The Chess Queen Enigma

by Colleen Gleason

“The chess queen!” said Miss Adler. “Excellent, Miss Holmes! I can only surmise you did a brilliant sleight-of-hand whilst everyone was watching the Ankh.”

  “Indeed. What I gave the Ankh was a crude stone copy I had made of what I imagined the chess queen would look like. I bundled it up in the original wrappings while everyone was distracted during her speech. My experience with the mediums and séances during the spiritglass debacle made me realize what a helpful skill learning sleight-of-hand would be. Miss Louisa Fenley, the medium, was more than happy to assist me with some of the basics when I pointed out that the Met might be quite interested in how she made her living.” She glanced at Grayling. “And now . . . shall we play chess?”

  They settled across from each other at the table. “Of course, I shall play white,” Mina said.

  Grayling gave her a reproachful look. “As if there were any other option.”

  She sniffed, but she didn’t seem annoyed. In fact, Mina was in her element as she arranged the white pieces on her side, and Grayling did the same with the black ones on his.

  Once they were in place, she removed her hands from the table and leaned back to admire the staging. “This is the first time in more than four centuries that the entire collection is together.”

  “Excellent work,” said Miss Adler warmly. “It is a beautiful scene.”

  I couldn’t help but agree. Perhaps it was the handmaker in me, but I did admire the simplicity and beauty of the chess set and its platform in a world of so many devices and mechanisms. I’d seen it before, during the Welcome Event, but only from a distance, and of course I had been underwhelmed by the thought of an antiquated chess set.

  But now I could appreciate it: the huge pedestal that made up the base of the table and its elegant “feet” that jutted out in three directions from the bottom. The top was round, with the chessboard square set into the marble. And each square was indented in the marble, and inset with rose-pink and black marble squares. The outline of each square was made from some metal—bronze, I thought, which gave the table itself an almost modern feel.

  Each chess piece itself was mounted on a small metal base that fit perfectly inside the indented squares of the board. The metal bases also reminded me of a modern cogworked design, for the black pieces sat upon bronze bases, and the white pieces were staged on copper bases. The metal designs were lacy, ornate metalworks that clicked as each piece was placed in its starting location.

  The game pieces themselves were carved of marble with long, sweeping curves and little ornamentation. And the one and only chess queen on the board—for the black side sported a vizier piece in place of the female royal figure—was the tallest piece, and had a beautiful vein of rose threading through the marble.

  “I shall read to you the movements,” Mina said to Grayling as they faced each other to play. “There are only six of them per side, and the combination will unlock the chess table.”

  “So this isn’t to be a true battle of strategy?” he asked.

  “Not at this time. But . . . perhaps in the future.” Her cheeks were slightly pink. “Very well, then. King’s pawn to E-three is my move . . . and now you, Inspector: King’s pawn three to D-six . . . Then White King’s knight to F-three . . . And now, Black Queen’s—er, Vizier’s knight to D-seven. Do make certain not to touch any other squares, and to fit the base in perfectly or I fear the combination won’t work.”

  “Of course, Miss Holmes,” said Grayling. Patience oozed from his tones.

  I watched, not completely following the directions. But apparently Grayling understood and he moved as indicated. Each time a piece was settled into place, there was a soft click, as if a magnet snapped to the bottom of the pieces.

  “The combination presumably works because of the weight of the pieces, and the order in which they are placed—do you notice how each one feels different?” said Mina.

  “Indeed. Although one would expect since the chess queen is the one which is the most important element, it is the heaviest—or lightest, perhaps—of them all.”

  “Precisely. Which is why simply replicating the piece wouldn’t work for the combination. There must be a certain weight built in to the bottom . . . I can hear something moving inside the base when I tilt it.”

  “Indeed. That slight tilting, in combination with the magnetization, is the key. So to speak.”

  When it came time for the last move, the entire room seemed to hold its breath. “And now . . . White King’s bishop to G-six, and checkmate . . .” Mina moved her piece, setting it into its square.

  There was silence for a moment, and then a soft click, followed by a whirr from beneath. The top of the chess table began to slide off with a low, mechanized grinding.

  As it rolled to the side, we crowded around and looked down into the large round base. It was an open cavity, and there was something inside.

  “Miss Holmes.” Grayling gestured courteously for her to do the honors. “Unless you’d prefer not to slide your hand into parts unknown.”

  “Definitely not.” Mina stood and bent to thrust her hand into the base. She pulled out a thick white envelope that was certainly not hundreds of years old. “What . . . ?”

  Staring at the packet, her cheeks turning white and then flaming red, she made a soft, furious noise. I saw over her shoulder that the envelope was addressed to Miss Holmes.

  What?

  Mina tore open the packet and yanked out a single sheet of paper, spinning away from the rest of us to read it. We waited in tense, confused silence until she turned back.

  “It was a ruse.” Her movements were stiff with anger. Her cheeks were circles of bright red. Her eyes flashed with green-brown fury. “All of it. Every last bit of it.”

  “What are you talking about?” I took the paper and envelope she handed me. I recognized the writing as the same—or similar—to the penmanship on the paper from Pix.

  The letter said:

  Miss Holmes,

  You are indeed a formidable opponent. But if you are reading this, then it means I have in fact outwitted and outsmarted you . . . and in fact have checkmated you in this little game of ours.

  You did precisely what I hoped and planned, including locating the chess queen . . . and clearly substituting or somehow exchanging the original at the last moment. Brava!

  You are a worthy opponent . . . but not quite skilled enough.

  What you cannot have realized until this very moment is that the chess queen was in my possession first, and I have already relieved the chess table of its contents. Then I returned the queen to her original hiding place so you would have the pleasure of solving the puzzle on your own. Again, congratulations! Only two of us have been clever enough to do so, and how fitting that we are both of the “lesser” gender.

  Incidentally, you may at some day in the future learn what was secreted inside this table . . . but then again you may not.

  That shall depend upon whether you are able to keep up with me.

  Until we meet again.

  And the letter was signed with the familiar symbol of the Ankh.

  Miss Holmes

  In Which Our Heroine Is Thoroughly Rooked

  “The entire thing was staged,” I raged. “Everything!”

  It was the day after we found the letter inside the chess table, and I hadn’t slept nor given up my ire since then.

  “Do you mean there was no letter from Queen Elizabeth?” asked Evaline.

  “There was a letter, of course—but if you recall, it was conveniently ‘stolen’ before anyone had the opportunity to read it. Or at least, before I had the opportunity. And then Lurelia, also conveniently, had made a copy of it. Which she shared in order to lead me on the chase to find the chess queen.”

  “But when did the Ankh actually obtain the chess queen?”

  “I don’t know. We might never know. Possibly she used the original letter—provided to her by Lurelia at the Midnight Palace, or possibly even long before Lurelia came to London—to find
the queen. Or perhaps she somehow found it without the letter. Surely Queen Elizabeth was intelligent enough not to leave only a single document explaining its location.”

  “And so Princess Lurelia never had a lover?”

  “I don’t believe so. I believe her partner in crime, so to speak, was not a man she loved, but a woman she admired—that is, the Ankh.” I could not keep the note of bitterness from my voice. I had been outsmarted by two of them. “And now that the princess has disappeared, who knows what will happen between England and Betrova. You may no longer be able to buy Betrovian silks, Evaline.” The jest fell flat, as indeed, it should have. This was not the time to be witty.

  “But why would the Ankh go through so much trouble? Did she want the chess queen or not?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Of course she wanted the chess queen—but what was more important was whatever might have been in the table. But there was more to it than that.”

  I knew precisely why the Ankh had done what she did. And the villainess was correct—I had blindly followed the path she laid out, ending up precisely where she wanted me: mortified, and utterly—as one might say—rooked.

  But I couldn’t explain it all to Evaline. She wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t believe me.

  No one would believe Lady Cosgrove-Pitt was the Ankh. Everyone who mattered had been present when the Ankh made her appearance, and had seen Lady Cosgrove-Pitt also in attendance.

  I could never prove she and the Ankh were one and the same, even though I now knew for certain they were. Lady Cosgrove-Pitt had made sure of that.

  That was the real reason for this elaborate ruse. She could continue to create and execute any nefarious scheme she wished, and no one would ever suspect the wife of the Parliamentary leader of being the Ankh.

  There was a silver lining—a small, slender, gossamer one—to this cloud. Clearly, Lady Cosgrove-Pitt saw me as a serious threat and a great adversary—otherwise, why should she have have gone through all of this trouble?

  The only person I’d confided in was Dylan. He’d believed me. Of course he had . . . but now he was going to be leaving. My heart wrenched a little, and all of a sudden I felt very alone. More solitary than I had in a long time.

  These last few months, partnering with Evaline and getting to know Dylan . . . learning to care for him in a way I’d not cared for anyone before . . . and having a purpose by working for Miss Adler and Princess Alix . . . and even encountering and competing with Inspector Grayling—all had contributed to a life filled with comrades and activity, and even social engagements. A type of life I’d never thought possible for someone like me.

  But now . . . I wasn’t certain what the future held.

  I returned my attention to Evaline. “Since we don’t know for certain what was inside the chess table, I cannot surmise whether the Ankh—or Lurelia—truly wanted the chess queen. Or if the entire caper was simply a way for her to ruin my reputation.”

  It was my mistake that had brought me to this situation. It was my pride and boastfulness that had been my undoing, for when the Ankh had held Evaline and me captive in the opium den, I’d told her I knew who she was. I told her I recognized her.

  And then, to prove my accusation, I appeared shortly thereafter at Lady Cosgrove-Pitt’s residence. I was prepared to find her not at home, and to use that to prove she was the Ankh . . . But she had been home.

  That was when she knew I knew.

  Was that why she’d laid low—as the Ankh—for several months after the affair of the clockwork scarab? To plan this whole scheme? Had she traveled home to Betrovia during that time and conveniently met Lurelia, or had they known each other for some time? Who had sought out whom? And did Lurelia know the Ankh’s true identity? I didn’t know the answers to any of those questions.

  But one day I would. I would give her her comeuppance for one-upping me in such a public manner, for the deaths of three young women, for the death of the museum security guard, for the death of Pix (short-lived as it had been) . . . and who knew what other terrible crimes she had committed.

  I still didn’t know for certain how she’d done it all . . . but I had several plausible theories. And although I didn’t know why she was attempting to control vampires by using Pix’s devices, whatever the reason was surely not a pleasant one.

  I must be on my guard. The Ankh’s gauntlet had been flung quite decisively in my direction, and the battle between us was on.

  It would take all my cunning and cleverness and Holmesian abilities to match her . . . but I had no doubt I would come out the winner.

  “We’re here,” Evaline said unnecessarily as the carriage came to a jerking halt. (I had a moment of regret that Middy was driving, and not one of Princess Alix’s coachmen.)

  I looked up at the colonnade of the British Museum—a building I had seen countless times, a structure I’d visited daily for the last quarter of a year. It was a place in which I felt at home, a place where I felt as if I belonged, surrounded by people who knew and respected and perhaps even liked me.

  But today I would quite possibly be saying farewell to the first person who’d truly cared for me and accepted me just as I was. Was it because he was from the future, where women were seen differently?

  I suspected that was at least part of the reason.

  My eyes burned a little as I climbed out of the carriage with Middy’s assistance. A Holmes did not cry, even during good-byes.

  We gathered—Miss Adler, Evaline, Dylan, and I—in the small, dingy basement chamber in the museum where the large statue of Sekhmet had been stored after the affair of the clockwork scarab. Everything was arranged just as it had been when Dylan arrived from one hundred twenty-seven years in the future.

  The only thing that had been missing was the scarab that fit in the base . . . and now it was present.

  Dylan said his good-byes first to Evaline. She sniffled a little, and embraced him tightly. “Thank you for saving his life. Even if he didn’t deserve it.”

  Dylan chuckled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “He did deserve it. You know he did. Besides, everyone deserves to be saved.”

  He turned to Miss Adler. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here, for helping me to find a place to fit in and to find clothes, and a job . . .” His voice shivered a little, and her eyes glittered over his shoulder as she hugged him.

  Finally, Dylan faced me. His eyes were suspiciously bright and for a moment he couldn’t look right at me. “Now I know how Dorothy felt,” he muttered.

  “Good-bye, Dylan,” I said bravely. “I’ll miss you and your fascinating device.” My laugh was rough and unsteady and I felt as if the world was crumbling away at my feet. The first person to care for me aside from my mother—who’d also abandoned me—was leaving.

  “I want you to have this, Mina,” he said. Something cool and solid was pressed into my hand, and I opened my eyes to see the little device he called a cell phone. “In case . . . well, there might be a time when we can . . . well, connect.”

  I closed my fingers around it, emotions I didn’t care to name or examine swelling inside me. I knew he’d had odd moments when this device had “connected” to his world. I didn’t know the first thing about doing so, but the fact that he wanted me to have it made my throat dry and rough and my eyes sting. I’d never forget him, of course . . . but now I had a small memento too.

  “I wrote down some instructions,” he said, and handed me a small packet of paper. “Just in case.”

  “Thank you, Dylan.”

  He looked down at me for a moment. I read grief in his eyes too, and yet also excitement and hope. Hope shined through, and my sadness began to ebb.

  He had to leave. It was the right thing. He didn’t belong here.

  “Thank you for tending to Inspector Grayling. It truly was a miracle, you and your bread mold.”

  Dylan laughed, breaking the tension. “Yes. Who’d’ve thought bread mold could save the day!”

  I nodded. I just wanted thi
s to be over, so I could get on with my life. “Good-bye, Dylan. I don’t know what we’re going to do without you . . . You’ve been such a . . . miracle worker. Saving so many people . . .”

  “Good-bye, Mina.” He looked at me, trying to tell me something with his eyes, and then pulled me tight in a long, long embrace. Then . . . very softly: “Come with me.”

  My heart stopped. Had I heard him correctly? Surely not . . .

  But he pulled back a little to meet my eyes. “You could come with me, Mina,” he whispered, tightening his arms. “Just think of what you could learn! And it’s so different there—like, you could wear pants whenever you wanted to.”

  My brain felt as if it had exploded. Go with him. Go to the future.

  “I . . .” Words simply wouldn’t form. I was . . . exhilarated by the thought, stunned, and curious. I could leave everything behind. I could be in a world where a woman didn’t need to marry and bear children to be considered worthwhile. I could experience all of the things he’d told me about—voting, aeroplanes, electricity! Something called the Internet. I could leave this behind, forget about the Ankh and my father and my mother, and . . .

  Miss Stoker would have to carry on by herself. With Inspector Grayling’s help. And Miss Adler’s. Likely Mr. Pix as well.

  Perhaps they would be successful in capturing the Ankh.

  I could leave this behind. This world. My world. A world where I’d just begun—with the help of Dylan, and Evaline and Miss Adler, and even Grayling—to fit in. To find a place.

  No.

  I was already shaking my head, despite the excitement and curiosity still rushing through me. “I . . . I can’t,” I whispered. “I couldn’t . . . leave . . . them. Leave this. I . . . drat it, Dylan, I don’t belong here . . . and yet somehow I do. I do. I’ve found my place.”

  He nodded, his eyes suspiciously bright. His laugh was a little strained. “That’s my Mina. Tough and certain and, as usual, completely right. You’re right. You do belong here. I’m just . . . really going to miss you.” And then he pulled away, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. “I’m ready. Better go before I change my mind.”