assembly, but Ezra had to be different. Once a week on a Monday, Ezra gets wheeled out of storage and talks, and we listen. Not so much of the “exchange,” but it’s vaguely interesting to see he’s still with us—physically, if not so much mentally.

  On Tuesdays, some poor teacher is roped in to get things going. Usually they read something moderately profound or educational and then ask a bunch of questions at the end. In normal schools, they’d probably be hit with a wall of silence, but at Umfraville there are nerds just itching to pick the teachers to bits. It can make for some entertainment.

  And then, once a week, on Friday, an individual or group of students steps up. Everyone has to do it eventually. In my school career, I’ve faced it twice, and it was torturous. My first effort was a group presentation about graffiti. Marcia talked, and Daniel and I gassed everyone by spraying inexpertly on a canvas to demonstrate what Marcia was talking about. All was well until the “exchange” part of the talk, when some gnarly dweeb two years below me made the point that graffiti wasn’t supposed to belong on canvas, but on the wall…the furniture…and he dared us to demonstrate “properly.” Marcia talks a good game, but she couldn’t find a convincing argument. Daniel and I went for it…and went down in the history books…and the detention books. I smile at the memory; what were we thinking?

  The second time—when I was on my own—was a far more sober affair. I talked about the history of Skola and Umfraville and by extension, my family’s history. Everyone was rapt. I think it’s because they got some of the information that they’d always wanted to ask. Not so much about the horse rendering plant that was on the island in the nineteeth century or how Skola is an important breeding ground for the roseate tern or even why the school paper is called the Loathsome Toad. They were far more interested in how and why a “normal” like me was at the school. Who my
family really are, and how we got so lucky.

  Through death is the answer to that last question.

  This week, however, I can relax. It’s Emily’s turn to speak. I don’t have high hopes, because it’s not her forte, but if she screws up, then at least it will give everyone something to talk about other than Daniel and me locking lips.

  Emily’s sitting at the back of the stage while we all pile in and take our seats, and for some reason that will no doubt become apparent soon, she’s playing “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” on her MP3 player through the school speakers.

  I feel eyes on me. Marcia is on the other side of the room, and Daniel’s not even here, thankfully. He probably has some kind of extracurricular fiddle scraping to do. The only good thing is that because of the Game, the kids who have seen the make-out vid are duty-bound not to gab about it with the rest of the school. I plonk myself a seat or two away from Alex, and then Vaughan sits next to me. I turn to him shyly.

  “Thanks for the note,” I whisper.

  His eyes widen. “What note?”

  “Comedian,” I whisper back.

  He winks at me, and his hand slinks over mine and squeezes it quickly.

  The doors shut. The music cuts. We’re all in, and we wait like hungry lions at the zoo, or in the gladiator stadium, more like.

  Emily stands up.

  Now, Emily technically had all summer to prepare. Her name was on the list way back in spring term. The pressure is on because, of late, these little student presentations have taken on the appearance of a TED talk or a lecture at the Royal Society. But in truth, I bet Emily was too busy being Emily over summer to write anything. There were track meets where she got to come first in a bunch of competitions of who can throw the pointy thing or the heavy thing the farthest, or who can jump over more sand than anyone else. I’m guessing that she also had a couple weeks tanning at her family’s place in Barbados, which would be very time-consuming. And since she came back to school? Well, the Game, of course! She’s a new apprentice. All of this excitement is not exactly conducive to prepping a school assembly talk.

  Emily strolls easily over to the lectern. She’s over six feet tall in her sneakered feet. It’s warm in the ballroom with the morning sun beating in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and Emily’s wearing a tank top under a sheer silk-knit cardi, skinny capris, and that Barbados tan. Her long fingers touch the side of a tablet placed on the lectern, shaking ever so slightly, and as she flicks her eyes up to take in her audience, she licks her lips.