Queen's Gambit

by Bradley Harper

  The clerk eyed me with an unspoken apology before turning to his new customer.

  “Aye, Jimmy. What’s got your tail up?”

  “Someone’s been using my name and billing people for work they didn’t ask for. They’re hurting my good name.”

  I touched the brim of my hat in farewell. As I headed out the door, I caught just the last bit of the conversation.

  “What’s this about?”

  “I just got a letter from the secretary to the dean at St. Paul’s . . .”

  The rest faded away as the door closed behind me and I walked across the street to rejoin James on a park bench.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  “No one may join the guild until after one year of supervised employment and a recommendation by a member in good standing, not even a skilled worker from another country. So, Herr Ott could not have joined the guild for now.”

  “An apprentice, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps, but there is no roster kept of apprentices. He may be working for a master electrician, but we have no way of knowing. What now?”

  James closed his eyes in concentration. “The sketches of Ott are due tomorrow. The man’s also a skilled gunsmith. I suppose I could ask around some of the high-end gun shops, but I’d just as likely scare the man off.”

  I enjoyed seeing him at work, his well-trained mind sorting through various courses of action toward tracking his quarry down, and I gazed with a growing respect for this very decent and courageous man.

  He reopened his eyes just in time to catch me looking at him.

  “Best we admit defeat for today,” James said after a pause, “and await the drawings from Germany. Let’s pay Elizabeth a call to see how she’s faring.”

  Elizabeth had brought a sketchbook and was doing her best to play the part of a struggling artist on the same park bench she and Margaret had used the day before. She became so engrossed in getting the texture of the brick walkway right that she was startled when she felt the breath of someone looking over her shoulder.

  “Back again? I didn’t notice you drawing yesterday. Was that your father with you?” The English was perfect, but with the lilting musical intonation of a native Russian speaker.

  Elizabeth turned and looked into the Kropotkin daughter’s deep blue eyes inches from her own. When the other girl saw how she had taken this handsome young man unawares, her eyes, full before, fell half-closed and a light pink flush crept up her throat.

  Elizabeth stammered in surprise, which only extended the coral hue past Miss Kropotkin’s neck and onto her cheeks. “I, um, I wasn’t drawing yesterday, no. My father was reading a book to me, and we were discussing it as he went along.”

  “Really? My father reads to me all the time, and it’s all politics and economics. I hope your session was more interesting.” She looked down at her shoes for a moment, as though surprised by her boldness.

  “Poetry. He was reading a recent translation of The Odyssey. We were at the part where Odysseus put on the lambskin to escape the blinded cyclops.”

  Katarina looked up again, her eyes batting twice. “I don’t know that part. Could you recite it to me?”

  Elizabeth felt the girl was standing closer now, though she hadn’t moved a step. “Sorry, I can’t recall it word for word.”

  The girl’s lower lip protruded a fraction. “Not even a little bit? For me? I adore poetry.”

  “Trust me, it’s not the romantic kind.” Elizabeth coughed. “But where’s your father? You walked together yesterday.”

  “Oh, so you did notice.” She nodded toward the far side of the small pond. “He said he was meeting someone, and for me to promenade on my own until he signaled for me to join him.” She looked down at Elizabeth. “I’d rather wait here.” Then, extending her hand like royalty, palm down, she said, “My name is Katarina.”

  Elizabeth stood and took the hand awkwardly, in terra incognita. “James, like my father,” she said while she nodded a welcome, trying to look neither too eager nor reluctant. She looked across the pond and saw Kropotkin sitting on a bench reading a paper. She would be able to see a secret meeting, but at the same be forced to engage this forward young woman while hiding her gender. She smiled, forcing her jaw to relax. “Please join me. I’d be delighted to draw your likeness.”

  As Elizabeth had expected, Katarina found the opportunity to serve as a muse for an artist irresistible. “What pose would you prefer, monsieur?” she asked, while posturing with one hand behind her head, the other on her hip. “But no nudes. I don’t know you that well.”

  Katarina giggled at the open-mouthed reaction to her last remark. Elizabeth swallowed hard as she gestured for her unexpected model to sit on the end of the bench, so that she could sketch Katarina while keeping an eye on the girl’s father.

  “Are there any poems you can recite while I sit here, James? This is boring.”

  “Art requires patience, Katarina, and sometimes silence. I want to catch how your hair falls upon your shoulders, please.”

  Katarina began to object, then looked down at her left shoulder, smiled, and kept quiet. That bought Elizabeth a good ten minutes of peace.

  Elizabeth’s eyes caught the movement before the clear sight of a man walking toward the senior Kropotkin. It was difficult to look across the pond with Katarina focused on her. “Turn your head to the right, please,” Elizabeth said. “I want to catch the curve of your chin.” Katarina obeyed in silence, straightening as she turned, her eyes now looking back toward her house. “James?” she asked, holding her pose, “how much longer do you think it will take?”

  “About five more minutes,” Elizabeth answered, as she made notes on the page underneath Katarina’s sketch, which had been finished five minutes ago. It wouldn’t win any prizes, but at least it resembled her. Given her apparent ego, Elizabeth knew it would be close enough.

  Elizabeth’s attention was focused on the stocky man in the black suit and derby who had sat down next to Kropotkin and produced his own newspaper. She was certain the two were talking, shielded by the papers, but was unable to say who was talking at any given moment. The meeting lasted no more than three minutes, by which time her model was blowing her hair out of her face and tapping her hand on her thigh.

  “Here you are, Katarina. A poor rendering of your good looks, I am sorry.”

  Katarina was all smiles again when released from her pose, and after scrutinizing the drawing for twenty seconds, said, “Well, not a masterpiece, but a good likeness all the same.” Then shifting her gaze back to Elizabeth, she said, “I am sure you would do even better with practice. Same time, tomorrow?”

  Elizabeth half-bowed. “If I’m lucky.”

  “Then let us both pray for good fortune. May I have this?”

  “Certainly. Something to remember me by.”

  “At the very least.”

  Elizabeth half bowed once more. “But now I must go. Until we meet again?”

  Katarina inclined her head. “Until.”

  The stocky man in the dark suit was walking at a brisk pace back in the direction he had come. Despite his rather ducklike gait, he waddled at a good clip. Elizabeth was hard-pressed to keep up without being too obvious. As the man left the park and returned to the busy city streets, she lost him.

  Suddenly, a thin hand seized her arm from behind. Before she could resist, she was spun around and brought face-to-face with a stern Peter Kropotkin.

  “Who are you, young man, and what were you doing with my daughter?” The paternal Kropotkin was keeping a firm grip on Elizabeth’s arm, and although she had violated the first rule of covert surveillance, that is, to go unnoticed, she had to choke down a laugh of relief that his concern was his daughter and not her proximity to him or his meeting.

  “Beg pardon, sir!” she said in an uneven voice. She had intended it as a tenor, but in her surprise tightened her vocal cords: Her pitch quavered, much like that of an adolescent whose voice was changing, a serendipitous piece of authentici
ty. “I was practicing my drawing, and she agreed to pose for me. We were out in public, and there was nothing improper, I swear! Ask her yourself.”

  The man released Elizabeth’s arm but continued to glare at her. “She said you gave her the drawing and schemed to meet again tomorrow. Is this true?”

  “She asked if I would be here tomorrow. I said I might. Is that a problem?”

  “Meeting with young boys without my knowledge, from families I do not know? How could that be a problem?” He pointed his finger inches from Elizabeth’s nose. “Especially if he does not return. Do you understand me?”

  Elizabeth swallowed. “Perfectly, sir.”

  He nodded. “Good. Now go. I will be looking for you, and next time I will have a cane. You are fortunate. In Russia, I would have a whip!”

  28

  Wednesday, June 16, cont.

  James and I halted in midstride as we saw Elizabeth in the grasp of Peter Kropotkin, in the midst of an animated discussion. James tensed, about to rush forward, and I grabbed his arm. “Wait a moment. Have some faith, and let’s see how she handles this. He won’t harm her in public.”

  Kropotkin released her, and as he spun in our direction, we both turned our attention to the various instruments of feminine torture in the window of the nearest millinery shop.

  In the window’s reflection I saw Elizabeth tug at her cap and as she turned to go, she spied us across the street. She made it a point to walk behind us. As she passed us by, she whispered, “Meet me at the Hound and Hare around the corner.”

  Five minutes later, Elizabeth and James were each enjoying a ginger beer while I awaited an ale. “Well, Lizzie, that could have gone better,” James said. “I think that’s the last time I’ll ask you to follow Mr. Kropotkin.”

  Elizabeth started to protest, but before she could do so in full, James began laughing out loud. “While your ability to blend needs some work, your disguise held up perfectly! I thought he was about to strike you right there. Did I understand he thought you were paying too much attention to his daughter?”

  Elizabeth ground her teeth. “If this is what it’s like for the male species, it’s a wonder humanity hasn’t died out. She was flirting shamelessly with me, yet her father accuses me of inappropriate behavior. I have a newfound sympathy for men, Father. She was as predatory as any shark.”

  “Cheer up, lad,” I said, savoring the moment with my almost-family. “You are officially relieved of any further duties involving the Kropotkins. The sketches of Herr Ott are expected tomorrow, isn’t that right, James? Once we have them, we can resume our hunt more efficiently.”

  Elizabeth stared into her ginger beer for a moment, then she looked up. “In all the excitement of my romantic escapades, I forgot to tell you: Kropotkin had a brief meeting with a strange man who walks like a duck.”

  James’s drink was halfway to his mouth when Elizabeth spoke, and he set it back down. “What’s this, then? What happened?”

  “He was dressed all in black and made me think of an undertaker.”

  “Describe him,” I said.

  “Stout, less than average height, with a prominent handlebar mustache. He sat down beside Kropotkin and raised a newspaper, as the Russian was already doing. There they sat for around three minutes. Then the stranger lowered his paper and walked off to my left the way he’d come. I was trying to follow him when a protective father accosted me, and the man slipped away.”

  “Kropotkin is a skilled player of the game, Elizabeth,” James said. “While you used your interaction with his daughter as a screen for your surveillance, he may well have played the protective father to hide his discovery of you, and to allow his accomplice to escape.” James paused, then he chuckled. “As I consider the matter, it’s likely that despite your obvious charms, Lizzie, his daughter was detailed to keep you occupied.”

  Elizabeth finished her ginger beer in a manly gulp and replied. “I’m not sure which is worse; to think I am irresistible to women, or that I am so easily duped.”

  Her father patted her back. “Either way, you can no longer shadow him. He would detect you immediately. Besides,” James grinned, “we must protect you from his predatory daughter. I can see you have a lot to learn about women.”

  Ale squirted out my nose, and I was grateful I was dressed as Pennyworth at the moment. “And you think yourself a competent teacher on the subject?” I shook my head. “Based upon recent experience, Inspector, I’d have to disagree.”

  His jaw dropped, then he joined me in laughter. “Well, based upon recent experience, your doubts are probably justified. But back to more pressing matters . . .” He turned back to Elizabeth. “Would you recognize this stranger again if you saw him?”

  “I’m not sure. He wasn’t there long, and his clothes seemed too large for him. If he were dressed differently, I doubt it.”

  James nodded. “Good. Not good that you’re not sure, but good that you recognize your limitations. The worst disasters I’ve seen are usually caused by someone who is sure of their abilities or information without good reason. If you are to be a detective, you will be a shadow, fumbling in the dark. Always keep clear what you know, what you don’t know, and what you think you know, and you’ll never go wrong.”

  “So, Detectives Ethington,” I said, “what next?”

  “If I may speak for the Ethington Collective,” James began.

  “Or the collective Ethingtons,” Elizabeth interjected.

  “Indeed,” James acknowledged, “I think we should all retire from the field of battle for the day. I will compose the surveillance report on Kropotkin to give to my superiors tomorrow, and I’ll receive Ott’s likeness in return. I fear the visit by the mysterious undertaker may lead to my being required to remain Kropotkin’s shadow, but I can argue he needs a fresh man to prevent him from becoming suspicious. Ott is my focus, and while Kropotkin speaks of revolution, his own hands are clean. He deals in words, not deeds.”

  That agreed, the trio set off for home. They were in such a good mood they failed to notice a man in black with a prominent handlebar mustache waddling a discrete distance behind them. Once the three reached Chez Ethington, he carefully scribbled the address in a small notebook and turned on his heel.

  29

  Wednesday, June 16, cont.

  Kropotkin answered the door on the second knock. “Come in quickly!” he hissed. “What if they see you?”

  Herr Grüber smiled. “They may be policemen, but they are also public servants. Your shadows are home for the evening. There are three of them, two men and the lad. Interestingly, they all live in the same apartment building. I suspect one of the older men is the father of the young man who caught Katarina’s eye. That was cleverer than I would give them credit for, though Katarina played her part well.”

  The Russian conducted his guest into his study and closed the door before answering. Shaking his head, he said, “She enjoyed her part rather more than I’d like. I daren’t tell her to throw away the crude sketch the young man made of her. I suspect she has already perfumed it and placed it within her jewelry box.” He shrugged. “Are all girls her age such hopeless romantics?”

  Grüber chuckled. “Being a confirmed bachelor, I have no expertise in the matter. But she deserves her trophies, and now that we can speak unobserved, we can conclude our business.”

  “Yes, by all means. Why were you so desperate to see me? A dead drop usually suffices.”

  “I didn’t have time. Or rather, we don’t have time. I have set something in motion that requires you to leave England for a short while, quite possibly much longer. You need to have an absolute alibi for the next week.”

  “The next week? What happens . . . Oh.” Understanding came over Kropotkin’s face.

  “Yes. I have a plan in motion. The man is very skilled and highly motivated. I am confident enough in him that I am moving some pieces off the board and out of danger.”

  Kropotkin looked over his glasses. “So, this is just a game to
you?”

  “Yes, but with the highest of stakes. Freedom.” Grüber pointed to an ivory and teak chess set on a sideboard. “I see you play chess.”

  The Russian snorted, “Who from my country does not?”

  “Then you are aware of the Queen’s Gambit?”

  “Of course. The queen’s pawn is advanced two spaces to begin the game.”

  “And what is the purpose of the move?”

  “To gain control of the center.”

  “Exactly. But, to succeed, what must happen next?”

  “The pawn is sacrificed.”

  “And with this queen’s death, we will control the center. I have already chosen my pawn. I need you safe, to press our advantage afterward. How soon can you leave?”

  Kropotkin stood, walked to the window in his study and looked out into the darkness. “That depends on where I’m going.”

  “Geneva. I have requested a conference to be held there on the twenty-third of June. Nothing of consequence will be discussed, but it will draw our leaders into one place to protect them from charges of involvement in this matter.”

  “What exactly do you hope to accomplish by the murder of an old woman? I’m not squeamish regarding her death, mind you, but the condemnation our cause will suffer should have some redeeming feature.”

  “My goal is a war that topples the old order forever.”

  “And how will the queen’s assassination accomplish that?”

  “Once the British learn it was a German who pulled the trigger, nothing less than war will satisfy the mobs.”

  “And how will the mobs learn his nationality? What if he escapes?”

  “If he is not immediately apprehended or killed on the spot, he’ll seek our comrades in Southampton. They’ll see to it he is found.”

  “But won’t he implicate you and our network?”

  Grüber spoke as though they were discussing the weather. “Not as long as his son is within my reach.”

  Grüber went to stand beside his host as they both contemplated the formless dark outside. “Only you will know the real reason you’ve been summoned. Please keep that to yourself, though it would be wise to plan for what comes after the queen’s death. Do not take a large amount of baggage with you, but be aware it may be a year or more before you can return.”