garrattj

Five-minute fiction - 00:08-00:13

Assassin Master Grade Four Prator Abernathy stared at the stack of papers in front of him and sighed. He had been nearly seventy when he taken up the position of Headmaster at the Citys School of Assassins, coming all the way from the far Rurals to take up the post. And it had been nothing but a headache. Though there had been challenges to his position, as there always were but they were generally products of drunken boasting, and Abernathy preferred those who failed to live in shame.

However, that enjoyment aside, he had been unprepared for the level of work and dedication that was required to run the school. The students were miscreants, most from well-to-do families seeking a leg up in the Citys ever-changing hierarchy, others were street-boys attempting to do anything else but die on the streets from whence they came. And the teachers were little better than the students. In some cases they were worse. Worse, if that was even possible.

To top it all off he now had to deal with the rash of killings that struck the City, which thanks to the tell-tale signs of an assassination left the investigation of the incidents in his hands. He hated it.