The Chess Queen Enigma

by Colleen Gleason

  “Of course. That was the last State Visit between Betrovia and England, due to the embarrassing elopement of the prince with a commoner.” I sincerely hoped history was not about to repeat itself with Princess Lurelia.

  I suspected any letters she might have written, which the blackmailer claimed to possess, would cause just as big a scandal as the previous one, and were likely related to some affaire de coeur of her own. After all, over what other type of letter would it be worth blackmailing a young woman? Especially a young woman who was due to make a strategic marriage in the very near future, and who didn’t love her betrothed.

  “As far as what the treasure is inside the chess table . . . I’ve done a little more research on the specifics. Legend has it there are ancient writings—some from Atlantis, others from Babylon and Greece—that contain secrets to immortality and other unnatural powers, such as raising the dead. But there are other resources that claim the treasure is jewels—the missing Fire-Ruby of Ravenna or, even more far-fetched, the jewels of Helen of Troy.”

  “So why doesn’t someone just smash open the chessboard? What is it made of, anyway? Stone, right?” asked Evaline with the blithe ignorance of one who has no concept of how ancient treasures should be hidden.

  “Marble. It’s made of marble, and apparently there is no way to break it open, as you suggest, without destroying the treasure inside. That was how it was protected for so long.”

  “And so this letter you found, Your Highness, supposedly tells where the chess queen is hidden?”

  “Your Queen Elizabeth knew the importance of the chess queen, and since the chess set was separated from the chessboard, she wanted to ensure no one could unlock the secrets unless both the Betrovians and the English worked together. She and the Duchess of Fedeway agreed both countries should share the treasure, but that was not to be. So Elizabeth hid the chess queen . . . and I discovered the letter that explains where.”

  “The letter that was stolen during the Welcome Event,” I said, giving Evaline a reproachful look. She was taking the last of the mint-orange muffins, and she’d already eaten three of them.

  “You said you have a copy of the letter, Lurelia.” Miss Stoker ignored me as she bit into one of the muffins. “I suppose Mina will need to see it if she’s going to solve the puzzle where the chess queen is hidden.”

  “Yes, of course.” Lurelia produced a piece of paper, which she handed to me.

  I read aloud:

  Dearest Bertina,

  Many good thanks for Thy most recent message, and forsooth, thou knowest I would most Like to rest mine Eyes upon your face. But, marry, a visit to yon Betrovian city shall not come to pass, and ’tis my Dear Disappointment such that the pangs in my Heart pound strongly.

  But knowest thou I have yet hiddest the Object of which we hast long spake, for ’twill remain in Safe-Keep until that time the two parts have thusly been Rejoined.

  Knowest my Dear Friend all is well. Four Soldiers shall Guard Her Majesty, and below them shalt thou find the sailors Three. Our most Gracious Mistress shall rest in easy peace in the Bower of the Place which I haddest the Veriest Glorious of Triumphs and the most trying of Nightmares.

  An’ now, verily, ’tis the Time to send this Most Urgent missive to thou, my Belov’d Friend. God will, I shall meet Thou soonest anon. God save you, God keep you, until we shall yet again rest Eyes upon the Other.

  Elizabeth Regis

  “Was that some sort of code?” Evaline asked. “Or did they truly talk and write like that? I thought Shakespeare just . . . rather . . . made it up.”

  I shook my head, then returned to the paper. “It’s actually quite a simple letter. The queen is sad that she is unable to visit her friend the duchess anytime soon. And clearly the ‘Her Majesty’ is the chess queen, for who else would a queen call Her Majesty but another queen? The puzzle now is to determine where the ‘bower of the veriest glorious of triumphs’ is located.”

  “A bower is generally a bedchamber, I believe,” said Lurelia.

  “Yes, but Queen Elizabeth would have had many bowers—bedchambers. For she had several residences and traveled among them regularly. Hmm. She speaks of soldiers and sailors . . . soldiers would be a common sight of course, for she commanded the English army at the time and even led them—and the navy too, let us not forget that—to war against Spain. Soldiers could also refer to the royal guards the queen would always have about her . . . but surely she wouldn’t refer to actual people as guarding the chess queen. That would be too transient . . . No. ‘Soldier’ must refer to something permanent. Something that wouldn’t be altered or changed for many years.”

  “A statue? A carving?” Evaline suggested.

  “Something of that nature. Hmm. Our first order of business must be, then, to determine where the bower is. That will require some research—on my part, of course, Miss Stoker. Naturally, I would never suggest you should participate in such a . . . er . . . mundane task.”

  “Right, then. You can research possible ‘bower’ locations. I’ve got other things that must be done.” She appeared entirely too pleased with this development, but I decided it was best if I did the research myself. After all, an assistant would likely miss something important.

  “Now, back to the initial problem, Your Highness. I would like to get as much information about your villainous blackmailer as possible. Allowing such a scoundrel to remain free and unpunished goes against everything my uncle has taught me. The first thing we must determine is whether the person who sent you the letter in Betrovia was also the—er—individual who attacked you at the Midnight Palace. If it is so, then I have an excellent idea who that might be, and incidentally, that criminal is not unknown to me and Miss Stoker.”

  “Truly?” Lurelia’s eyes widened.

  “Indeed. The individual is a criminal mastermind who has managed thus far to evade the authorities. However, I am confident . . . he . . . or she . . . will be brought to justice due to my continued investigations.”

  “Do you think it’s possible the blackmailer followed me here to London?” asked the princess. For the first time, she seemed actually frightened of the possibility—one which had naturally occurred to me from the beginning.

  “If it is the same individual, there are three possibilities: First, the culprit is from your homeland and followed or accompanied you here. Which means he or she is likely in the Betrovian retinue. Second, the villain is English and was in Betrovia when he or she learned you had something worth blackmailing about. The criminal sent the letter to you while present in Betrovia. Or, the third and least likely option, in my opinion, is that the perpetrator has a partner that is either located here in England—less likely—or there in Betrovia.”

  Lurelia blinked, seemingly overwhelmed by the many scenarios I’d described. But there was more to consider. “It’s unlikely there are two blackmailers, but we cannot completely discount the possibility. When did you discover that the—er—letters, did you say?—were missing?”

  “Letters? Oh.” Lurelia looked down bashfully. “I must confess, I haven’t been completely forthcoming with you, Mina. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

  As I had been anticipating such a development, I said nothing. Miss Stoker, on the other hand, made a sound of surprise. Or perhaps it was just irritation that the crème-filled baked plums were gone. I was a little annoyed myself, for they looked delicious.

  “Please go on,” I said to the princess.

  “I . . . er . . . was not attacked at the Midnight Palace.”

  “Of course you weren’t.”

  She seemed surprised at my announcement. When I made no other comment, Lurelia continued. “I—mm—thought you wouldn’t help me find the chess queen unless I gave you a specific reason. And . . . er . . . made the situation appear urgent.”

  “And so you pretended to be attacked at the Midnight Palace in order to gain my assistance. But then that plan went awry when Miss Stoker and I were relieved of our duty to be your compa
nions. And so you had to find some way to have us brought back into Princess Alix’s good graces, and so you wrote the note—which you didn’t post and never meant to post—and ‘disappeared’ so we would be called in to consult. Correct?”

  Lurelia resembled a fish with her bugged-out eyes and opening and closing mouth. It was not a particularly attractive look, but I refrained from pointing out that fact.

  “Don’t mind her, Lurelia,” Evaline said jovially. “She does this sort of thing all the time. But I want to know how Mina knew you faked the attack at the ball. And how did you know the disappearance was just a ruse to get us back on the job?”

  “There was simply no evidence of any other person on the terrace with you, Your Highness. Nor was there any evidence on your person that anyone had attacked you or that you’d fought them off. Your fingernails were unmarred, your face powder undisturbed, and I found nothing to indicate anyone else had been there. In addition, clearly the rent in your sleeve was deliberately cut and not torn—for that particular weave of silk would not be so straight and neat, but would tear on a diagonal along the grain of the fabric. However, since one cannot prove a negative, I couldn’t be fully certain you had completely manufactured the attack. It wasn’t until we were called to the Domanik Hotel after your disappearance that I began to suspect what was happening.”

  “But how?”

  “There were several indications things were not what they seemed. First, the letter in the trash bin was clearly put there after your maid cleaned up. It was meant to be found. Also, there were no errors, ink blots, or corrections to the letter, which led me to believe there was no reason for it to be thrown away. Therefore, the information was meant to be read.”

  “But what if I’d simply changed my mind about sending it?” asked the princess.

  “The letter was clearly written by someone with a purpose. There was no hesitation in the penmanship, no thoughtfulness. It was obvious whoever wrote it meant it. Therefore, the decision to send it had been made. In this case, it was never meant to be sent, but to be found and interpreted just as it was: that Evaline and I should be brought back to assist you.”

  “Incredible,” Lurelia said.

  “Now that we have that matter addressed,” I said, folding my hands neatly in my lap, “perhaps you will be more forthcoming about why you are so intent upon finding the chess queen.”

  Now it was the princess’s turn to look at me with remonstrance. “It’s the Theophanine Chess Queen! Why wouldn’t one want to find it? To discover the ancient treasure, and whatever secrets are hidden inside. After all, I was the one who discovered the letter.”

  “Perhaps.” I shrugged. “But why do it in secret? Why not simply ask for my—our—help and set about doing so without all of the clandestine activity? Unless you are afraid the person who stole the letter during the Welcome Event might find it first.”

  Lurelia nodded vigorously. “How did you know? That is precisely why I . . . mm . . . why I didn’t want to tell anyone.”

  “And there is no other reason?” I asked sternly. “Lurelia, if you want me to assist you, I must insist upon complete honesty. No more prevarication, no more half-truths.”

  Her eyes flickered away. “Very well. If you must know, I hoped to find it myself because . . . well, I hoped if I did discover the secrets of the chessboard, I could somehow use them to . . . mm . . . barter the end of my engagement. I don’t want to marry Lord Avistali!”

  That last statement was, I believe, the first time I’d seen not only real emotion in her eyes, but also unvarnished truth. There were still several things that didn’t add up, and, I was certain, more half-truths, but this show of bald emotion was excellent progress.

  I exchanged glances with Evaline and recognized the same pity and dismay in her expression I was feeling. But there was nothing to be done for it. Arranged marriages had long been an expectation of royal families, and also in the upper levels of society. There was nothing I could do to help extricate Princess Lurelia from her future. Nor did I attempt to soothe her with unrealistic platitudes. I simply responded briskly, “It’s unfortunate you are to be subjected to an arrangement for which you have no affinity. And I will be more than willing to assist you in finding the chess queen—if she is still to be found, I am confident we will be the ones to locate her. But I would be remiss if I didn’t express the opinion that finding the chess queen will be unlikely to lead to your broken engagement, Your Highness. Whatever is hidden in that chess table—if anything—is hardly going to change your father’s mind.”

  I reached to touch Lurelia’s hand bracingly. “If your father’s mind is to be changed, I would suspect the only real way to make that happen is by speaking with him and appealing to his affection for you and presumed desire for your happiness.”

  Lurelia didn’t meet my eyes, but I could tell she realized I was speaking the truth.

  “Right, then,” said Evaline after a moment. “Mina, perhaps we should leave Lurelia to her—well, you have research to attend to, and I have to go shopping with Florence. If you would like to share my carriage, now is the time to take our leave.”

  For once, I had no argument. And fortunately, Lurelia seemed to also agree.

  Moments later, Evaline and I were settled in her carriage. “Now,” I said as soon as Middy closed the door, “tell me what is not in the newspapers about the events at Bridge & Stokes. There was mention of only a single death at the club, with no details about how it occurred. Since you appear to be hiding a vampire bite, as well as some other wounds, I can only assume you were instrumental in keeping the victims to a minimum.”

  My companion gave me an acknowledging smile, then launched into a non-chronological, but still reasonably organized, description of what occurred after we separated. She finished up by saying, “And one of the vampires was Mr. Richard Dancy.”

  “Never say so!” I was rarely taken by surprise, but this was one such occasion. “But, how unfortunate.” I remembered the gentleman as being one of the few of those in Society I could tolerate.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Evaline appeared to have much less bravado than she had in the past after describing her vampire-hunting exploits. “We were . . . well, I believe he wanted to court me. Not that I would have allowed it, for of course I will never marry, but . . . I did know him—and like him—better than any other eligible bachelor in London.”

  “But there is no body,” I mused. “So no one will ever know what happened to him, will they? How terrible. Mr. Dancy just disappeared . . . forever.”

  “Not as terrible as his family learning he was turned into an immortal, blood-drinking demon, who has to take life from others in order to live. And he might have even been the cause of Lord Wexfeld’s death.” Her pretty mouth twisted with distaste. “He actually told me he wanted to make me like him—immortal and horrible.”

  I was silent for a moment, and apparently that caught Miss Stoker by surprise. “You aren’t saying anything, Mina. Never tell me you would consider being immortal.”

  My attention flew to her, and my reaction was visceral anger and offense. “Of course not. Immortality is unnatural. Nothing lives forever. What a boring existence that would be . . . to live for infinity. And to be required to drink the blood of other humans for sustenance? Most certainly not. But . . .”

  “But what? It’s not like you to be so . . . quiet.”

  And it wasn’t like Evaline to be so sensitive and insistent. Perhaps this vampire-hunting wasn’t the simple, amusing activity she’d thought it would be.

  “Whom do we know who would want to be immortal? To have that power? Whom do we know who has already tried to harness an ancient power so she could be omnipotent and in control? I’m certain I don’t need to name the individual. It has just occurred to me to wonder if the Ankh has, in fact, pursued the option of becoming an UnDead herself. One must consider how Mr. Dancy got himself into such a condition—was it purposeful or accidental that he came upon the vampires? And
how did it happen he was allowed to live and turn UnDead rather than be drained dry and left for dead as others have been? Is it a random happenstance, or a plan? Did he choose it or was it foisted upon him? That, my dear Evaline, is why I am so quiet. There are many things to consider at this time.”

  She nodded, and appeared to be slightly mollified. “That’s true.”

  “I don’t suppose you engaged him in any sort of conversation before—er—dispatching him?”

  “Do you mean did I ask him how and when he became UnDead? And by whom? No, I did not. I was too busy attempting to stay alive.”

  This was a sore point for Miss Stoker—my suggestion that she should attempt to engage the UnDead in some sort of meaningful discourse before staking them. I felt as if she should take any opportunity to interrogate them, and she was too impatient to do so. “Very well, then. But it would have been helpful to know where the vampires are congregating and how they are finding their prey . . . and even how many of them there are in London.”

  I thought I heard the sound of teeth grinding from my partner. Instead of responding to my reasonable suggestion, she said, “In regards to her desire to become immortal . . . the chess queen is exactly the sort of object the Ankh would be keen to obtain, don’t you think? If there are ancient secrets hidden in that chessboard, she would want them.”

  “Indubitably. Even if there weren’t ancient secrets or any treasure to be found in the base of the chess table, the very idea of owning the chess queen—a symbol of feminine power, as well as being an artifact possessed by so many other powerful women of history . . . Most definitely the Ankh would want to obtain the chess queen. And that is precisely why we must hasten to locate it—before she does.”

  “I agree.”

  “Now, I must ask whether you’ve any news about the note you submitted through that false Domesday Book. Have you had any response?”

  Evaline and I had spent some time discussing the best way to keep her identity safe, and the most expedient and convenient location through which communication from Mr. Pix would come. In the order, which I’d asked Mrs. Raskill’s nephew Ben to write for us, we’d indicated any messages should be affixed under the last pew in the last row on the right in St. Sequestrian’s Church in St. James.