The Assassin Game (24 page)

“Smee is Emily.” I finish for him. “So, you think Daniel found out she was behind it, and he hurt her? As revenge?”

“It would make sense,” he says.

“But then he poisoned a cake?” I shake my head. “Daniel is a little unhinged, it's true—he might be Skulk. He might be a troll who makes empty threats, sends me messages to give me a scare. But I just can't see the Emily thing or the poisoning… Look, he might do some other screwed-up stuff, but he'd never really hurt me.”

Vaughan thinks about this for a moment. “What is ‘some other screwed-up stuff'?”

I sigh. “OK, your turn not to freak out. When we were in his study yesterday, he kind of…forced himself on me, I suppose you'd say.”

“What!” Vaughan is sitting bolt upright now. “What did he do?”

“It's OK,” I say. “Nothing too bad—he didn't hurt me. He asked me about how I felt about you, and then he went all weird and kissed me. Pushed me down on the sofa, wouldn't let me go.”

Vaughan gulps, his face reddening. “I'll kill him!”

“No you won't, Vaughan,” I say sharply. “And you're not to say that in front of anyone else, do you hear me?” I sigh. “I'm fine. I punched him anyway, if that makes you feel better. Really hard.”

“It does.” Vaughan lies down again. “A little. But anyway, this isn't about me. It's about you—”

“Yes, it is,” I say. “And I am going to do something about it, but I don't know what yet. I was going to humiliate him in public, but the events of the day took over, somewhat. And it's just as well. He needs help, and he needs to tell someone what he did.” I take a breath. “I don't think he would have gone much further, but he has to know how to deal without ever doing that again to anyone else.”

Vaughan is silent. It irks me slightly, mainly because I want him to agree with my plan of how to deal with this, but he obviously doesn't, and really, I shouldn't care less what Vaughan thinks. This is nothing to do with him. But we lie there, and I lay my head on his chest, and he puts his arm around me, and we can agree to disagree. Eventually, he breaks the silence.

“What did you say?”

“Eh? When?”

“When Daniel asked you how you feel about me?”

I pause. “He actually asked me if I was in love with you.”

Vaughan takes a breath. “And you replied…?”

“I said no.” I feel him hold his breath, his arm stiffening a little around my shoulders. Oh, what the hell. You only live once. “But I lied.”

He laughs, softly, and relaxes against me again. “I don't love you too.”

We lie there, lying to each other, happily. Eventually, I speak.

“I don't think anyone is coming.”

The wind has died down. I think I can hear the rain falling, and the waves splashing, but the storm is passing.

“What do you think?” I tilt my head up and look at him. He's sleeping. Head back, lips parted a little, dark-lashed eyes closed, and eyebrows slightly raised as if he's having a surprising dream. I shut my eyes too and let myself drift away on the retreating tide.

When I wake the next morning, he has gone.

I look at my watch; it's 7:15 a.m. I get up, shivering, and look around.

“Vaughan?”

He must have gone outside for a pee. I pick up the oil lamp, pulling the velvet curtain around me like a cape for warmth, and walk slowly through the caves until I'm screwing my eyes up in the daylight. The wind and rain has all but gone; there's a chilly breeze, but the sun is trying to pierce the gray. I look around me, behind the gorse bushes, expecting to catch him unawares, but he's not there. Did he go up the path a little? Along the beach? I scan around. Doesn't look like it.

Then I see a dark mound on the sand a way off, not far from where the waves are lapping. At first I think it's a rock or a seal, but then I spot what looks like a boot. Is that him lying there? The mound is moving a little. What the hell is he doing?

I drop the lamp and start to run, my velvet cape billowing out behind me.

“Vaughan!”

A few yards from the mound, I slow to a stop. It's a pile of clothes, blowing slightly in the breeze. His clothes. His boots. I spin around, looking farther along the beach, toward the cliffs, up at the promontory, and back toward the caves in case I've missed him. And then, inevitably, out to sea.

“Vaughan!” I hold my hands up to my mouth, bend my knees, and holler at the waves. “Vaughan!” The breeze whips my cloak away, and it falls to the sand at my feet, joining Vaughan's discarded clothes. I look for a head in the water, the curve of a thrashing arm, or the splash of a struggle. I run toward the rocks where he was beached after his fall from the promontory and look there. But he has gone. Vanished.

Slowly, I walk back to the clothes, my head aching with possibilities. Is this some joke? A ruse to fool the police? But why? I bend down to move the cloak and examine his clothes. Why, Vaughan? What are you playing at now?

My eye catches a line drawn in the sand by Vaughan's jacket. I follow it, then see the series of lines and curls to the left of it. I step back and read the word written in the sand:

KILLED

“No,” I say emphatically, stepping back farther in case I'm missing something, but that's the only word written there.
Killed. Killed. Killed.

“No!” I scream. “Vaughan, no!”

As I fall to my knees, I see men and women in uniform running across the beach toward me.

“And so, Cate”—the superintendent clears his throat—“having found various incriminating items in his study and bedroom, we have very good reason to suspect that Vaughan was guilty of poisoning Rick Wallington and causing injury to Emily Mullins and Marcia Alvarez.” He shifts in the chair slightly, and it squeaks inappropriately. He coughs again. “I'm sorry to say that we also have compelling evidence that leads us to believe Vaughan committed suicide by walking into the sea.”

I rub my eyes and stare up at the pale-green ceiling of the sick bay.

The nurse has been giving me something much stronger than cold remedy for the last forty-eight hours. Little blue pills, two at a time. I resisted at first, mainly because I knew Vaughan was still out there, and I knew he needed help—help from me. This was him pulling a trick, couldn't they see? Either—and this was the part I wasn't too clear on—the Killer had him, somehow, somewhere, and was holding him against his will—or Vaughan was hiding until he could expose the Killer for who he or she really was. It was so simple! Or was it? I…couldn't entirely remember.

“No.” I form the word carefully, deliberately. “Vaughan wouldn't do that. He wouldn't hurt anyone. Not even himself.”

“Cate.” The superintendent's voice sounds tired. He rustles some papers on his lap. “Did Vaughan ever tell you why he was at Umfraville?”

Duh. This superintendent is really not so super. “Vaughan's too clever for Cambridge. He was having a break from the robots. Very demanding, those robots.” I start to giggle uncontrollably.

Not-so-superintendent sighs. “Cambridge asked him to leave. He got into a fight with another student there and broke their jaw.” The papers rustle again. “Last spring, he drank so much he had to go to hospital to have his stomach pumped.”

“No, wrong again,” I say slowly. “Vaughan never drinks. He doesn't like it. You can ask him when you find him.” I wish the room would stop moving. The walls are wobbling intermittently, and it's beginning to annoy me. “Anyway, I keep telling you.” I sit up drunkenly. “Are you even supposed to be doing this without my parents here? I mean, am I not a minor or something? Don't you need them here to question me?”

“And as I keep telling you, Cate,” he says, “your parents have given us permission to interview you, and they are on their way here. It is apparently quite a long flight from the…Maldives.” He pronounces it “dives,” not “deevs,” the idiot.

“Nice of 'em to bother.” I flop back onto my pillow again and close my eyes.

I wake sometime later. The cloud has lifted, but it has been replaced by the pain, and I don't like that. The pain is lodged in my chest, like a cold steel wedge. It won't shift. Not until Vaughan comes back.

I get up, check the time, and pull on the dressing gown that has been brought from my dorm, shuffle slippers onto my feet. I go to the door, open it.

“Yes, Cate?” It's the nurse. And another policeman, a better one. The nurse doesn't look happy; he's not as good-looking as the last.

“I'd like…some fresh air, please.” I begin to shuffle out of my room.

“Er.” The nurse looks at the cop, and he back at her.

“It's OK,” I say. “I'll just go into the garden.” I lean toward the policeman and wink. “You can even watch.” Yuck. I sound like I'm inviting him to visit me in the shower.

They let me, and I step outside. Ouch, it's chilly. Just as well I don't care.

The sick bay has a small garden with a wooden bench and a goldfish pond bordered by a low hedge. I sit gingerly on one end of the bench, look down toward the science labs, and wait.

Since Vaughan disappeared, things have been a blur to say the least. They won't tell me what evidence they have against him or why they are so sure he waded out to sea. I do know that they haven't found a body, and of course they won't, because he's still out there. Alive. He has to be.

I also know that the police searched the island and interviewed all of the Guild members, and after twenty-four hours and some full-on pressure from parents, the police sent all of the lower years home. They can't keep the rest of the kids here indefinitely, but while they're winding up the investigation and still interviewing us, we are stuck on the island, and classes are supposed to be in session. Which means right about now, Martin should be emerging from that laboratory and making his way back toward his study.

And there he is. Hooray for the predictability and regularity of the scientist.

As he gets closer, I hiss at him.

“Martin!”

He looks up, alarmed, like I'm the frigging Killer. I beckon him over. He eyes the hedge like it's an impenetrable wall. I roll my eyes at him.

“Over there! There's a gap.”

He reluctantly squeezes through and joins me on the bench, his face full of concern and—urgh—pity.

“How are you?”

“Fine,” I say. “Listen, you have to get me my tablet, OK? It's in my study, so unless they've bagged it as evidence for some random reason, you'll see it on the table.”

“Why do you need it?” he says. “They're discouraging emails and messaging.”

“I need to get on Crypt!” I say. “Have you seen anything on there? Anything that might suggest Vaughan's on the mainland?”

Martin's eyes dart down. “Oh, Cate. Crypt is gone. Didn't they tell you?”

I blink. “What?”

He nods. “Someone told the police about it—not sure who, Tesha, probably—and they tried to log in but it has disappeared. Ms. Lasillo tried and everything. We all did. Apart from the initial password box, there was no evidence it was even there in the first place.”

A huge fireball of hope moves through me. “Oh, yes!” I punch the sky.

“What is it?” Martin looks at me like I've farted.

I laugh with joy and relief. “Don't you see?” I yell at him; I can't believe he's being so thick. “If it's gone, that proves Vaughan's alive! Nobody else could have taken the site down! Nobody!”

Martin shakes his head. “Not true, Cate. I wish it were. Vaughan could have nixed it the night of the Summoning, before we went to the cave. The last time any of us saw it was earlier that evening. Or Crypt could have had a kill pill.”

I frown. “What's that?”

His face screws up in self-disgust. “Oh, I'm sorry, Cate. Bad expression. A ‘kill pill' is when a site has an inbuilt code which makes it automatically disappear under certain conditions. Say, if the webmaster doesn't log in for a period of time, enter a password, that kind of thing. Shazam! It's gone.”

I nod my head, but I don't believe him. Vaughan is out there. It would absolutely make sense for him to get rid of Crypt for now.

“Get my tablet for me anyway?” I pull a sad face for Martin. “To take my mind off things.” He looks reluctant but nods. “Thanks. And one more favor. Can you find Daniel for me? Get him to visit?” He nods again, and I smile sardonically. “I bet no one can believe that he was the Killer, eh?”

Martin shakes his head. “What do you mean?”

“Daniel,” I say. “Was the Killer. In the Game.”

Martin looks angry. “He was not! Who told you that? No way, I was the Killer!”

“What?”

He stands up. “I was going to tell you all in the cave, before it—you know—happened, but then Alex showed up and told us the police were coming, and I didn't get the chance. But it was me, all right.” He puffs up his chest. “I had to tell the police, show them everything I'd used in the lab, the paint powder, show them how I'd climbed up the drainpipe and in through the attic in Main House to drop down to the girls' dorms.”

I choke out a laugh. “You did that?”

“Absolutely.” His face is proud; then he falters. “My parents have got a bill for the pool clean-up. They're pretty peeved about it.”

“I found the Killer card though,” I say. “In Daniel's violin case. How did it get there?”

“You have it?” Martin says, moving on to the bench beside me again. “I lost it! Dropped it somewhere, just after the first Summoning. Alex said he was going to kill me! Can I have it back, please? For a souvenir?”

“Gosh, Martin.” I pat him on the hand. “I'm sorry, I don't have it anymore. But well done you. I never would have guessed.” I have a sudden thought. “Did you plant Marcia's bag in the hedge, after the Cynthia Kill?”

He nods sadly. “I saw you find it. Meant it to be a red herring so that everyone would think it was her.” He looks mad at me. “Why didn't you tell anyone you'd found it? What a waste.”

“Well.” I clear my throat and smother the urge to shove him off the bench. “Sorry that particular strategy didn't work out for you. But hey, Martin, kudos for the rest of it. How on earth did you manage to pull everything together so quickly?”

Martin leans in. “Well, look don't tell anyone, but I knew in advance that I was going to be the Killer. Alex fixed it. He, er, owed me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I wrote up a couple of his papers last term. Stuff he couldn't do himself. No big deal, but between me and you, yes?” He stands up again, looks around. “And no harm done, eh? Won't be playing the Game again, ever.” He looks at me closely. “And just so we're clear, as I told the police, the whole Skulk business? Not me. I was General Disarray, I'll have you know.”

He walks to the hedge. “I'll bring your tablet after dinner. We're only here another day anyway. Then they're sending us home. Early half term,” he says. “Then after that, who knows? I suppose now that we know that Vaughan was the Killer, we're all safe here.”

“No, you've got it all wrong.” I spring up. “Vaughan is not the Killer!” I hear myself scream. I should really tone it down, but somehow I can't help myself. “He's not dead, and he's not the Killer! Are you stupid? Is everyone stupid? He's not the Killer! Not the Killer! Not the Killer!”

Martin looks at me, scared, and leaves hurriedly. The nurse and the policeman appear at my side and walk me back to my sickbed. The little blue pills are waiting for me.

I wake up later, and it's dark outside and raining. My bedside lamp is on, and there on the table is my tablet. Thank you, Martin. I groggily crawl out of bed, take it over to the window, and get on to the school intranet. I tap on the password box and put in my password for Crypt.

There! It springs up immediately.

Stupid Martin, what does he know?

There's nothing new on Crypt. No Skulk, no Vaughan-as-DeadMcTavish, no nobody. I look at the map; no users online, except me, at the sick bay. I click on the new IM box, and my fingers hover over the text box. I type @DeadMcTavish. And I write. And write.

I tell him I know he's out there. I tell him to be strong, that we've got this, we'll clear his name, find the real killer, and everything will be all right. He just needs to tell me what to do. I tell him that Martin was the Killer in the Game, and that I'm going to talk to Daniel because I've thought it all through, and I'm really doubting that he's Skulk and was involved in what happened to Emily, Marcia, and Rick. No, Daniel's just a sad and lonely boy. Skulk is the killer, Skulk is a monster, and he's still out there and wants to kill me—kill us both. We need to find him, need to trap him, and we don't have much time because the police think it's case closed, and everyone's leaving Skola soon and it will be too late.

And then I tell him that I love him.

And then I delete that bit, because it's too bloody sappy and there'll be time for all of that later.

And then I press Return.

The message pings out into the ether. I watch the screen intensely, like I've never watched anything in my life before. I will him to appear. He has to. I wait like that for five, ten minutes, and then fifteen, refreshing the screen over and over to stop Crypt from logging me out, terrified that if it bumps me off, I'll never get on again. And then I wake up with a jerk of my head and I realize that I've fallen asleep in the chair by the window, and I hold my breath as I log in, and my heart leaps as Crypt appears, but falls again as there's no new message from DeadMcTavish. I stare at the screen, settling myself in for the long haul, gripping my fingernails into my palms to keep myself from falling asleep again.

An hour passes. Nothing. Then an hour and a half. No word.

Dejected, I stumble back to bed. I wake once or twice in the night, and each time I check. Silence in the Crypt.

In the morning, I wake up with a clearer head.

I wake up my tablet, log in to Crypt.

Still nothing.

I get up, shower, put on my clothes, which have been thoughtfully laundered. Normal clothes make me feel more normal again. This is ridiculous; they can't keep me in the sick bay. I'm not sick! I pace up and down again, check in on Crypt occasionally, and just as I'm about to try and convince them to let me go out, there's a knock at the door.

I walk over and answer it.

Daniel's standing there, looking shocked.

“Hi!” He looks me up and down. “I was expecting you to be in bed!” He instantly flushes, realizing how that sounds. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, and beckon him in, where he stands, swinging his violin case against his legs gently.

“Grab that chair.” I sit on the bottom of the bed.

Daniel stays where he is and holds out one hand.

“Cate, I just want you to know, I'm so, so sorry.”

I nod. “What for?”

His head tilts, he's confused. “I'm sorry about Vaughan, of course.”

“Don't worry about it.” I dismiss him. “No, I thought you meant you were sorry about jumping on me the other day.”

“What?” Daniel puts his violin case down by the chair with a thud. “Oh God.” He shakes his head. “I would never, Cate, never hurt you, you know that—”