Read Online The Assassin Game by Kirsty McKay - Free Book Online

way I came. I’m doomed.
    And then I see them. The washed-out indentations peeking out of the surf. Right by the water’s edge, more footsteps—not following the cliff this time, but cutting straight across the bay in a direct line back to the cliff path. There, where I descended, is a huge clump of gorse, but from this vantage point, I can now see that there’s a rock behind the bushes and what looks like it might be an entranceway.
    Ha-ha-ha, Guild. You sent us on a wild-goose chase.
    I pick my way over the rocks, heading for the sand once more, following the footsteps of all my fellow apprentices who had the same realization before me. I feel relieved that the Game might not be over for me before it has begun but stung that everyone else probably figured this out together, not alone and late.
    Sure enough, once I reach the bottom of the cliff path and walk around the big bush, there is a dark arch of an entrance, facing out to sea. There’s a thick, oiled rope across the entrance with a small wooden sign hanging from it.
    Strictly Out of Bounds
    Ezra Pendleton
    Jackpot. I step over the rope and into the cave.
    The entrance is almost narrow enough for me to touch both sides, but the cave quickly opens up into a large chamber. The sand sticks to my shoes as I walk; it’s dry in here, which at least gives me some confidence that we won’t get careless and have to swim for it. I walk in carefully, out of the bright light and into the unknown. There’s nobody here, but there are a couple shadowy alcoves on the far wall, indications of possible tunnels into other chambers. I walk carefully across the sand and reach the first one. It is a tunnel, a skinny one—I follow it. It narrows farther then hangs a sudden left. The light doesn’t follow. It is dark here, thickly, chokingly dark. There is a low hum, something mechanical—a generator? I edge forward, feeling along both walls, and then suddenly, I’ve lost the right wall. Ack. OK, just keep going. I can’t help but wonder how Tesha with her claustrophobia is dealing with this. The walls are smooth and slimy. Probably dripping with bat droppings. Yup, totally batty, the lot of us… Oh lordy, there must be a way out of here—
    I stop in my tracks. I can hear it. Music. The ceremony must be in full swing. I head toward the sound, bolder now.
    A faint glow off to my right. The hum is louder too. I take a chance and let go of the wall.
    Ahead, a sickly yellow pool of light, spilling out from behind an edge of rock. The source of the hum is a low, square object, with a thick cable running out of it. I was right; it is a generator. I take a breath and step into the light.
    And there they all are. I’m in awe.
    It looks like a pirate’s lair, lit with candles and oil lamps set into indentations in the rock. This chamber is smaller than I expected, only big enough to allow a little more than a dozen kids to sit around reasonably comfortably on an assortment of boxes, old rugs, and cushions. How did they get all this stuff down here? There are a couple wooden tables at the back of the chamber. A pecking order is apparent by everyone’s position. The somber Elders are at the tables: Marcia sits at the smaller of the two, twirling a strand of liquid hair around a pencil. She has a velvet bag, a laptop, and an old-fashioned desk lamp in front of her. At the second, larger table, there’s Carl, all serious cheekbones and dark-red hair, and Cynthia, whip-thin pretty with sharp eyes, compulsively playing with a bag of chips and not opening it. Alex and his best bud, beefcake Rick, lounge between the tables, on big beanbags. Rick’s almost as wide as he is tall, with short legs, furrowed brow, and inch-long black hair, which he scrubs at with both hands, like it itches him. The Journeymen have bagged the best boxes to sit on: my very own Daniel and Roger, an amiable chubster with glasses. I feel Daniel’s eyes