Queen's Gambit

by Bradley Harper

  Herman heard the cannon. He had thirty minutes to prepare, then twenty minutes to take his shot. It was time for the next step.

  “Don’t you want to assemble your camera, Mr. Rodshenko?” Nurse Foster asked. “I imagine such devices are rather delicate and require frequent adjustment.”

  “You’re right, madam. I also have the film inside the case, however, so I wanted to minimize the risk of its exposure. But it is time.” He reached into his pocket. “Could you see if your patient is all right? I’d hate to prevent him from seeing the ceremony if he’s awake. We could share the view, as it were.”

  The nurse nodded, and as she turned to check on her silent charge, Herman removed the leather bag from his pocket. It was about the size of the pouch boys kept for marbles, but this one was filled with lead shot. Herman swung it hard, hitting the woman just behind her right ear as described in the story he’d once read about a cat burglar.

  The nurse staggered, then spun around and kicked him hard in the shins. “You bastard!”

  Herman was stunned, both physically and emotionally. This had worked perfectly in the story, and he had never considered it wouldn’t in real life. As he stood there hopping on one foot and rubbing his shin, his adversary followed up with a roundhouse to his nose, causing his eyes to water as blood spurted out. He staggered back, and Nurse Foster dashed for the door while Freddy sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Is the Queen here yet?” he asked, yawning.

  James heard the cannon and turned to wave down to his two ladies in blue. They waved back. It would take half an hour for the procession to arrive, and he took several slow, deep breaths to steady his nerves before raising his glasses to resume scanning the crowd. He checked on his two bobbies in front of the school. They were in place, and they looked bored, which was excellent news on both counts. He moved his glass over to the rooftop, and he reckoned the custodian would have a very profitable reward for his illicit enterprise. He noticed five faces crowded together in the first-floor window, but there were none in the second. The nurse must be waiting until the royal carriage arrived before bringing her patient closer to the opening.

  Herman made a blind grab at the nurse that spun her around. She stomped hard on his right foot with one stiff, leather-soled shoe. The edge of her heel smashed his toes like a dropped anvil. He was losing this fight, and he needed to put her down quickly.

  He swung blind, but was rewarded with the woman falling to her knees. Down, but not out. He swung the leather bag at the back of her head, and this time she reacted as the story said she should and slumped unconscious to the floor.

  Little Freddy sat wide-eyed in the bed, unable to make a sound. Herman turned to him as he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the blood running out of his nose. Herman imagined how he must appear to the frightened child and wondered what Immanuel would look like at the boy’s age. “Don’t worry, my friend,” he said as though to a skittish colt. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He looked at his soiled handkerchief. “Sorry about the blood.”

  Between his fear and weakness from his illness, Freddy offered no resistance, and soon both he and the nurse were bound with strips of bed covers Herman had cut with his knife. Herman checked the nurse’s pulse and was relieved to find it strong. Now I understand why Dante had several levels in hell, Herman thought, for there are degrees of damnation. Every time I think I have reached the bottom of the pit, another abyss awaits.

  He opened the case and began assembling the rifle. One final act and my small piece of Paradise awaits.

  Herman placed Freddy onto another bunk. “I’m sorry you won’t get to see Her Majesty today, but you’ll still have quite a story to tell when this is over.” He tousled the bound boy’s hair. A useless gesture. He sees a monster. Perhaps he’s right.

  He slid the bed to the window then placed three pillows on the end closest to it, climbed up, and assumed a prone position, resting the barrel on the small pile of pillows. The clotted blood in his nose forced him to breathe through his mouth, and his eyes were still teary from the pain. His throbbing right foot could not bear the weight of the leg, so he was forced to cross it over his left, splaying his right knee further out to compensate. He lay still and counted to four as he inhaled, six as he exhaled, and after several cycles his hands relaxed and the rifle felt comfortable in his grasp.

  He looked out the window as a single tall man in a shiny breastplate rode by. It had begun. The parts were snug, the sights aligned. He looked through the scope and his view of the entrance to the cathedral was unobstructed. The choir and various dignitaries crowded the steps, but the place of honor at the foot was clear. Now all he had to do was wait.

  James turned to wave to the ladies to indicate the procession was arriving when he saw a flash from the second-floor window. He looked through his field glasses and saw the bed was now pulled up to it. Perhaps the nurse wanted the child to get a better view? But where was he? The room was in shadow and James saw a dim figure lying on the bed. His breath caught when he saw something else. A black line extended from the figure toward the open window. A rifle barrel.

  50

  Tuesday, June 22, cont.

  “Father seems very excited, doesn’t he, Margaret?” said Elizabeth.

  “See how he’s waving toward us.”

  I’d been standing on tiptoe to see why the crowd had become so animated and had just seen the plumed helmet of Captain Ames pass by when Elizabeth tugged at my sleeve and pointed to the roof. “Yes, he is.” I smiled. “Just like a schoolboy on holiday.”

  Then I felt a cold hand on my heart. “Elizabeth! He’s pointing to the top of the building. Someone’s on the roof!”

  I grabbed one of the constables. “Officer! Inspector Ethington sees something on the roof of the boarding school. You must investigate immediately!”

  The bobby and his mate exchanged glances before he said in his most official tone, “We were told to stay ’ere, and ’ere’s where we’re staying! We’ll not be running about the building unless we get a direct order from a superior officer, which you ain’t.”

  His eyes narrowed. “As for that bloke on the roof, he might be an inspector, and he might be someone trying to make us leave our post so his mates (giving me a meaningful glance), can do some mischief. I’ll need to see a badge before I leave my assigned post.”

  I spun toward Elizabeth. “Find one of the police sergeants along the plaza and get them to look up. I’ll see what I can do in the meantime!” Elizabeth turned pale and began working her way through the crowd in a very unladylike manner, earning glares from those she shoved past.

  The two constables formed a solid barrier as they glowered at me. “You’ve no business inside the premises, Madam!” said the one I’d grabbed before. “Unless you’ve a pass of some kind, we’ll not be letting you in!”

  No time for diplomacy. I pulled my derringer from my purse. “I apologize, gentlemen, but I have my pass right here. Let me by, or I’ll wound the both of you.” I cleared my throat as the two bobbies shrank back against the door. “It’s .42 caliber, by the way. It makes a large hole.”

  The two men slid to their right, leaving the door to the boarding school unblocked. “We’ll get reinforcements, Madam! There’ll be twenty men here before you can get out,” one growled.

  “Will they come sooner if I shoot one of you?” I asked, but the two constables were gone before I’d finished my question.

  I took a deep breath, shoved open the door and made for the stairs.

  James’s hands tightened on his field glasses as he saw the two constables flee the building while Margaret rushed inside, hand held high holding her derringer. He dropped the glasses and ran for the stairs just as Captain Ames rode out of sight of the cathedral. The queen’s carriage would arrive in less than ten minutes.

  Herman heard the full-throated roar from Fleet Street erupt, and he knew what that meant. The rifle was ready. He felt rather than heard the safety click off. He watched the carriages pass by through the scope
and smiled as Grand Duke Franz Ferdinand crossed his view. He’s an easy target, Herman thought to himself as he noted the man’s portly figure. He heard shouts on the roof above. At first, he assumed they were the enthusiastic hurrahs from the custodian’s illicit customers. No. Something was different. A woman’s voice was shouting, commanding. No matter. Aristotle said that given a place to stand and a lever, he could move the world. Today I am in that place, and I am holding the lever.

  I stormed the stairs, but my knees grew stiffer as I climbed, and my lungs labored to keep up. After an eternity, I reached the door to the roof and leaned against the wall, gasping. I do not know what frightened me more at that moment, the thought of standing atop the building or facing an armed assassin, but after a final gulp of air I lurched through the door and out onto the roof, my pistol aloft.

  My eyes were drawn to the edge of the veranda and down to the street far below with nothing but a vast space between. I felt it calling to me to fall forever, down into the emptiness and the brief illusion of flight. My head spun and my knees, stiff just moments ago, nearly buckled. I clenched my jaw. No time for this, Margaret!

  I stood straight and grasped my pendant with my left hand, the solid shape of the penny bringing me back to the task at hand. “No one move!” I commanded, “There’s an assassin among you!”

  Some forty men and women stared at me with bulging eyes and open mouths, like fish out of water. My eyes darted about, seeking a rifle or weapon of any kind. Nothing, save a lady’s parasol. I looked back to the cathedral roof. James was gone. I turned to look behind me to the pitched roof of the school. No one was there.

  My head swiveled as the roar of the crowd grew to a fever pitch. Below me, a carriage bearing a small woman dressed in black halted at the cathedral steps.

  James fought through the crowd toward the school. He felt as though he were in a dream where something evil pursued him while he dragged his feet through soft tar. The increasing roar of the crowds told him his time was running out. When he reached the schoolhouse door, it was unguarded, and he searched for any sign of Elizabeth. There was none.

  James was gasping by now but had no time to catch his breath. No time at all. He drew his Webley as he dashed to the stairs and made for the corner room on the second floor.

  My curse shocked everyone on the roof as I whirled around and ran back inside. Fool! He must have meant the window!

  I saw James one floor below at the landing, bent over and panting. I hobbled down the stairs to his side as quickly as I could and helped him straighten. “Stay behind me,” he gasped. He raised his pistol, but we both froze at the distinctive thunk we’d heard once before—the discharge of an air rifle.

  51

  Tuesday, June 22, cont.

  Herman’s finger barely made contact with the trigger as he sought to find a clear line between the two ladies-in-waiting sitting across from the old queen; they partially obscured his view. He considered shooting the one to his left. I’d have time for a second clear shot before anyone could react, he thought. Then he shook his head. How much sin can one soul bear?

  The view of Victoria’s seat was unobstructed on her right side—his left—as was a portion of her right shoulder. Perhaps a shot into the seat beside her would be enough to distract the queen and cause her to lean into view, much as one might fire into the air to flush out a pheasant. He sighted carefully and—as he let his breath ease out—the rifle coughed.

  Her Majesty was deeply moved by the cheers of the crowd, and although the day was warm and moist, she savored sitting beneath her parasol as she took in the harmonious blending of the boys’ singing above her.

  She was lost in remembering other times when suddenly she felt the back of her seat shudder violently. She looked down and saw a trace of the cushion stuffing peeking out of a fresh hole. She looked up and saw a flash of light from the boys’ boarding school. Her two household guards sitting above and behind her seemed oblivious in their boredom.

  Her jaw set. “Ladies,” she said in a calm voice, “please shift to your right. We wish to admire the colonel’s fine horse.” They did so and Her Majesty, empress of the British Empire, all four feet and ten inches of her, stared into the darkness of the window, and lifted her chin.

  Herman lay poised, waiting for a panicked royal carriage to give him a second shot. He saw the small figure in black look down, then to his amazement the ladies-in-waiting shifted to their right and the queen stared straight at him. She neither moved nor looked away, as though daring him to fire.

  Nothing could save her now. Herman’s finger caressed the trigger, then it settled into place. She was still staring at him. She knew what was coming and wasn’t afraid. She put others out of harm’s way.

  Herman knew no kaiser, no tsar, would ever do this, and he finally understood why she was loved while the other two were merely feared. She could be killed. She could not be cowed.

  A pity, he thought, as the crosshairs were sliding down to align with her face. Then the door crashed open and on instinct he half-rolled to his left as he jerked the rifle to the right and fired.

  “No!” James moaned and his jaw clenched. “We’re too late!” His right hand fell to his side. “I’ve failed her.” His hand came back up as he cocked the large bore pistol. “I’ll make the bastard pay!”

  He flew to the door and kicked it in as I followed right behind.

  I saw the man with a rifle lying atop a bunk bed. I gasped. The Russian. What a fool I was!

  The rifle spun toward us and coughed. The cheering of the crowd reached our ears as I looked down in horror and saw the bloodstain spreading across James’s chest. The assassin stared at me as he reloaded his rifle. I was mesmerized as I heard the rattle of the lead balls in the magazine as he tilted the barrel and slid a bullet into the breech.

  “Her name was Astrid,” he said, as the barrel swung toward me.

  The moment seemed frozen in time and I had an eternity to act. James’s knees began to fold as he jerked his hand up and his Webley spat flame just as I fired my derringer.

  The assassin released his rifle and sighed once, then lay still, a strange smile on his face.

  Herman was back in Berlin, the warm spring sun shining between the branches of the trees. His head was on Astrid’s stomach, and her voice was singing once more of the time of cherries.

  “Je ne vivrai pas, sans souffrir un jour, J’aimerai toujours le temps des cerises, et le souvenir, que je garde au coeur.”

  “I do not live one day without grief, I’ll always remember the time of cherries, and the memory I keep in my heart.”

  He closed his eyes, and the sound of the river flowing past grew louder. He let it carry him to a distant shore, where all were equal, and where Astrid awaited.

  I stood beside James and as he wavered, helped him slide softly to the floor and onto his back. He labored to breathe, his face now a waxy white that told me he had but moments left. “The Queen?” he whispered.

  The crowd had fallen silent, and I feared the worst when suddenly a strong voice called out, “Three cheers for the Queen!” and was awarded jubilantly by nearly half of London.

  “Hear the crowd, James,” I whispered. “She’s fine. Our sniper missed. We saved her.”

  He managed a weak smile. “My final case solved. I ended better than average, after all.”

  I touched his face. “You were never average, James. Know that you are deeply loved and respected by Elizabeth . . . and me.”

  He coughed. “I’m sorry we end here. Margaret . . . take care of Elizabeth?”

  “Like she was my own, James.”

  He started to say something more, then his chest slowly shrank in on itself and I breathed in the aroma of sandalwood and boot polish one last time. I put his hands in mine. Warm hands, and I held them, trying to preserve their warmth as long as I could.

  They were just starting to go cold when the two angry constables returned with reinforcements and found me still holding those hands a
nd cradling James’s head in my lap, weeping for what might have been, regretting the second time in my life I’d been afraid to leap.

  After the choir sang the final hymn, the Queen’s carriage was supposed to move forward, but it didn’t. There was a long pause of total silence from all, no one knowing what to do next. Then the Archbishop of Canterbury, in complete disregard for protocol, cried out, “Three cheers for the Queen!”

  The Bishop of London recalled it thus: “Never were cheers given with such startling unanimity and precision. All the horses threw up their heads at the same moment and gave a little quiver of surprise. When the cheers were over, the band and chorus, by an incredible impulse, broke into ‘God Save the Queen’”.

  52

  Tuesday, June 22, cont.

  Herr Grüber had chosen a seat close to the Houses of Parliament, looking forward to the anguish soon to come, so when the royal procession rolled by to the adulation of the masses, he shook his head. “Something wrong, mate?” The man to his right asked.

  Grüber’s smile was thin.

  “This isn’t quite what I was expecting.” The man shrugged. “There’s fireworks, bands, a grand parade, and Her Majesty herself. How could you possibly be disappointed?’

  “I suppose it’s a matter of perspective.”

  Police Commissioner Bradford had been among those granted a place of honor on the steps, so when he was notified about the sniper found in the school he arrived quickly. I watched, numb, as James’s body was covered with a blanket from one of the beds. The boy and his groggy nurse were moved to other quarters. Between the commissioner’s questioning of me and his examination of the scene, he quickly put together what had happened.