by Jack Murray
‘Ladies, gentlemen, children and members of the press,’ said Thursby, which provoked an amused titter, ‘The Great Hall at Hampton Court is now almost four hundred years old. Let us, for a moment ponder, the many great personages who have walked in this room. Henry VIII, Elizabeth, Cromwell, perhaps even the Bard, himself. It now gives host to two of the foremost chess players in the world, Filip Serov and, our own, Lord Aston. As many of you will have read, these gentlemen have been engaged in a correspondence match which has gripped the nation.’
Kit glanced at Thursby archly, causing the President to smile.
‘Well, certainly, the British Chess Federation, anyway.’ More laughter in the Hall before Thursby continued, ‘We will now witness the conclusion of this fascinating encounter. Gentlemen, if you will take your seats. May I request, though I realise I hardly need do so, that we have silence for the duration of this match. White to move.’
Kit and Serov walked slowly, like condemned men, towards the table. It was clear to Kit that Serov was as nervous as he was, or perhaps it was the trauma of the last twenty-four hours. Both paused for a moment at the seats waiting for the other to sit first. A moment’s confusion passed and then both sat down. Kit was gratified to see the table sides were covered, remembering something Fiona Lawrence had said. Just as he was thinking this, he saw Esther and Bright arrive in the company of the young genius and her guardian. Kit waved at the new arrivals. He felt better for seeing them.
The black mood of Serov had not lifted since arriving at the venue. As he suspected, Jellicoe was fundamentally a decent man and he was grateful to have had the chance to return to the hotel. But a lingering anger remained over his treatment. Seeing the big crowd gathered within a grand monument to the oppression of the poor aggravated the Russian further. He would have preferred to dispatch Aston within the confines of a small room with knowledgeable onlookers bearing witness to his humiliation. Instead, the alleged crimes committed by his companions, the possibility of his having been deceived and used as a dupe in their plan had cast a gloom over his enthusiasm for what lay ahead. He fought to regain his motivation and focus. Then he saw Aston waving gaily at someone.
-
Reproducing the artist impression had taken Esther longer than anticipated. Her preference in her own work was for landscape. She hadn’t tried portraiture since childhood. Thankfully, Bright found Fiona Lawrence delightful company, and the time passed quickly for them. For Esther, it went too quickly. Acutely aware of the need to finish the drawing in time for the match, and make it useful for Kit, put her under a great deal of pressure.
Finally, after an hour and half struggling with the likeness, Esther felt satisfied with what she had accomplished. She brought the completed drawing over to Bright and Fiona Lawrence who, noted Esther with a smile, gave every impression of having developed an enormous crush on her fiancé. Miss Upritchard also seemed very much taken with Bright. Join the club, thought Esther.
As was her habit, Fiona reacted excitedly and with great enthusiasm for Esther’s efforts. Miss Upritchard was more guarded approval. Bright gave a more romantic demonstration of his approbation, which had Fiona grinning broadly and Miss Upritchard reprimanding her with a look.
Esther looked at Bright with concern and said, ‘He looks familiar, doesn’t he?’
Bright nodded grimly, ‘He does. Kit won’t be happy.’
‘Time to go, we’ll have to take a taxi,’ said Esther, picking up her coat. ‘Let’s hope traffic is not too bad.’
It was.
They arrived at Hampton Court just as the match was scheduled to start. All four ran towards the Great Hall, as the clock struck two o’ clock. Outside the Palace were a handful of tourists and, thankfully, a small queue to get in. The drizzly weather had probably deterred people from coming. An ambulance pulled up at the entrance also, just as the four entered the Palace.
-
Serov turned around to see who had attracted Kit’s attention. If his mood had been one of resentment before, it turned volcanic when he spied Fiona Lawrence. The young demon had been helping Aston!
Serov spun around and glared at Kit, who simply shrugged his shoulders and smiled off-handily. He turned around again and glared at the hell cat, who returned his glare, before sticking her tongue out at him.
Unsure if returning this gesture would be becoming of the dignity of a grandmaster or indeed an adult, for that matter, Serov returned his focus onto the game. The only way to answer this kind of provocation, he decided, was to put the man in front of him, metaphorically given the circumstances, to the sword.
And then Kit made his first move.
He sacrificed his Queen.
There was an audible intake of breath, and that was just from Serov. A whispered clamour was quickly shushed by Sir John. Serov stared first at what Kit had done and then turned around to Fiona Lawrence. She looked as innocent as Satan. Glaring at Kit, Serov responded, as he had no choice, by taking the Queen off the board. Kit quickly made his next move, which threatened Serov’s Castle.
Fiona Lawrence’s eyes never left Serov. At twelve years old, she had developed an acute sense of people. She had heard tell of a card game called poker which intrigued her as it seemed to be as much about reading your opponents as strict probability. One day, she would learn how to play, go to America, into a saloon, where it was played, according to the penny westerns she read, and make a lot of money. Her reading of Serov now was highly accurate.
Serov was angry, very angry. This made him more prone to make mistakes, but she also sensed the rage in him was cold rather than hot. This could spell trouble as, for all her confidence in her own ability, she had to acknowledge Serov’s great skills at chess would likely uncover different lines of attack than she and Kit had considered. This would be a risk. Her only hope was the certainty that Serov had never prepared this end game.
In this she was right. Serov gaped at the bloodbath in front of him. It was unsettling partly because he was certain Aston and the she-devil would have prepared it and, mainly, because they could be certain he hadn’t. Serov hated uncertainty. He hated untidiness. He hated chaos. This is what he gazed down at, aware of Aston, smiling at him. The rage swelled further. As Fiona had surmised, it was cold.
Serov began to focus on what he saw. As he collected his thoughts, he took stock of his situation. He was a Queen up. Over time this advantage would surely tell. Unless the sprite had another trick up Aston’s sleeve, he would surely triumph if he stayed calm and remained patient. Just as he was about to make a move, he felt a sharp pain in his shin.
Kit had kicked him under the table!
Incredulous he glowered at Aston. When the witch had done this to him previously, an innate decency had stopped him from responding. This time he had no such compunction. He kicked Aston back.
Incredulity turned to astonishment and then doubt as his foot met something that felt like wood. He’d kicked Kit’s prosthetic limb. The look on Serov’s face made Kit grin broadly. Meanwhile Serov was resisting the urge to look under the table. Kit smiled back at him and whispered, ‘The War.’
While all of this was going, the audience was blissfully unaware of what was happening. All except one. Fiona Lawrence recognised the exchange of blows. She was surprised that Serov had responded in kind. Much to her surprise, she felt a grudging respect for the Russian for his reaction. He’s learning, she thought.
Returning his focus to the match, Serov considered his options. He felt that whatever had been planned was academic. The plain fact of the matter was that black had the advantage and his skills would be enough to carry the day. An inspiration struck him. His two opponents would have banked on his hatred of disorder, his remorseless logic based on percentage play. What if he raised the stakes? He moved his Castle to take Kit’s remaining Bishop.
Another audible gasp erupted from the audience. Serov was sacrificing his Castle. Peel, Bright and Esther looked around at the shocked faces of the onlookers, many of whom we
re Federation members. Peel leaned down to Fiona Lawrence.
‘What just happened?’
But Fiona couldn’t answer. She was in a state of shock also. Neither she nor Kit had anticipated this. She looked at Kit. Kit looked back at her; his eyes widened. She shook her head. He was on his own now.
Serov had noted with satisfaction the look on Kit’s face. His gamble had paid off insofar as it had clearly isolated Kit from his preparations. However, it diluted his advantage significantly. Despite his belief in his superior ability, he was not going to underestimate the English lord. He was a fine player. The memory of his first match, and defeat, by Aston acted as a cautionary reminder to stay concentrated on his task. The match was already complicated enough without hubris influencing his strategy as it had before.
Fiona Lawrence turned to Billy Peel. Beside Peel, Miller, Esther, Bright and Jellicoe leaned in to hear what she had to say.
‘We didn’t prepare for Serov to sacrifice his Castle,’ admitted Fiona.
‘What does this mean, Fiona?’ asked Esther, looking concerned.
Fiona was silent for a moment. She chewed her bottom lip.
‘Kit will have to play the game of his, and his friend’s, life.’
-
The move by Serov had taken by Kit by surprise. He reprimanded himself for making this so obvious. The smile on Serov’s face was enough to tell him he scented blood. It had been too long since he’d played competitively. He wasn’t just playing the game; he was playing the man too. Serov now knew that he was in uncharted territory. Kit’s only comfort was knowing this was the case for Serov, too. It wasn’t much comfort though. He was at a material disadvantage against one of the best players in the world. Frankly, he thought, it would take a miracle for this to result in anything but defeat.
But fortune was to smile on Kit.
The Hall seemed to pulsate with excitement at the first series of moves. Sir John felt compelled, from time to time, to gesticulate to the audience to remain quiet. This was a losing battle. Watching two masters of the game locked in mortal-ish combat was the very stuff of chess boy’s own stories. Even Sir John was absorbed in the encounter. Like Fiona Lawrence, he saw Kit’s situation as desperately difficult, although not impossible. One look at some of his fellow members told him they were not optimistic about British success.
Nor was Kit. In his assessment, there were less than a dozen moves remaining. Worse, his two Castles, were vulnerable. Sitting in the Great Hall at Hampton Court, he had no idea what this meant for his friend Olly Lake. Remembering the advice of Fiona Lawrence, he studied the board with a view to disrupting Serov’s strategy. He moved his King to attack Serov’s remaining Knight. It was Serov’s turn to look surprised, which Kit noted with grim satisfaction. A glance at Fiona Lawrence showed she was surprised also, but not in a despondent way.
And then it happened.
At the back of the Hall behind the audience, there was a muffled thump. It was audible because just before, Sir John had quietened the room down again with a movement of his hand. The sound of the thump was greeted with cries of distress.
Kit glanced up to see what was happening. He saw Jellicoe, who had been standing in his line of sight move towards the disturbance. The crowd seemed to be gathered in a circle around something. Kit stood up from his seat and made his way over towards Jellicoe. Making his way through the crowd, Kit arrived to see Jellicoe and the other policeman kneeling over a prone body.
Jellicoe put his hand on the neck of the man lying on the ground. He looked up as Kit emerged from the crowd.
‘What happened?’ exclaimed Kit.
Jellicoe shook his head, and shouted over the hubbub, ‘Search me. He’s still alive, thank God.’
Kit knelt beside the man and looked at his face.
‘Is this Lord Lake?’ asked Jellicoe.
‘No,’ replied Kit, ‘I think this is Adam Walsh.’
Jellicoe looked none the wiser.
‘Lord Walsh of Trent. I thought he was off travelling in the Far East or somewhere,’ explained Kit.
‘He needs a hospital. It looks like he might’ve been drugged.’
Kit looked up and saw Esther standing with Bright and Miss Upritchard. He stood up gingerly and went over to his friends.
‘What happened Kit?’ asked Esther.
Kit quickly explained who the man was. As he did so, he looked over to the chess table. Fiona Lawrence was standing near the table looking at the board intently. Serov was on his feet, glaring at her. Clearly there was little love lost between the two of them. He saw Fiona Lawrence look up from the table and return Serov’s gaze.
Serov sensed Kit was looking at him. Both were unsure about what to do. Kit walked over to Serov and Fiona Lawrence.
‘It looks like your comrades have struck again.’
‘I knew nothing,’ replied Serov angrily.
Kit held his hands up, ‘I believe you Filip. We’ve both been made fools off, I’m afraid.’
Serov glared at Kit and then his features softened a little. He nodded and then looked at the board, before returning his gaze to Kit. Serov shrugged a question.
‘Draw?’ suggested Kit, holding his hand out.
‘Draw,’ replied Serov, not without some relief. He turned to Fiona Lawrence. They looked at one another for a few moments and then Serov held out his hand to her also.
This surprised Fiona and she took a quick look at Kit. She could see he was smiling.
‘Let’s be honest, Fiona, it took the two of us to reach this point,’ acknowledged Kit.
She shook Serov’s hand. They looked at one another, impassively, like two warriors after battle, with peace declared and respect won on both sides.
Over by the crowd, it was apparent that Lord Walsh was being removed by the ambulance men. Jellicoe was walking towards Kit accompanied by Esther, Bright and Miss Upritchard.
‘That was quick,’ said Kit indicating the ambulance men.
Jellicoe seemed not to notice, instead he said, ‘Lady Cavendish has shown me a sketch you asked her to do of this chap Bergmann.’
Kit exclaimed, ‘Of course.’ He slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘Did you bring the drawing with you Esther?’
Esther nodded and handed her work over to Kit. Over Kit’s shoulder, Serov glanced at the drawing, with a puzzled frown.
Taking the drawing in his hands Kit stared at it in disbelief. Jellicoe registered the reaction and said, ‘What’s wrong Kit?’
‘I know who Bergmann is.’
Chapter 30
The ride in the police car was a grim affair. Kit looked out of the window unwilling to say much. Outside dark clouds ushered in the evening and the prospect of rain. Jellicoe sensed Kit’s troubled mood and remained quiet for the duration of the journey across the centre of London. The situation was now clearer, but some things remained frustratingly opaque. His mind raced around the possibilities. One thought disturbed him. He tried to cast it from his mind, but it remained. It infected his mood tossing him into a stormy sea of doubt and fear.
Twenty minutes later they had arrived at their destination. Jellicoe looked around and realised they were the first.
‘We should wait until we have more officers,’ advised Jellicoe.
Kit nodded sullenly. He didn’t believe the officers would be needed but was too downhearted to argue. Although it had barely gone five, the skies were dark and brooding. The icy air licked against Kit’s face, invaded his pores, and enveloped his bones. He felt profoundly sad.
Finally, at the top of the road he could see several police cars arriving. He wasn’t sure if he should feel relief. He returned his gaze to the apartment block. Something was wrong. He had missed a connection. It was there in front of him. He could almost touch it.
Three cars pulled up. There were around ten policemen in all. Jellicoe assembled them quickly and briefly summarised the situation. Kit was to follow them up to the apartment, but the police officers would enter first. K
it could see they were armed. He turned to Jellicoe.
‘I understand the need to be careful Chief Inspector, but I’m not sure about all of this,’ said Kit, indicating the weaponry.
The police ran up the steps and banged on the front door. No answer. Several of the larger men used a wooden battering ram to force open the front door to the apartments. They ascended the first flight of stairs, followed by Kit and Jellicoe. The door was partly open when they arrived.
Kit and Jellicoe arrived at the top of the stairs. The other policemen looked at them expectantly. Stepping forward, with Kit, Jellicoe peered inside to an unlit corridor. He looked at Kit, and then wrapped the knocker on the door.
-
Roger Ratcliff sat at the table. On the table was a bottle of Chivas Regal, some pills, and the Daily Herald. His eyes were red, but no tears could fall. He looked down at the front page. Dominating the cover were police artist impressions of two men.
The room was dark save for a table lamp on the bureau behind him. He took a sip of the whisky and let it gently glide down his throat. He shut his eyes. It tasted of ripe, honeyed apples. He would miss this. Ratcliff became aware of Colin Cornell beside him. He looked up at Cornell and saw him gazing at the front page.
‘Quite a good likeness, don’t you think,’ said Cornell.
‘Yes, to be fair to them, they’ve done a good job,’ replied Ratcliff
‘How long do you think it will be?’ asked Cornell.
Ratcliff looked up at his friend then shook his head.
‘I thought they’d be here by now. Perhaps they had to play the game first. I don’t know.’ Ratcliff took another sip of the whisky. He lifted the glass up to the light and then set it down. Reaching over to the bottle, he poured a generous measure into his tumbler. He lifted the bottle towards Cornell. His friend didn’t look interested and rubbed the back of his head again.
‘Are you sure, Colin? It’ll do wonders for that headache of yours.’
‘And the next morning?’ responded Cornell sardonically.