The Assassin Game Read Free

pruning shears on the ground.
    Before I have time to consider the implications of this, I feel the hit of freezing water on my back from above. I gasp in shock; someone has tipped a bucket of seawater over me. Martin and Tesha yell beside me as they get their own showers.
    â€œBe cleansed by the spirits of assassins past!” cries Alex. “Wash in the souls of those who have gone before you!”
    Another bucket. This one feels almost warm after the shock of the first. But now I’m utterly drenched, dripping hair and freezing face. I gulp to get my breath.
    â€œNo!” Tesha cries out.
    At first I think she’s protesting another wetting, but from my place in the sand, I see someone walk forward holding the pillowcases again.
    â€œPlease!” she begs. “I’m claustrophobic. I can’t stand it anymore!”
    A ripple of laughter goes around.
    â€œBag her!” someone shouts.
    â€œBag her! Bag her!” A cluster of Guild members—some, I think, are actually Tesha’s best friends—begin a chant.
    â€œYeah, bag the bitch!” a voice shouts.
    â€œSilence!” Alex is genuinely peeved. Oh dear. A recent initiate has gone too far.
    â€œNo need to get overexcited,” Alex says, kicking sand expertly into the initiate’s masked face. “Tesha”—he shakes his head and the hood waggles a bit, making him look even more ridiculous—“you’ve persuaded me.”
    â€œBoo!” the Guild cry.
    â€œBut…” He puts a foot on the center of her back and rolls her a little, back and forth. Sand sticks to her ample curves as she rolls, she looks sugar-coated. “Make no mistake, Tesh. You owe me one.”
    More laughter. A couple boyish jeers. Yuck.
    â€œI’m freezing, Alex—” Tesha begins.
    â€œQuiet!” he shouts. “What? You expected this to be easy?” He shakes his head again, relishing his power over her. “It cannot be easy.”
    The cold wetness is making me shake involuntarily, but I’m grateful to Tesha for stopping the pillowcases. And then I see what’s coming next, and I wonder why I felt glad a second ago.
    â€œBring out the Dumper!” Alex cries.
    A Mask steps forward, and I recognize him immediately; it’s my dear friend, Daniel. He’s carrying a bucket, clutching it with those freakishly long, white fingers, holding it at arm’s length. I don’t think this bucket is full of seawater. Alex points to the place on the sand where he dropped the pruning shears.
    Daniel reluctantly walks over to the spot and slops something dark and viscous from the bucket on to the ground, covering the pruning shears.
    â€œAll of it,” Alex says. Daniel sighs then jerks the bucket downward, slapping its bottom like you would a glass ketchup bottle. But the slop is stubborn. “Use your hands,” says Alex, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Daniel’s face hardens, but he puts a hand in anyway and scoops the remainder of the stuff onto the ground, the gloop dripping delicately from his slender digits. The smell has reached me now: cow. This is not going to end well.
    â€œNow,” says Alex. “As you know, entry into the Guild is subject to passing a test. You have received the cleansing waters, but an assassin must also be prepared to get his or her hands dirty.” Laughter. “You have until sunrise to free yourselves and return to your beds, making sure to clean up this mess so all trace of us is removed. Failure to complete this task in its entirety will render your attempted entry into this Guild unsuccessful.” He smiles. “Good luck.”
    On cue, minions extinguish the oil lamps, and we are plunged into the damp semidarkness. A second later, and they are all gone.
    â€œAlex!” screams Tesha. “Come back!”
    â€œYou shouldn’t call him Alex,” hisses Martin, lying on his back and jerking his