My Young Assassin
Fandom: Terry Pratchett/Discworld
Rating: T for light swearing and occasional violence
Summary: Stories centered around the lives of students at Assassin Academy
Disclaimer: Terry Pratchett owns the Discworld. If I owned it, I wouldn't be living in this universe, All I've got are the OC's in this story.
A Climbing Lesson
"This is a simple climbing test designed to assess endurance and speed," Mrs. Shields explained, her voice having the cold, impersonal tone of of a formal carried a small, yellow folder under one arm, filled with facts and statistics pertaining to the student standing before her. Moffin Peaswick was a small, slender girl with pale skin and long, brunette hair that was currently pulled into a single tight braid. She had enrolled in Ankh-Morpork's Assassin Academy intending to major in Fine Arts but had been persuaded to give Assassination a try after a teacher witnessed her successfully defending herself against three large bullies in a bareknuckle fight.
Currently, Moffin stood at attention, which is to say examining every square inch of the room in which she found herself. It was a small, circular room made entirely of steel. The wall she was meant to climb was at least twenty feet high, nearly flat and went straight up to a small opening in the ceiling. There appeared to be no handholds or footholds and, judging from the shine of the metal, it was very, very slick.
"You will have fifteen minutes to reach the top. After that time, the escape hatch will not open. It is strongly advisable that you complete the test before that time." Moffin noticed that the left corner of Mrs. Shields mouth twitched as she said this. A nervous tick, maybe? Moffin was only on her second term at Asassin Academy but she was aware that when a teacher called a test "simple" it generally meant "extremely dangerous with a low survival rate."
"As a courtesy, your grappling hook and line have already been secured." She motioned toward the nylon rope dangling within easy reach of Moffin's hands. It looked worrisomely thin. "Good luck, Miss Peaswick." said Mrs. Shields, who then turned on her heel and left. The steel door closed behind her with the sound of many locks sliding into place.
Taking a deep breath, Moffin grabbed onto the rope and began to climb.
Finding purchase on the sheer metal wall was maddening. Moffin's feet slid out from under her and left her dangling from the rope five times before she managed to ascend three feet. She had to strain every muscle in her legs and back in an effort to brace herself against the wall. The easiest way was to inch one foot forward while keeping the other foot firmly planted. It was hard work, but not impossible.
And then the lights went out.
From beneath her, Moffin heard a squealing sound like knives being scraped together. It was not a sound you wanted to hear below you while climbing a sheer wall in total darkness.
The lights came back on, but only partly. They were flickering and strobing, providing quick bursts of temporary illumination like flashes of lightning. In a corner of her mind that was not currently filled with an overwhelming sense of dread, Moffin was reminded of a sleazy nightclub she'd visited with her twin sister on their seventeenth birthday. Moffin looked down, and the sense of dread intensified as she was able to make out parts of the floor separating, irising open to reveal spinning metal blades.
It was a gigantic fan, with blades that could very likely slice through flesh and bone with little resistence.
Moffin redoubled her efforts to reach the top, only to find that the wall was tilting. Whatver diabolical contraption controlled this room was moving the wall. setting it at a rather steep angle. This meant that she was no longer climbing straight up, which was good. Unfortunately, an incredibly strong wind began to blow from the fan. If she lost her grip on the rope, she would be sucked into those lethal knives.
With her teeth barred in a feral snarl of determination, Moffin flattened herself against the wall, bent her knees and pushed up with her feet. She repeated the process, putting at least five more feet of distance between herself and the spinning jaws of death below. She estimated there were at least ten more feet to go before she reached the top of the wall. The sweat from her hands was making her hold on the rope precarious and, if that wasn't bad enough, she thought the damn thing was beginning to fray.
Despite the flashes of white light that made it nearly impossible to see clearly, Moffin could finally begin to make out the outline of the hatch at the top of the wall. This gave her hope. Then she noticed something that nearly shattered her hope like a delicate glass vase and replaced it with an ugly plate of total despair. The two halves of the steel hatch were opening and closing like a pair of chattering teeth. She would have to time her escape just right or risk being sliced in half.
Holding on to the fraying rope, Moffin prepared herself to make one desperate and potentially fatal jump. She counted down while watching the killer doors above her.
Five. Four.
The doors had just shut.
Three.
They began opening again.
Two.
They were now a little less than halfway open.
One.
Moffin launched herself at the opening just as the rope snapped and tumbled into the fan below. It was a carefully timed leap that could only be made with a little strength, a little skill, and a whole lot of pure dumb luck.
She rocketed through the escape hatch expecting to feel searing pain as her legs were forcibly removed from her body but instead landed on all fours upon metal that was, thank all the gods and angels, completely motionless. Moffin began taking great gulps of air, trying to stifle the delayed panic response that was tightening her chest.
"Well done, Miss Peaswick!" Mrs. Shields stood over the panting girl, smiling broadly. "You made it in a little under eleven minutes. Not bad." She began scribbling something on a piece of paper inside her little yellow folder.
Moffin wanted to pummel the teacher's face in or, at the very least, swear colorfully at the top of her voice. But she couldn't do wither of those things. Assassin Trainees did not disrespect their teachers. Not if they wanted to live long enough to graduate.
Moffin wondered if she would live to graduate regardless.
Author's Note: This story was written to the song N.I.B by Ozzy Osborne.