Queen's Gambit

by Bradley Harper

  “Aye, sir. It seems like a sound plan to me. I’ll be there.”

  In the tumult of the preparations, Herman walked into the boarding school unchallenged and slipped down the stairs to the basement. He found his auxiliary switch as he’d left it and tripped it, thus grounding the main power line to the water pipe, then walked back outside into the general bustle. He was confident that when the light switches were turned on that night, the entire building would go dark. He’d be ready.

  Police Constables McFadden and O’Reilly were called out of the evening muster by their sergeant. “I’ve got a very important assignment for you lot,” he said. “Coming direct from the Yard.”

  “What’s that, sergeant?” McFadden asked. “Guard the queen’s jewels while she’s away?”

  “Even better, lads. You’re to guard the entrance to the boarding school for the choir. Can’t be having anyone steal their sheet music while they’re serenading Her Majesty. Report there at seven o’clock tomorrow morning. Clear?”

  “Aye, sergeant.” O’Reilly shrugged. “Pity, we’ll be missing all the excitement.”

  Queen Victoria returned from Windsor Castle that afternoon and was impressed by the sea of Union Jacks and flowers covering the city. As she attended a state banquet that night, she chatted with the young man next to her, Archduke Franz Ferdinand.

  “It is an honor to be included in your procession tomorrow, Your Highness,” he said. “I am still unsure what is to occur at the cathedral, however.”

  “It shall be brief, sir. The entire procession shouldn’t take much over an hour, save the twenty minutes or so for the ceremony itself.” She noted his thick waist, “We shan’t be late for luncheon.”

  The board was set, all the pieces in place. The opening move awaited nothing more than the pull of a switch.

  47

  Monday, June 21, cont.

  At sunset, the weary custodian went to the basement as always to throw the main power switch for the building. As before, he was greeted with light, but this time the light was provided by a brief cascade of sparks before full darkness returned.

  “Bloody electricians!” He snarled. “The choirmaster’ll have my ’ead if he can’t ’ave a final run through tonight.”

  He stomped over to his desk in a corner of the basement and rummaged through the bills and invoices until he found the bill from the blasted man who’d said everything was fine. He grabbed the form, scribbled down the address, and headed off after leaving word with his wife where he’d be.

  The streetlights were flickering on as the old man stormed down the street toward the electrician’s shop. Herman had managed to loiter in an alley just around the corner. The shop had closed a half hour ago, so Herman had to time the next bit just right. As soon as he recognized the custodian approaching, Herman slipped to the entrance with the rifle’s case and bent over the door as though locking it.

  “Oy! You there! Mister Bloody Everything’s Fine!”

  Herman stood and looked around as though startled. “Ah, Mister Connery! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? I was nearly glowing like a light bulb meself tonight, thanks to you! There ain’t no light in the school, and I need you to come with me right now or I’m out of a job, all because of you!”

  Herman sighed. “It’s my son’s birthday tonight. Can’t I come round in the morning?”

  “Are you listening to me, man? Tomorrow’s the Jubilee. I need lights tonight. Now! If you don’t come with me, I’ll make sure your name is well known as an incompetent ass.”

  “All right, all right,” Herman said. He hefted his case. “The sooner we start, the sooner it’s done. Let’s go.”

  The switch had performed perfectly. The custodian left Herman alone, grumbling as he left to see to the multitude of tasks awaiting him. The short was disconnected quickly, then Herman carefully constructed an elaborate coil of wires that appeared connected to the main switch but in reality had no purpose, nor any power flowing through it.

  He finished just as the custodian came back down to check on his progress. Herman waited until the man was at the bottom of the stairs before throwing the switch. He wiped his hands on a greasy rag as the lights came on throughout the building.

  “About bloody time!” the custodian thundered. “Don’t expect to be paid for this. ’Twas your incompetence that caused this in the first place.”

  Herman shrugged. “Do as you like. This is a temporary fix. I’ll need to come back in the morning to make it permanent.”

  “Why can’t you do that now?”

  “I need more wire and some tools I don’t have with me. No charge. I’ve my reputation to uphold.”

  Mr. Connery’s scowl faded away when Herman said, “No charge.” “Very well. Be here at seven tomorrow morning. Sharpish. Understand?”

  “I do.” Herman said. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be off.”

  “Good night, then. Don’t forget!”

  “Not for the world.”

  Herman felt bone weary as he approached the Underground station. As he passed the city parks, he noted families laying out blankets on the ground and preparing pallets for the night. Thousands of the Queen’s loyal subjects would brave the weather that night, which threatened rain, to assure themselves a proper view of the following day’s spectacle. Herman shook his head at the love these sensible-appearing people had for an old woman whom they would never meet in person. He had no affection for either the Tsar or the Kaiser, so their love for this aged symbol of their oppressors was beyond him.

  Herman noted the moon becoming dimmer as clouds gathered outside. Be my luck if a providence I don’t believe in saved a monarch I came to kill.

  There was nothing he could do about it, however. He made the last train to Kensington and nodded to the clerk as he entered the lobby, careful to look for any signs of suspicion. The man returned his nod and went about his business. One more night, and then I’ll be the most hated man in the British Empire. It struck Herman how much his life would change tomorrow. What kind of life can I give Immanuel after this? He trudged to his room, reached into his waistcoat, and stared at the picture of Astrid and their son long into the night.

  48

  Tuesday, June 22

  I arose at dawn and looked out the window. People dressed in their best were already streaming toward the procession route.

  “Where will you station yourself, James?” I asked as we ate breakfast. “The cathedral’s roof? That seems to offer the best view.”

  “It’s where Senior Inspector Murdock wants me, though it will slow down my response to any threat I see. The sergeants along the plaza have been told to keep an eye on me so as to respond to my signals. They’ll be hard-pressed to do so while watching the crowd and their men, but it’s the best we can do.”

  “And where would you like us, Father?” Elizabeth asked, between bites of poached egg and toast.

  “I’ve just the place. Safe, yet it should give you a good view.”

  “Where, Father?”

  James gulped down his coffee before answering. “In front of the boarding school. I’ve two constables there. You’ll be able to see the ceremony well enough, and I can wave to you from the roof. You should be safely out of the way if our assassin does attempt some mischief.”

  Herman was up before dawn, having slept perhaps two hours. His eyes were bleary, but his mind was focused. The flasks were at full pressure. The magazine was full, though one shot should be enough. Having it full reduced any rattle as he carried it in its case. Herman dressed in his best clothes despite his upcoming role as an electrician. He had learned that good clothes could deflect suspicion almost as well as a badge. Time to start thinking about the moments after he fired.

  He’d paid for one more night to prevent his having to take all his possessions with him. His earthly belongings had shrunk over the past six months. He left the room with only the clothes he wore and a weapon he despi
sed. He felt chained to it and was looking forward to throwing it into the Thames even more than toppling a crown.

  Today was a national holiday, and the Underground was crowded with those hoping to find a space along the route. Herman hoped those who chose a spot after the cathedral would be disappointed.

  The extent of the British Empire was reflected in the faces of the hundreds of thousands of people crowding the sidewalks and the fortunate few heading for their reserved seating. Vendors loudly hawked Union Jacks, buttons with the date and a likeness of Queen Victoria on them, commemorative mugs, and programs listing the dignitaries in their order within the procession. The majority of the English-speaking world was holding its breath.

  Police Commissioner Bradford took pride in the fact that he could still saddle his horse himself. He sat on it now and slowly made his way along the route. The proliferation of flags and bunting would make it easy for a sniper to hide, and his stomach burned as he looked for any suspicious new developments. He finished the route back at Buckingham Palace by eight in the morning and admitted he had done all he could. He wished heartily for the overcast sky to produce a downpour to cancel the entire procession, and for a bromide for his stomach.

  Herman arrived at the school promptly at seven. The procession didn’t begin until eleven-fifteen, and he didn’t want to have to loiter too long beforehand. The longer he was there, the greater his chance of being found out. His palms began to sweat when he saw two sour-faced constables at the entrance.

  “What business brings you here, then?” asked Constable O’Reilly. “None but those on official business or who are spoken for by the custodian may pass, and as ’e ain’t given out any tickets, he’ll have to say so himself.”

  Herman lifted the case. “Electrician, Constable. The custodian will vouch for me.”

  Mr. Connery popped out his head, saw Herman, and nodded to the two bobbies. “He’s with me, more’s the pity.” The constables nodded and returned to their task of scowling at passersby.

  The custodian was out of breath with his supplemental business, greeting his customers and conducting them to their places. The boys had left for a final rehearsal within the cathedral, leaving behind himself, the cook, his wife, and the nurse with her still-feverish charge. With all that empty space, he reckoned on making a tidy sum today. “Oy! ’Bout time you got here!”

  “Do the lights work or not?” Herman asked.

  “They do,” the custodian admitted, “But I don’t like worrying they’ll go out again with no notice. You fix it right and proper, or I’ll see to it the cathedral never uses you again.”

  “I’ll go right down.”

  The custodian gave Herman a quick up and down glance. “You’re dressed fine to get your hands dirty.”

  Herman feigned embarrassment. “Well, I was hoping that once the wiring was fixed I might be able to watch from here. Surely you’ve got a spare window I can look out of?”

  The man stuck his finger in Herman’s face. “Now I see! You did this all a’purpose, to watch the ceremony. You bloody bastard! No, and hell no. I give you one hour, then you’d best be done and gone.”

  Herman shrugged. “Very well. I promise the lights will be in perfect order before I leave. An easy promise to make, since they already are.

  He went down to the basement and removed the false wiring. He considered placing another short, then decided against it. If he needed another subterfuge, he was already lost. Once complete, he went to the top of the stairs and listened through the door. He heard the custodian greet a family for the rooftop and counted to twenty to give them time to begin the long climb up.

  He opened the door and ambled toward the stairs, careful to keep out of sight of the party above him. When he heard the roof door open, he sped to the second floor and went directly to the corner room. He opened the door and closed it silently behind him. He turned and found himself face-to-face with the formidable Mrs. Foster, standing guard between him and her charge, and the window.

  James found Scotland Yard nearly deserted. Its staff was either out on duty or off to see the spectacle themselves. Murdock was in his office, however. It took no great detective to judge from the thick cloud of tobacco smoke that he’d been there for some time.

  “A grand way to end your career with Special Branch, James.” His initial smile faded, and his forehead wrinkled. “Any news?”

  “None, Senior Inspector. I’ve done my best. It cost two men’s lives—Peg Leg’s son and Constable Williams—and I’ll be glad to have this day behind me. I’ll be on the roof to look for trouble. Those twenty minutes Her Majesty sits still in an open carriage will be the longest of my life. Any final words before I go?”

  The older man extended his hand. “Only one thing, James. God save the Queen.”

  “Aye, sir. God save us all.”

  Elizabeth asked me what I was wearing to the ceremony and surprised me when she wore a blue dress similar to mine. She smiled shyly, twirled about and took my hand. We looked like family. I inspected my hair one last time, but as I turned to go, I paused. Old habits die hard, I thought. I reached into my suitcase and brought out an old, double-barreled .42 caliber friend. The derringer gave a comforting weight to my purse.

  Then I reached into my small jewelry case and brought out my pendant made from an 1888 penny, slipping it around my neck. It wouldn’t bring me luck but it might give me courage, which is better, as luck is a fickle companion while courage is your own to command.

  The board is set, and the pawn advances.

  49

  Tuesday, June 22, cont.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Nurse Foster asked. “This child is seriously ill and needs his rest. If you don’t leave this instant, I’ll summon the constables downstairs to throw you out. I don’t care what arrangement you’ve made with Mr. Connery.”

  Herman jumped back, nearly dropping his case. In his confusion, he reached into his vest pocket and felt something. A card.

  Assuming a professional air, he handed it to the woman with a flourish. “My name is Boris Rodshenko, Madam. I work for this gentleman, Mister James McIntyre, as part of a team of moving picture photographers. We have been commissioned by the Home Office to record this moment for posterity. My colleagues are stationed along the route, and I am here to photograph the ceremony itself.” He hefted the rifle’s case. “Here is my camera. It is silent, so it shouldn’t disturb the lad in the slightest. I trust we can watch the ceremony together without further animosity.” He bowed. “Is that acceptable to you?”

  “Then why wasn’t I told?” she sniffed. “I’ll have a word or two about this to the custodian.” She glared for a moment more, and Herman slipped his hand into his right pants pocket, considering his other option.

  “Oh, very well. Freddy’s sleeping like the dead. Help me move his bed back a bit, and you should have enough space to set up.”

  Herman’s hand slid out of his pocket and he tipped his hat.

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Madam. I’ll be sure to mention it to my superiors when I turn in the film.”

  The house guards would be the final contingent before the royal carriage, so they formed up outside the gates of Buckingham Palace. The representatives from various parts of the empire gathered in the square, and more than one sergeant expressed thanks no Indian elephants were included. Alone at the head of the gathering formation, in his shiny breastplate and plumed helmet, Captain Ames sat astride a magnificent black mare. At six feet eight inches, he was the tallest man in the British Army, and it was his honor to lead the procession, his sword drawn and held in the salute position the entire six miles. His opinion on this honor was his own secret to keep.

  Several of the horses jerked their heads at the tight rein their riders kept them on. They had been trained not to react to gunfire, but the size and noise of the crowd made many of them skittish, and it took all of their riders’ considerable skill to keep them in line.

  Finally, all ele
ments were ready save one. The royal carriage pulled up before the palace entrance, and several riders craned their heads to watch a small figure dressed in black creep down the stairs, leaning on her cane, while a lady-in-waiting held a parasol above her. The diminutive woman who ruled an empire was assisted by two liveried members of the royal household who tenderly half-lifted Her Majesty into place. Two burly soldiers from the guards sat behind her in elevated seats, two more ladies-in-waiting sat across from her, and then they waited.

  The crowd had been noisy before, but at the appearance of Queen Victoria, loud cries of “God save the Queen!” rang out among cheers that resembled a waterfall’s roar, as powerful and unceasing. The cannon fired on time, and as Captain Ames nudged his horse forward, the dark clouds parted. The sun never set on the British Empire, and on this auspicious occasion, it glowed.

  The sound of the cannon was heard throughout the route and the crowd cheered along it, then paused, awaiting further spectacle. Even the old cynic Mark Twain was awed by the tall, proud figure of Captain Ames advancing toward him, his arrival prompting renewed fervor among the multitude.

  The vast number of troops was such that the entire procession was never visible all at once. Soldiers in blue were followed by others in red, then buff, then yellow, then back to buff. Twain sighed and closed his notebook. It was too much, even for his seasoned eye. “This is a task for the Kodak, not the pen,” he muttered to himself. “I know when I’m overmatched.”