by Kit Falbo
The Crafting of Chess
Copyright © 2019 Kit Falbo
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One - Chess
Chapter Two - Chess
Chapter Three – Chess
Chapter Four – Casey Ellis
Chapter Five - Chess
Chapter Six -Chess
Chapter Seven- Casey Ellis
Chapter Eight -Chess
Chapter Nine - Chess
Chapter Ten- Casey Ellis
Chapter Eleven- Chess
Chapter Twelve – Chess
Chapter Thirteen - Chess
Chapter Fourteen -Chess
Chapter Fifteen - Chess
Chapter Sixteen - David
Chapter Seventeen -Chess
Chapter Eighteen- David
Chapter Nineteen- Casey Ellis
Chapter Twenty - Chess
Chapter Twenty-one - Chess
Chapter Twenty-Two - David
Chapter Twenty-Three - Chess
Chapter Twenty-Four - Casey Ellis
Chapter Twenty-Five - Chess
Chapter Twenty- Six -Casey Ellis
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Chess
Chapter Twenty- Eight - Chess
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Casey
Chapter Thirty - Chess
Chapter Thirty-One - Casey
Chapter Thirty-Two - Chess
About the Author
Chapter One - Chess
“Checkmate!” I use a pawn that hadn’t been on the board eight moves ago, but twenty dollars is twenty dollars. I don’t normally cheat like that. I’d been preoccupied with my big plans and assumed that since I hadn’t seen him in the park playing any of the other hustlers, he wasn’t going to be as good as he is.
The glint in his eyes shows that he’s seen through the cheat. He lets me take the money. The glint isn’t anger. If I had to guess, I’d say it is amusement. You don’t play hustlers in the park if you don’t want to get hustled, and this guy can certainly afford to blow twenty dollars. He sits there in a long, gray and probably expensive peacoat, seemingly impervious to the damp cold of the morning. Just thinking of the coming weather causes me to shiver involuntarily.
“You really got me good,” he lies. “How old are you boy?” He speaks with a slight accent, one I can’t really place.
“Seventeen.” I lie. One year and one month till then, but at least the papers and ID I have on me back this up.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?”
I shrug, “I got my GED, and this way I make a little extra to help my grandfather. He’s the only family I got.” This is all true. I had even passed the GED two times to help reinforce my papers. Gramps always insisted on having real records just in case someone gets too nosey. I’m planning to pass it again under my real name, though Old Pa said it was a waste. It’s important for me to still be me.
“Tell you what, you beat me again, I’ll give you forty dollars to help your Grandpa. If I win, I won’t even take a dime from you.” He pulls two bills out of his wallet. “None of this timed shit though, and you call your moves. I’ll move the pieces myself.” He definitely knows about the extra piece I sneaked. Inwardly I cringe. Should have saved the swap for someone I know is stupid and not just to try to guarantee a win for just a twenty-dollar game. I push the thoughts of my future plan out of my head.
“Sure.” I tuck my hands under my lap. “Queen’s pawn to D4.”
Today, I’m not at a spot where I need the money or charity. I’m more secure. I have a plan. This game is a last hurrah. If everything goes well, I won’t have to make my way in the park. Plus, I’ve got my pride. I’m not just a hustler who sneaks in an extra pawn. I’m good at the game.
Even without any skin in the game, I find myself sweating bullets over a few moves. Maybe it’s because I hate wasting time. I’m sensitive to that. With speed games, I could easily have made what Peacoat Man is offering, in way less time too. But today the park isn’t busy. I think the weather is keeping most folks away, though I see one of the park regulars who, with a sob story, will sometimes buy me breakfast.
It’s half an hour before I collect the cash.
“Good Game,” the man says, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Saunders.”
Instead of shaking I bump the back of my hand to his. I had learned the hard way about letting someone grab you, even a handshake, could be a mistake. “Jay,” I say using my current alias.
He gives me an extra twenty and a business card tucked in the folded-up bill. Standing up, he looks around the whole park. ”You’re better than this. If you ever need help or a challenge, give me a call.” Then he walks off, leaving me to my thoughts. Which is mostly, that the man is weird, and I have a challenge waiting for me soon.
I get up, counting my money while it is still in my pockets. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten offers, though none so fancy. Half the local dealers will try to get you to work for them, passing product under the table while you hustle. A geek or concerned teacher will want you to join their chess club. I know how to handle them. Pa always helped keep an eye on the local players while getting set up in new parks. Still, I’ve been a regular at this park for almost a year, so the new offer is a bit of a surprise.
I can already see Pa calling it a lure for something other than chess and then ripping the card up. But he hadn’t been here to watch the game and see that the man could play. So, I keep the card instead of discarding it, because it never hurts to have a backup plan. I skip across the park to Betty’s Buns, a bakery slash coffee shop and get my usual, a small decaf latte and a fruitcake muffin for my growing body. Joseph, the police officer who likes to Patrol the park isn’t here yet. I have them pay it forward, reserving a muffin for him, like I usually do to keep on his good side, then head over to the bus stop with my change.
It takes two bus changes to get where I want. I get out at the edge of the poorer part of town and walk to The Gamer’s Gate, which shares the parking lot with a dollar store. Like most game shops, they try to get cheap space to rent, finding that trying to set up in the more well-to-do areas can make them a bit short on space. I’m on time for its opening, but the owner Mel hasn’t shown up yet to unlock the door. It’s a school day and punctuality has never been his or any game shop owner’s primary trait.
A flyer for a CCG tournament covers most of the front door. I’ve dabbled in collectible card games, but they usually turn out to be a money sink instead of a way to make a profit, unless I buy or trade something someone doesn’t realize is valuable to sell. I know enough to be useful when I accompany Pa on
his trips to find treasure at the flea markets, and that’s all I need to know about CCGs. It is the row of ten computers that interests me. That and Mel’s lack of caring if I use them to play games that let me wager on the outcomes, something the law frowns upon.
In chess at the park, you’ll get five-dollar games, maybe twenty-dollar games if you’re lucky. Online you’ll get some rich kid five states away willing to put up eighty on a twenty-year-old shooter because he managed to beat all his local friends. They never even research how the best players have played the game, one thing chess has taught me is that if you want to be the best you must learn from the best. Watch their games, read their notes and listen to their advice. You do that, and very few days will you end up with a loss. My new plan doesn’t have that crutch.
Eight months, and I’ve built a nest egg larger than even Old Pa would suspect. Sure, I love and support him, but I know better than to let him know how much I really have. First time I tried saving up, and he found out, emergencies started happening and I needed to contribute more and more. I don’t blame him, but this time I have a plan to use my funds on. Pa may not like the saying it takes money to make money, but sometimes it is true.
Jingling behind me lets me know Mel has arrived. He only has five keys on his ring, but eight keychains attached to them. Everything from a police box to a small lightsaber. “So, this will be your last day before you abandon me young Padawan.”
I let out a groan. Five months ago, when he heard I hadn’t seen the movies, he made me watch all of them. Even the bad ones. “I’m not abandoning anyone.”
The locks click, and he pulls the door open for me, his green army jacket sporting dozens of sci-fi novelty patches he stitches on by hand during slow days. “I see you looking at the site for that immersion game, Fair Quest. I’ve lost others to those games before.”
“Not like I play games just to play games. There’s money to be made there. Even without the two-million-dollar prize if you’re the Kingmaker. If my plan fails, I’ll be back here in a week taking money from Warfare’s Call fanatics daily.”
He gives me a little bit of a sad look. “There’s more to games than making money. And I sell games for a living. There’s fun, escapism.”
I pull out a twenty to cover access for the day and hand it to him. “Winning’s fun.”
“There’s more to games than winning. I’d also be lying if I told you I wasn’t going to check out the game on tomorrow’s big release when I’m not working. It’s supposed to be some next level shit, and you should go and appreciate that.”
I don’t know what to say. At best this is a chance for the big score, and a legal one at that. The one Pa always seems so afraid of. At worst my plan to craft items for some real cash fails and I’m out quicker than I like. There’s no direct exchange rate. That would be stupid. But you can sell crafted or in-game items for other players to buy at the auction house with cash, and Immersion Arts takes their cut.
Tomorrow the game goes live. I’ve already reserved my immersion suite. Today I just need to see if any new info has been added.
The official homepage hasn’t changed, no new info. World’s greatest yadda yadda experience. Become Kingmaker and win two million dollars. I have already read the contest rules, all twenty pages of fine print. Gramps hates contracts, says they’ll sell you with their words then screw you in the fine print. He avoids them, I read them. Being underage, I had to make sure I could still win. They’ll hold the money in a trust until you turn 18 if you are underage. Parents and family can’t even touch it, which is even better because Pa tends to let money slip through his fingers rather than holding on to it.
There is a catch. I need to use my real name, age and other information. Old Pa would pack me up and take me to a new city if he knew that, afraid that my name will lead to his past catching up to him. Immersion Arts is serious about privacy, so I’m not worried. Best not to cause him any extra stress. After all, he’s the only family I have left.
I’m not done though. There are already half a dozen fan sites and dedicated message boards up for the public, most of which are run by those former testers. Even these sites have nothing for me. Leaks from the alpha and beta testers have been rather slim and sometimes contradictory. The game economy of being able to sell items is key, that and using in-game gold to continue the monthly fees. That way they can argue it is free to play.
They stress that it’s not pay-to-win, a phrase that is anathema in the gaming community. Vendor’s don’t even have that high a quality gear, so you can’t shell out a couple thousand and jump ahead of everyone else. The greatest items will be crafted by players, and that is who you will need to buy from. I plan to be the person they will be buying from.
It doesn’t take a lot of browsing to see that there is nothing new. Time to go back to making money. While not technically legal, there are several sites where you can wager your skills against other players, sometimes through cash transfers, other times through online credits or cryptocurrency. I know them all, and of course, with everyone waiting for Fair Quest to begin most of them are empty.
I manage to wrangle one game where I bet fifty credits to the other player Smoke97’s twenty-five. This matching site keeps player reviews and an anti-cheating system for their game matchups. Smoke can see me rated well above him. We play WarCall, a first-person shooter with fixed maps. Each player has a team of NPC you can direct, and you get points if you, not your NPC, kill the opponents NPC. When a player dies the round ends. It’s best of three. I feel a little bad for schooling him, but at this rate, I would have been better off playing chess in the park during slow hours than here today.
The second game only lasts two minutes before I blindly lob a grenade into a common camp spot hoping to pick off an NPC and instead get him.
“How’d you know I was there?” He messages me because I never use the speaker and headset options.
At this point, I often get called a hacker with a string of expletives. The site doesn’t allow modded connections, so I usually just ignore my opponent. This guy is a good sport though. “Didn’t. I got lucky. I blind-throw common camp spots to get NPC. Here.” I paste in a link to a strategy video by one of the former world champions of WarCall. “I watched this video to learn from the best. It really does help.”
“Oh, cool. Got any more tips?”
I link a few more videos and strategy sites for him. Maybe next time we play, he’ll be willing to wager even money.
The next few games against other players don’t go so well. It’s not that I don’t win, just that the opponents are pricks, insulting me, my mom and everything else. Some people are sore losers. Most of those people play first-person shooters.
I tire of it. I stop playing. Like many in the world, I’m anxious about tomorrow’s release and don’t need the harassment. Peacoat Man had made my haul for the morning enough to make Grandpa happy. I should just relax. Tomorrow will be work.
Mel eyes me as I stop playing and stand up, which is unusual. “You alright Jay?”
Jay? Right. That’s my name now. And before that Joe, John, Jason, Jim. Only J names. That way if someone calls an old name, me responding can be a simple mistake. I barely remember being called by my real name Nate because I stopped using it when I was six. “Yeah, I guess even I can get tired of winning.” I flash him a smile, but even then, I know it’s not in my eyes. “Do you know what you want to play in Fair Quest Mel?”
“I can only casual considering I still have to work, though if the game cuts into business too much, I might cut back on the days I’m open. I’ll be going crazy and impractical, dragon rider, maybe, if the leaks are true. I can have my artificial intelligence companion train and care for the dragon in-game while I work. I’m sure you’ll min/max and try to rush the citadel to win the prize, right?”
I shake my head. “They haven’t released enough on the game. I would be behind all those alpha and beta testers starting over for the release. Even then it’s too much
playing the odds to manage to make it there, win, get the gem and make it back. I’m going to be a crafter of sorts, see if I can get that real-world money flowing.”
Mel snorts. “Never pictured you as that. I see you crushing scrubs for their lunch money. You’ll even swing for the CCG drafts if you think you can win and turn a profit. “
“Maybe I’ll burn out and be back here in a week.”
“Maybe you have a rub you’re not telling me about,” Mel says with a wink. “Well, only a couple of hours until we do our CCG draft. It will be a Fair Quest themed event if you’re interested?”
“Nah, I’m going to go home early and get some family time in before the release tomorrow.”
Mel nods, and I start to walk away. “May the force be with you!” he hollers as I exit the door.
This time I don’t need public transportation, I just need to walk from the edge of the bad part of town into the bad part of town. It’s where rent is cheap, and landlords don’t ask too many questions if you provide cash. Which makes it perfect for Grandpa Stu, though I think I’m supposed to call him Kyle now.
Gramps has always had a fuzzy relationship with the law and whatever the local crime is. He’d piss off the wrong person or scam someone he shouldn’t, and we would need to move. Once, a year ago I asked him why he didn’t just go straight. He just said he burned that bridge years ago and that no one wants to hire an old man with no references.
Gramps taught me to read, write, ride a bike, count cards. He taught me chess when I was so young that I can’t remember not knowing how to play. He claims I managed to beat him once before the accident that took my parents.
I cross the rail tracks, and then I’m home. Home is off the grid, which in this day and age just means a shit hole with no cable or internet and an absentee landlord. I’m pretty sure we can afford better, but we don’t.
