Astrid, the Valkyrie, had generously given the residents of The Squid and Teapot the gift of a set of chessmen. These were no ordinary figures but miniature Vikings, not unlike the ones found on the Isle of Lewis almost two centuries ago. This present was by way of a thank-you, before she departed for whatever place it is that Valkyries go when they are not thundering across the skies in full armour and humming a few bars of Wagner.
However, the Trickster, who had taken up residence in the corner of the snug, somehow managed to get the chessmen to come to life and cause havoc for a few hours. Fortunately, Trickster gets easily bored, and since that first chaotic night the chess pieces have behaved exactly as any self-respecting figures carved from whale bone and walrus ivory should.
Reggie Upton had taken it upon himself to be The Squid and Teapot’s resident Grand Master, offering to instruct anyone willing to listen in the finer points of chess, and share the strategic wisdom of the game with those unfortunate enough to linger within earshot.
While the Cranham-Bucket children, Caitlin and Little Oswald, would – for obvious reasons – have loved to have laid their hands upon the tiny warriors, only Tenzin showed any interest in taking up Reggie’s offer. And this is where we find them today, contemplating a battlefield consisting of just sixty four squares.
Tenzin studied the board thoughtfully.
“You seem reluctant to move your knight, Brigadier.”
“Nonsense,” said Reggie. “I’m merely considering all available options. Military prudence.”
“Of course.”
Philomena, passing with a tray of mugs, rolled her eyes.
“You’ve been considering them for ten minutes.”
“Alexander the Great did not conquer half the known world by rushing,” declared Reggie, only for Philomena to reply,
“Yes, and he also died before he was thirty-three.”
Reggie frowned, always surprised by the scope of Philonena’s general knowledge.
“That is totally beside the point.”
The chair in the corner creaked softly.
Ignoring it, Reggie advanced a pawn.
“There,” he said. “A solid move.”
Tenzin nodded politely and moved his bishop.
Reggie stared at the board.
“Hmm.”
The young monk smiled.
“You were saying something about Alexander?”
“Never mind Alexander,” Reggie said, then paused, adding “this reminds me of a chess match I played in Jaipur in 1887.”
Philomena sighed.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. I was a newly-promoted lieutenant then, barely twenty-one and convinced I possessed a first-rate military mind.”
There was no stopping Reggie now.
“The regiment was stationed near Jaipur and one evening I found myself in the officers’ club, where I heard mention of a local chess player who had relieved several members of the Civil Service of both their dignity and their pocket money. Naturally I regarded this as a challenge, as the fellow was said to be unbeatable. Well, I had no intention of allowing such a state of affairs to continue.”
“Naturally,” said Philomena.
“The following evening I was introduced to my opponent. I expected him to be a retired general, perhaps. A professor. Some venerable scholar, at least. Instead I found myself facing a railway ticket clerk. He was a tiny fellow with spectacles and a small moustache. He wore an immaculate white suit and looked thoroughly unimpressed by my existence.
‘You play chess?’ I asked.
‘Occasionally,’ he replied.
Of course, I should have recognised that as a warning.”
Despite herself, Philomena lingered by the bar, keen to hear the rest of Reggie’s yarn.
“The game began, and for the first few moves everything proceeded splendidly. I seized the centre, developed my pieces and launched a vigorous attack. Within fifteen minutes I was feeling rather pleased with myself. Then I noticed that my opponent appeared to be smiling.”
Tenzin nodded.
“A bad sign?”
“A dreadful sign.”
“The more I attacked, the calmer he became.”
“Every move seemed to strengthen his position. Soon I found myself pursuing opportunities that vanished the moment I reached them. Dash it, playing was like attempting to catch fog. Eventually I launched what I considered a brilliant assault against his king. It was the sort of manoeuvre that wins battles and gets roads named after one.”
“So what happened?” asked Tenzin.
Reggie’s face reddened with the memory.
“The blighter studied the board, moved a single pawn, and my entire position collapsed.”
Philomena laughed.
“So what did you do?”
“I lost,” said Reggie.
“Quickly?”
“Humiliatingly.”
Reggie moved another piece and squinted at the board. To his annoyance, Tenzin immediately responded. The position looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Afterward,” continued Reggie, “I asked him how he had known exactly what I intended to do. The man thought about this for a moment.
Then he said: ‘Because, Lieutenant, you never looked at my pieces.'”
Tenzin frowned, puzzled.
“What did he mean?”
“At the time, I wasn’t entirely sure.”
The chair creaked. Nobody looked toward it.
“The answer is obvious,” said the unseen voice.
“Then kindly keep it to yourself,” said Reggie.
“The railway clerk explained that throughout the game I had been looking only at my own plans. My own attack, my own supposed cleverness. I had spent so much time thinking about what I wanted to do that I had never truly considered what he was trying to do.”
“Then he said something I’ve remembered ever since.”
Reggie paused, milking the moment for maximum effect.
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” said Philomema.
Reggie gave a little smile.
“He said: ‘The board belongs to both players.'”
For a few moments nobody spoke.
Even Philomena looked thoughtful.
Then Tenzin quietly moved a knight.
Reggie stared.
His eyes widened.
“Oh blast!”
“What is it?” asked Philomena.
“This young man has been teaching me a lesson for the last twenty minutes.”
Tenzin folded his hands.
“The board belongs to both players,” he said.
Reggie looked at him, then at the knight, then back at Tenzin.
Slowly he smiled.
“That was dashed clever.”
From the corner chair came a faint creak of approval.
“Checkmate?” it suggested.