One Must Die

Copyright © 2024 by Candice Pedraza Yamnitz, Amber Lambda, Sarah Everest, Claire Kohler, Lydia Mae, C.C. Urie

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

For permission requests, contact Candice Yamnitz at author@candiceyamnitz.us.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Cover and interior design by Candice Pedraza Yamnitz

Illustrations by Candice Pedraza Yamnitz First edition 2024 Names: Yamnitz, Candice Pedraza, author

Title: One Must Die/ Candice Pedraza Yamnitz, Amber Lambda, Sarah Everest, Claire Kohler, Lydia Mae, C.C. Urie

Description: Audience: Ages 13+. | Summary: Welcome to the annual game where teenage competitors search Sky Manor for the key to open a vault hidden behind the deceptive walls. The winner will have the wealth of a lifetime, but there is one catch. One contestant must die.

ISBN: 979-8-9881213-9-8 (paperback)

ISBN: 979-8-9881213-8-1 (e-book)

Subjects: Young Adult -- Fiction. | Mystery and Detective -- Fiction. | Teen & Young Adult Fantasy

No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money.

Matthew 6:24 (ESV)

Contents

The Invitation

Characters

1.Jessie, the Thief

2.Arden, the Banker’s Son

3.Ben, The Emerald Prince

4.Camilla, the Gold Digger

5.Rupert, the Poor Scoundrel

6.Jessie, the Thief

7.Rupert, the Poor Scoundrel

7. Woodhouse Notes

8.Maple, the Nice Girl

9.Zenith, the Outsider

10.Arden, the Banker’s Son

10. Woodhouse Notes

11.Jessie, the Thief

12.Maple, the Nice Girl

13.Jessie, the Thief

14.Maple, The Not-so-Nice Girl

15.Camilla, the Gold Digger

16.Rupert, the Poor Scoundrel

17.Camilla, the Gold Digger

18.Ben, The Emerald Prince

19.Zenith, The Assassin

20.Rupert, the Former Smuggler

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About Candice

About Amber

About Sarah

About Claire

About Lydia

About C.C. Urie

Preview of Zenith’s Story

Chapter one

Jessie, the Thief

2:16 PM

Waking up alive tomorrow had the same odds as surviving a zeppelin crash. But that was the reality of this game—one competitor must die before someone would walk home with the grand prize.

I hunkered in my chair, empty suitcase between my boots in the zeppelin’s cabin. Sweat soaked into my white shirt under my leather vest. The lacquered armrests reflected the mid-afternoon sun as the vessel shifted for the last approach to our destination. My fingernails bit into my palms, nerves needing something else to focus on than the eight of us competing in the game ahead.

Though a hundred invitations appeared like an apparition and dropped into our laps, most decided the risk of dying far outweighed the potential to win a lifetime of wealth. After all, one must die. They weren’t the odds I would have hoped for, but the chance to win made the next eighteen hours worth the risk.

The hum of cogs and rushing air added to the tension between us riding in an oval cabin, facing each other in complete silence. I’d never been a word person. I much preferred equations and statistics. For instance, if all one-hundred of the people who received an invitation would have shown up, I would have had only a one percent chance of dying. Yet, in contrast, the probability of winning also skyrocketed with only eight players.

We lounged in our chairs, all separated by empty seats, the preparatory students on one side and the unfortunate souls with no scholarship or fortune on the other.

I tipped my hat lower over my eyes to hide the fear I might be exuding. No one glanced my direction. Instead, they held faraway stares as if they wrestled their own demons. My plan to win would be simple. I’d team up with the one person who might not want me dead.

Across from me sat the banker’s son, Arden. Right now, he wouldn’t dare give a nobody like me a look, with his fancy golden pocket watch tempting anyone to snatch it from him. I’d tried to speak to Arden before with all his prep school friends, but instead, I'd become a coward—the very thing I hated. My long-awaited message to him must be released from my chest. With such a big manor, I would get my chance to catch him alone easier. He glanced to his right.

The girl two chairs beside him had a nice-girl persona with a constant smile chiseled into her cheeks. She kept her luggage unattended on its own seat and a brown paper bag of who-knew-what on her lap, happily gawking out the window. She probably had a family that loved her, but probably also complained about how her rough-spun dress chafed against her skin. Her type inspired a gag.

Though she’d be a better companion than the couple several chairs to her right. The worst sort of people who thought of themselves as royalty. They cuddled together in their fancy clothes. The Emerald Prince with his blond hair and the condescending once-over he administered confirmed my nickname to be fitting. He ignored the gold digger clawing at his arm. She peeked out the window and scrunched her eyelids shut again, scared of the air below us. That’s how you could be sure she was a gold digger and not one of them. The rich grew up taking zeppelins to their vacation islands that floated above the cities.

The poor scoundrel across from the couple had been an old chum once, Rupert. He wasn’t the handsomest of the bunch, but his tan skin and jet-black hair added some allure. He flashed a daggered glance at the Emerald Prince, and I smiled a bit. Though that still wouldn’t make us friends. Now, staring at his profile, I agreed with my previous decision about not keeping ties with people who flip like a coin in a dealer’s hand.

The last two fellows didn’t seem so bad. They chose seats on my side of the cabin like Poor Scoundrel (Rupert was too kind of a name for someone like him). The mousey man with a curly swirl of hair didn’t have anything of use stuffed in any pocket that I could see. He gnawed on his bottom lip. Watching him had me sweating with nerves.

Then there was the outsider type. He kept to himself, in leather like me, and had nothing of value peeking from any of his pockets. But judging by his shifty eyes he carried something more valuable than jewels. If I made a guess, I’d say he dealt in secrets.

The outsider met my gaze. The hard set to his jaw and deadpan expression didn’t invite further interaction.

The cabin jostled.

My hands gripped the armrest.

Movement stopped.

The windows on my side revealed a sixty-degree angle of sunlight hitting the clouds. On the banker’s son’s side, the view darkened to the shade of gray sandstone.

A young lady with wild brown curls, pilot goggles, and a leather coat with more pockets than I’d ever seen on one garment appeared at the front of the cabin. We’ve arrived at Sky Manor. Her voice came out in a monotone cadence like she said this little speech often. Arrive by 8:00 tomorrow morning. Those who are not at the port before departure will work at Sky Manor until the next game.

The declaration hit like an anvil on my chest. So this was why we were told to bring luggage for an eighteen-hour game where no one was going to think about changing into pajamas. Fear of dying had whipped up a thick dose of adrenaline in me, and now we also had to worry about getting stuck in a sky prison. I’d be eighteen in a year, five and a half percent of my life gone.

Her voice rang out like a gong. All exit over here. Walk up the path into Sky Manor. Mister Woodhouse will give you further directions.

Emerald Prince toted both his and Gold Digger’s suitcases as they lumbered through the open doorway.

Shouldn’t an automaton do this sort of labor? the Emerald Prince asked.

This is why I keep you around, dear. The Gold Digger smirked at him as she stepped around her boyfriend.

If any of us had to die or be left behind, I voted for the Gold Digger who clutched at Emerald Prince’s occupied arm.

Even thinking those words made hives break out on my neck. The kids at the orphanage would be disappointed in me. I’d promised them that I would play nice. The reward for winning would feed all the children at my old orphanage and solve my own problems too.

The banker’s son strode out, followed by Poor Scoundrel, Nice Girl, and lastly, The Outsider.

Why did I answer the invitation’s call? Should I sit this one out by staying on the zeppelin? Not going would mean taking on bigger jobs and never being a legitimate member of society. I picked up my empty suitcase and sped through the aisle toward the exit.

The curly-haired fellow remained frozen in his seat. The news about being left behind must have frightened him enough to drop out of the game. A total coward who never would have won.

Good, more chances of me walking out with the prize. I continued past the pilot, catching metal wings with the initial A and the name Woodhouse etched onto her metal pin. The surname seems to be popular up here.

I stepped off the zeppelin and onto solid ground—well, as solid as a floating piece of land can be four-thousand feet in the air. Cool wind smacked me in the face and nearly took my breton cap with it. Light brown hair poked at my eyes, but I pushed it aside.

A long stone path lay ahead of me to an imposing building five stories high. The closer I got, the more I wondered about its history. In classes, teachers said that God yanked out the old abbeys from the ground to protect them from a warring populace, but the truth remained lost in time. Rows of trees cut into the shape of boxes encased the walkway in front of me. The contestants ahead turned a corner and disappeared from view. Though I didn’t mind being alone, this place stirred unease in the pit of my stomach.

I rushed ahead.

My footfalls echoed.

The mostly empty luggage slipped from my sweaty palms and fell to the ground, flipping open. A few portraits and the old missive from my mom scattered atop the bare fabric lining, but that wasn’t all. There was a foreign paper, folded and stamped with a wax seal, beside them.

Breath stalled in my throat. I kept my suitcase closed since leaving my rented room this afternoon. But there it was.

I picked up the yellowed missive and flipped it open:

The clock ticks on your watch.

The children play hopscotch.

The key can’t save them all,

So be sure to attend the ball.

There is one closer than a friend,

Whom you must apprehend.

Chills spread across my flesh. Did they know about my sour dealing with the pawn shop over the silly watch? What did it mean by a person closer than a friend? I hadn’t a real friend, only an orphanage of old women and children whom I'd visited ever since I'd aged out. Whoever wrote this couldn’t know about my brother. I tucked the note in my pocket, gathered my luggage, and bounded up the path.

The pillared entrance doors remained wide open, and I ran into the building, unnerved by the strange poem.

An old man with wild white-and-gray hair flaring out from his head spoke to the others. I shuffled to a dark corner behind a pillar to overhear the rules.

Remember, I am Mr. Woodhouse, the manor’s mechanic and steward. I have the key to your bedroom doors and general maps of Sky Manor. You’ll get a room for the night to stow your suitcase and sleep, should you choose. The rules are simple. Find the key and open the vault. The winner will get further instruction in the vault.

Where is the vault? Gold Digger asked.

Ahhh, don’t be so hasty. That’s also part of the game.

So. Gold Digger batted her lashes at Mr. Woodhouse with a ridiculous pose I assumed was meant to be charming, "what you’re saying is that we can go anywhere in the manor