The Crafting of Chess

by Kit Falbo

  I sigh and think of my bank account. This will take almost everything, and that isn’t considering bills coming up. Gramps is technically a joint account holder because I’m underage. He really could have just taken the money out without asking. “Can you take a check?”

  The lawyer nods. “I’ll post the bail and send a ride out to take him home from the holding center. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to get your grandfather back to you.”

  I write the check and take the bus home.

  I’m fuming in my seat on the ride back. It’s not the money. Well, it’s not just the money. It’s just that something like this happens every time or almost every time. Then we pick up and move again. If it’s not the law, it’s local criminals or pissed off neighbors. I have a job. I like it here. The reactive room is reserved for two more months, and I get first chance at renewal. Sure, if we move, I could go to a different one, but who knows how long the wait and cost will be, let alone the hassle to get eight-hour days. I would have to do something like night runs, assuming they even let a fifteen-year-old sign up for that.

  I’m so angry the door slams behind me as I enter our place. The collection of thrifted goods, which used to bring some pride, makes me want to grab them and break them. It takes a few breaths to stop myself from doing that. Then my stomach reminds me I need to eat, and I order a pizza.

  I destroy most of the pie. Working in the reactive room makes you hungry. Now I’ll need to put in even more work to cover the bond and the lawyer. If I do get desperate, I can join one of the guilds who would pay for a private smith. That might just cause them to push to defeat the Man of Masks. My plan with Jasper would then be moot. Maybe if that fails.

  The door creaks open interrupting my worrying about money. The old man edges in looking like a sad puppy. “How could you!” I yell as my anger flashes. I’m in front of him, not even sure how I got up so fast. Gramps starts to fumble his words. I hug him tight. He half flinches as if he expected me to hit him. “Don’t you ever get involved in something stupid like that ever again.”

  He hugs me back ruffling my hair. “I… I’m sorry boy. You come home sweaty and tired. I was hoping if I added a little bit of an edge to my plans maybe you wouldn’t need to work so hard. Maybe add an extra day off to focus on some college prep classes.”

  “You don’t always need an edge or an angle. What if something goes south or you are convicted. I don’t know what I would do. You’re the only family I have left.” My voice chokes up a little thinking of Grandpa in jail or worse.

  We release the hug. Gramps is looking even guiltier now. “I’ll win this. Don’t worry. I know my actions are kind of misplaced at times. But I really do try to do my best by you.”

  I shake my head feeling my anger simmer down. “Come on. I left a quarter of a pizza for you.”

  Chapter Twenty- Eight - Chess

  I put the Gromley quest chain on hold and get focused on work. Days of focusing on crafting turns into weeks of working on pieces that the forums suggest players would like to buy. I kind of flooded the market with swords, that being the most basic weapon and what I’m most comfortable making. Even with my newly achieved mastersmith status, some things just don’t work up to that quality, because I’m either new at doing that type of item or the good quality iron doesn’t always hit that mark. Beating your frustrations out on an innocent piece of digital metal probably doesn’t help with consistency.

  At home, I spend most of my time in my room. Gramps is having a hard time looking me in the eye, and even though I love him, I am avoiding him and the frustration of the whole situation. Sure, I am angry, but not that angry. Still, it is hard not to snap at him when he hints that he might have an idea to make a little more. I just don’t want to think of what will happen if something goes wrong and he does go to jail. I push that away and focus on the crafting, going through the motions following the ghostly hand. That is why when someone yells out “Chess!” My blow slips, causing the strike to bring up the 0xp indicator.

  “What?” I yell back while looking around. I don’t see anyone I recognize. It is the cocky grin and the mismatched outfit of a player standing there that makes me figure out what is happening. My item chimes done and for the first time in a long time, I get the prompt that I created an item that is only decent quality.

  “So, you are him. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure from the images I saw.” The player says with a grin. “I can’t wait to tell my guild about this.”

  Then he is gone, logged out before I can ask him not too. A few hours later there are five of the yahoos outside. One with a mohawk has his character name Killock set to public yells, “Hey man we can pay you a thousand gold if you join our guild!” His voice cracks mid-yell.

  It is jarring enough to cause me to miss the strike on the new piece I’m working. Achieving master smith status makes it harder to follow the motions, with them coming quicker and needing you to match the forms closer for experience.

  “Can’t you.” Strike. “See.” Strike. “That I’m a…” Strike. “Little busy right.” Strike. “Now”

  Killock ignores my hint. “A thousand gold man. Then we can go beat MoM.”

  I ignore him, but moments later a guild invite pops up obscuring my vision, and I miss several strikes dismissing it.

  Not even having the patience to wait for me to finish, he yells, “You suck man. It’s a good offer.”

  He logs off or teleports away. One or two people stay to watch me work before they leave bored, too. By the end of the day, there is an uptick in players walking the area and shooting me glances as they walk by.

  There are more texts on my phone when I log out. This time it’s only Mel.

  Some scrub guild really offers you just a thousand gold to join them? They got mocked for the lowball, though they did post screenshots and your location.

  I groan a little. The more popular the game has gotten, the more players I see in my little corner of the woods. The zone the forge is in used to insulate me from the hordes of players. The shops were too expensive and the quests related to the area higher level or just social ones. With so many players reaching higher levels, well, things have changed.

  I take the bus home gloomily, not wanting to check out how much the information about my whereabouts has spread online or the comments about it. Dinner is on the table, but Grandpa is still avoiding me after I chewed him out for suggesting he could work the phone again. The night is spent hoping it won’t be too bad.

  There are people waiting when I log in. Of course, there are people waiting. I’m tempted just to turn around and walk the other way. Or to simply log out and take a day at the park. The room is already paid for, and it is a Wednesday so any money I could make working the chess tables would pale beside what I can do at the forge in the game.

  Not at my best with everyone watching. Little things with my timing that can add up to me not doing even my average. It doesn’t help that every time I look up, there are more and more players. I can hear Byron rebuff a few players who try to sneak back where I’m working.

  Then someone breaks the stalemate. I don’t know if the player has an item or just an ability that let them project their voice like they did at the Thriller-break-dance protest, but I can hear him loud and clear. “Hey Chess. We just want to talk. Some here want some special orders. I think you could do better if you join our guild, the Red Skies.”

  I look up just in time to see someone push the speaker aside and shout “Dread Pirates is a better guild.”

  Everyone working the smithy stops to watch the commotion. It is a small scuffle, but the crowd swells in size as more players trickle in. One player breaks the imaginary line that held them back and rushes in aggressively. Byron is so startled he lashes out with his hammer, and the player doesn’t get up then slowly disappears into a gust of ash and dust.

  That probably wasn’t the right move. The whole crowd starts to surge in. “He can’t take all of us!” someone yells. It remind
s me of those old videos of Black Friday sales.

  I drop the hammer I’m using and the blade I’m working as the first friend request pops into my vision. I manage to cast haste on myself and turn to run. I’m quietly thankful this place has a back way out were they get their fuel and metals delivered.

  I run out and can hear the others bottlenecked in the shop, I consider logging out, but then they would know where I’ll be when I log back in. If I were to die maybe. Screw that I haven’t died yet. I run.

  I weigh my options. At least a dozen players are keeping up with me. Thanks to the quest for the marshal orders I may be able to hang out at one of their complexes. Waiting for permission would probably get me caught though.

  I know where I need to go.

  My legs are sore, and I’m breathing heavily as I cut past the line at The Whole Pie. The only headquarters of King’s that I know.

  I make my way past the crowded line that stretches partway out the door, the crowd muttering as I do. I make eye contact with the woman who mans the counter. She is the same one that had manned the station when I visited previously. I hop around the counter keeping low to the far side of her where I wouldn’t be visible. There is no way to go into the back then up the stairs without being seen. I can hear more grumbling in the line as more players push their way in after me.

  “He has to be here somewhere. I saw him come in,” a player mutters loudly.

  “I’ll check in the back.” Another young man replies.

  There’s a small shiver in the air, and the girl with pigtails who is manning the desk is now holding a knife. “Access to the back is restricted. If you wait back in line, I can get you some pie. I’ll even cut it for you. We could also try you on as a baker if you’re interested in that position, but please wait your turn.”

  I can hear someone fumbling with their weapons, and I consider getting my own out of inventory. “Dude she’s red. Don’t try it.”

  I guess one of them had some kind of threat assessment skill.

  “OP cits.” The player curses.

  “There’s a back exit over here!” someone yells, and I can hear stomping as I exit the room.

  The woman looks down at me. “The other Touched are gone. Mr. King is a little bit busy, but if you want to head up to see him, I’m sure he’ll allow it.” She smirks a little at some thought.

  I have been thinking about visiting for a while, since Gramps got back. Work is shot. With me having been chased out of the smithy, I probably can’t go back there for a while. “Yeah, I think I should head up and talk business.” I nod to her and then make my way into the back buffeted by the smell of sweets and spices.

  Two big guards are at the bottom of the stairs guarding it. They see me then shrug soundlessly, letting me go up. I knock on the door. “Come in.” King’s confident merry voice answers back.

  King is washing his hands and a tool that kind of looks like the combination of a corkscrew and a cheese knife at a basin of water. “Oh, it’s you Chess.” He says with a little bit of surprise in his voice. “I didn’t realize we had a meeting scheduled today and was just working on a little business.”

  He dries his hands on a white towel staining it a little bit pink from the water. That is when my eyes are drawn to the other object in the room, a lumpy chair covered in a white sheet. A few splotches of red are blooming on the fabric. I hesitate a little before speaking. “I understand. Things kind of have been coming up for me, and I was thinking about visiting anyway. Then I found myself in the neighborhood.”

  Alerin King nods sagely. “I understand. Doing great tasks are hard and sometimes have—” He shoots a look at the sheet— “Unforeseen problems. So, what can I do for you today?”

  I know enough to know that if I do win the Kingmaker prize that I can probably get a loan against it. I have seen enough of those need cash now advertisements. Bail, the lawyers’ fees, and rent have almost run me dry. The auctions are trickling in a little more than day-to-day expenses. I know that any kind of emergency would wipe us out. “I need us to move ahead with having the High Council decide if they want to name a king sooner, with Jasper as the candidate.”

  King doesn’t respond right away. He goes to a cabinet and gets a drink of amber liquid. He makes a motion offering some to me, but I shake my head no. He pours a full glass, then drinks it all in one motion. “I love this Kingdom. I like to think of myself as the father of Lusania. Guiding it in the best way I know how. I hold lots of jobs: creator, order head, businessman. Sometimes I must do things that put me in a bad light, but it’s all for the kingdom. I’m tried daily and often find myself lacking. Lacking in power, in what I need to make this the best place It can be. “

  King shoots me a serious, solemn look as he takes another deep breath and continues. “Our partnership has been good. You provide me with gold, and I work to make it possible for us to get a decent king. If we win, our relationship allows me to be a voice in the room when decisions are being made.

  “I like you. You’re hard working, dedicated, and not running around mucking everything up like most Touched like to do. Yes, if I could wave my hand and send you Touched all away I would. You hurt as much as you help, but the gods will not allow it. I would need years and millions in gold to accomplish what we have planned in order to get the utmost certainty. But for your sake, I will try to get the ball rolling faster. You’ll need to help though. “ He awaits my response.

  I hear a faint dripping. I look over and see it coming from under the red and white sheet. It sometimes feels so real I need to remind myself this is a game and one that I will win. “What do you need me to do?” I ask.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Casey Ellis

  The fundamentals of leadership. That is six hours of my life I am never going to get back. I swallow two aspirin and down it with some bottled water. This is just the first day of the five-day conference, and I already miss my wife, Stella.

  The real source of my headache is sitting in a folder on the passenger seat of my rental car. I sigh and make my way to the parking garage. I turn on the engine to idle and get the heat going, and crank up the radio to drown out my doubts before I pick up the file labeled Chess. Sun wants to keep this work in hard copy and off the company email servers in part because he is still wondering if someone inside the company is feeding the player information.

  I open the file and start to read. Chess, AKA Nate Shoefield, newly sixteen-year-old gamer. Address listed as a PO box, so, it’s not like I can go and knock on his front door. We should probably require residence and not just mailing address for the game registration information.

  He’s been playing at least thirty hours a week since opening day. That puts him at the top .01 percent of players in-game time. You need an expensive in-home reactive room or a combination of reactive rooms and headset to play longer.

  All play comes from an immersion center downtown. Based on his normal play time, if he is there today, he should be getting out in an hour. In my gut, this whole thing feels wrong. Setting down the file, I map out a route and put the car in drive.

  A painful drive through downtown traffic, and I’m sitting near the exit, creeping on whoever is leaving. I’m already picturing conversations if a police officer stops by to ask why I’m idling near the exit of what is essentially a gym/game center. Why officer, I’m just waiting here to see if I can spot someone my boss suspects might either be stealing someone’s identity or has infiltrated our company. No, I don’t know what the person looks like. I just have a picture of a missing kid from nine years ago to go on, and I’m trying to imagine him all grown up. The truth is I’ll just say, I’m waiting to pick up a friend. If asked.

  Most kids are back in school and school should have let out a little more than an hour ago, so most teenagers are on their way into the center rather than out of it. Most of the people leaving are older, or obviously back from an exercise routine. There is one kid who might be the right age wearing a beat-up coat, and about the right colori
ng to match the missing kid flyer.

  An older man in a maroon coat, a little overweight with graying hair, waves to the kid with his right hand and holds up a bag of takeout in his left. The kid grimaces but goes in for a hug all the same, and the man tussles his hair a bit while doing it. They walk off to the bus stop, and I resume watching the exit.

  A few more teens that could be our boy leave. One has dyed blue hair. I use a pen to take some notes. Of course, if it isn’t a teen using the Nate Shoefield identity, this is all moot, and it could have been anyone leaving the center, though the people running it would probably notice if someone older is registered there as a sixteen-year-old.

  I turn back to the file. There is an old and mostly ignored forum post about Chess frequenting a local game shop. We had the post removed because it’s against policy to have any player’s personal or location information posted like that on the official forums, but the internet and our backups never forget. We’ve even sent out a few notices to remove information from unofficial forums as well.

  I turn on the car. If my boss is going to make me play a gumshoe I might as well go to the next breadcrumb. Maybe I should have bought a trench coat and a fedora for this.

  The game shop has the dubious name of Gamer’s Gate and shares its parking lot with a dollar store. My clothes are business casual from the management seminar where more than half the attendees wore suits but for a game shop I’m overdressed. I shove the file into the glove compartment of the rental and prepare to head inside with a vague idea of what I’m going to do.

  The door chimes as I enter, the inside has the unique smell combination of cardboard, computers, BO, and body spray. On one side there are four virtual headset stations and chairs along with a dozen or so linked desktops. The headsets are already filled up, most likely with players playing Fair Quest.