The Assassin Game Read Free Page A

feet into the air in an attempt to dislodge the peg tethering him to the ground. “He’s the Grand Master.”
    â€œYeah, and doesn’t he know it?” Tesha mutters. “Alex!” She clearly feels like she can break rank. There was that rumor about them tussling tongues last term, not long after we did, so maybe she has something on him. Didn’t help me much, and it doesn’t seem to be helping her either.
    Martin has given up on trying to pull up the peg and is now moving away from it in a kind of breakdance body-roll style. He’s not your natural athlete, but he gets a gold star for effort.
    Tesha looks at him scornfully. “What the hell are you doing, Martin? Ack!” She gives a cry of frustration. “You’re so bloody keen it’s unnatural!” She turns to me. “What are we supposed to do?”
    I shrug. I absolutely know, but I’ll give her the bliss of a few more seconds of ignorance.
    I wiggle forward on my belly. Sand sticks to me. It’s quite tempting to burrow into the sand for warmth, but I have no intention of burying myself so early on in the Game. No, I’m in this for the long haul.
    Martin’s ahead of me, with the same idea in mind. “The pruning shears,” he grunts. “We can cut ourselves free.”
    â€œBut they’re covered in something. What is that crap on the ground?” Tesha calls.
    â€œCrap, on the ground,” Martin deadpans. His bungee rope is now taught. He stretches his upper body forward, then flops like a charging walrus, but the bungee pulls him back, tauntingly dragging him in the sand. “Too short!” He strains forward again, groaning, but he can’t move any farther.
    So this is our test: snake our way over to the crap on the ground, retrieve the pruning shears, cut ourselves free.
    I feel the tightness on my ankles too. I inch toward the cow poo, digging toes into the sand to give me a foothold, but I’m still a good body length away. This is impossible.
    Behind me, Tesha is getting with the program. She’s trying to bring her tied hands under her feet; yes, tied hands in front are much more useful than tied hands behind. Tesha might be fleshy, but she’s certainly supple. I try to copy her, but neither of us is successful. I’m not sure I’m willing to break my wrists, even for the Game.
    Martin’s waggling his tether again, but he can’t shift it. He moves to mine. “Help me pull my peg!” he says to both of us.
    â€œFirst time for everything.” Tesha rolls her eyes at me and falls onto her side, knickered bum in the air.
    I wiggle over to Martin.
    â€œIt’s stuck fast,” he says, trying to pull it up with his hands behind him. “Dig around the bottom, maybe we can get them out of the ground that way.”
    â€œDig with what?” I answer my own question by sitting on the sand with my back to the peg and scrabbling ineffectually with my cupped hands. Tesha joins me, and we all dig. After a minute, we’ve made a pathetically shallow hole.
    â€œIt’s no good.” Martin grimaces as he reaches down. “It’s attached to some kind of steel ring.” He reaches farther. “Set in concrete. I think they have them here to anchor scenery to the stage.”
    Tesha swears. I don’t blame her. I’d be even more miffed if I were in my drawers. An idea hits. “Teamwork.” I sigh. “Right idea, just wrong place.” I push myself up to my feet and jump toward the cowpat until my bungee is taut. I crouch down and begin to dig a little trench. “OK. Now, Martin, come toward me and pull my rope behind you as much as you can to give me some slack. Tesha, here.” I nod to the ground.
    She looks at me, not moving. “You scare me, girl.”
    â€œCome on!” I say. “We have to do this. We can’t be the only initiates to fail the test; it would be so embarrassing. Plus,