Dylan clapped him. "Well said, friend."
Others, obviously infected by the comments of the two men, began to talk about the painting, and, attracted by the ruckus that was beginning to take place, more visitors to the gallery came over to the improvised group of art critics.
The tone of the argument was getting worse. There were now more than thirty there and personal criticisms were gaining momentum. The woman who had been arguing with Dylan from the outset expended a lot of energy and reaffirmed, without realizing it, that she'd become the spokeswoman for those who defended the painting. A task that was increasingly difficult since the detractors now outnumbered supporters. Never before had the talent of the painter been questioned with such fervour.
The director of the gallery arrived, accompanied by two security guards and managed to impose order after a few difficult minutes. His grave voice rose above the general clamour and, backed up by the burly guards, he got the group to stop arguing and disperse.
"I thought that this was the best place to give one's opinion about art," Dylan said stubbornly. "We were only giving our impressions."
"That's enough!" the director bellowed, seeing that someone else was about to agree with Dylan and start the whole process over again. He got close to him and in the lowest voice possible, murmured, "I beg you not to keep upsetting the visitors, Mr Blair."
"Naturally," Dylan responded, pleased that he'd been recognized. "Really, my intention was to speak with you in private, if that's all right with you, of course."
The director understood straight away what this sudden shift away from the near riot meant. Dylan Blair was famous for his public outbursts. He was capable of employing an impressive dose of imagination, sustained by his fortune, to obtain what he wanted, without worrying in the slightest that his reputation would suffer even more. And now he was warning him that he would have to attend to him or risk seeing the plan that he'd conceived ruin his day.
"How can I help you?" the director asked, leading Dylan to his office.
"It's something simple. I've got to celebrate an important meeting and I need a place with style. Your gallery would be perfect, except for that miserable painting of course. I'd like to rent the gallery for a day."
"I regret I can't help you there. We don't offer that sort of service. If it was in my hands…"
The director was left speechless when he saw Dylan open the briefcase he was carrying and reveal its contents. It was loaded with cash, an incalculable amount. More than the director had ever seen in one place in his entire life.
"I need an immediate answer," Dylan said smiling. "Nobody will want the gallery today. Close it and leave it at my disposition until tomorrow morning. Or would you prefer me to walk off with this obscene quantity of money?"
He didn't take a second to think it over. The director took the briefcase out of Dylan's hands and, holding it as if his life depended on it, he called his employees together and gave them the day off.
In less than an hour, Dylan Blair stood alone in the gallery. Everyone had gone. The millionaire walked around the gallery and stopped in front of the painting that had caused so much argument. He grabbed a fire extinguisher that was on the wall beside it and emptied its contents all over the painting.
"I still believe that something as ugly as this can't make a man rich," he said to an empty gallery.
# # #
"I still don't understand it, Aidan," Carol said. "Chess? That can't be it. It's impossible."
"It's no more impossible than any of the other things that we've witnessed in the last few days."
They'd left Helen White and returned to the car, retracing the steps they'd shared with James White a little earlier. Aidan Zack was convinced of what he was telling Carol, but he knew it was hard to believe. If he hadn't seen so many episodes between the Blacks and the Whites with his own eyes he would never have believed it himself. He knew only too well that if someone told him that a five-foot-something man grew into a seven-foot woman he'd be checked for drugs on the spot. And trying to explain it to Carol was a good test of whether he was just completely mad or that someone else could accept it.
"The first thing to take into account are the surnames. They're either Black or White, the colours of chess. Then the pawns are identical. James like William, the one he beheaded."
"All those were pawns then?"
"The short ones, yes," Aidan said. "Visualize chess pieces standing on a board. The pawns are always the smallest pieces. And which are the biggest?"
"The queen and the king?" Carol answered straight away.
"Let's leave the king out of it for the time being. The tallest is the queen. Helen at seven feet."
"Then the bodybuilder, Earl, must've been a castle."
"Exactly. And following the scale of heights, Kodey was a knight, which fits to a certain extent with the weapon he used. The boomerang spun through the air, which goes with the movement of a knight, that is in the form of an L. The tall thin clone was a bishop."
"It's hard to believe."
"Their numbers coincide. Remember there were thirty, fifteen in each gang, which only leaves the kings."
"Your wife and Otis!"
"Yes. If I'm right they're players and kings at the same time. Remember you found out that among Tedd and Todd's clients there are always two people with another surname. They're players. Don't ask me how, but I believe that Tedd and Todd have been playing chess for one hundred and fifty years using London as a board."
Carol let out an hysterical chuckle. "OK, let's say I go with that, but why one hundred and fifty years?"
"You found that out. The firm was established the same year Big Ben began marking time."
"What's Big Ben got to do with chess?"
"Haven't you ever seen two professionals play? Every time they make a move they hit the clock to mark the time before the next move. In this case the movements of the pieces coincide with a change of address. You found that out too. Each time they moved house, the clock was affected. Big Ben's a chess clock!"
"That's over the top, bizarre. Do you really believe that?"
"It fits, and there's no other explanation that makes sense. Let's stay with it for a while longer. When one of them kills another, they move house. Visualize one chess piece taking another. When they do it they drive the other piece from the board and they occupy the other's square, or in this case, the home. What happened to Kodey when you had that accident that killed Lance? He said he couldn't go any further. Without realizing it, you'd arrived at the edge of his square. That's why he couldn't go on."
"Then, James's transformation…"
"Pawns can be exchanged for any other piece once they get to the last square. Normally, they are swapped for queens, which are the strongest pieces."
"What about Earl and his talent for teletransporting himself?"
"That's the part that's been the hardest to understand for me," Aidan admitted. "I still don't have that too clear, but I'm not worrying too much about it. The castle is the only piece that can make a special movement together with the king. It's called castling. And it can only be done once in a game."
Carol looked dumbfounded with this attempted explanation. She needed a moment to digest what she had just heard. She paced around the room in silence for a while. She couldn't find any logical way to deny Aidan's explanations, except that… it was impossible! There was no such thing as live chess. So why did she feel that it was right? Why was this strange feeling of knowing doing the rounds inside her as she walked in circles around the room?
"I admit that there are some weak points to the theory, but in particular, what has immortality got to do with the game? Why can't they simply die?"
"So that the game's not ruined. If James had died in the fire then Ashley would have been left without a pawn for reasons that had nothing to do with the game. For example, she could contract a killer who could take care of the Blacks and then she would win without having to play the game. That's why they
're immortal. They can't die unless at the hand of another piece."
"But according to what we've seen, Ethan killed two of them a long time ago."
"Then he was a player. He was the white king and as a consequence he was a piece. The pieces have to stay where they are until they're taken by another piece. If you want to guarantee that the game will continue you can't kill a Black or a White. That's the part that James mentioned about having to fulfil. The poor bastard knew he was a pawn and that his destiny was in the hands of the white king, who couldn't give a damn about him. It must be horrible to live like that, knowing that you're going to die when and how someone else decides."
"It's shocking," Carol said. "It doesn't surprise me that it took us so long to work it out."
"There's still more to find out. Who set the whole chess concept up in the first place, for example? And why these particular people are playing?"
He didn't say it aloud, but Aidan had to find out why his wife was involved in all of this. And why she was standing against a certain Otis. The reason had to be pretty good to keep it hidden from her husband for five years.
He accompanied Carol to her car.
"It has to be Tedd and Todd," she said. "There must be some important secret connected with chess. It seemed that James was forbidden to speak about it."
"Carol, you've got to help me. See if you can find out who Otis is."
"Of course I'll help you. But wouldn't it be better to find Tedd and Todd?"
"I'll look after that. You find out what you can about this bloke who's fighting against my wife. There's got to be some good reason why he wants to kill her."
# # #
Ashley Zack got up from the wheelchair, leaving her calculations to finish Otis to one side, as she looked intrigued at the young man who had just arrived.
"I didn't expect to see you now. But I'm glad."
"I've come to say goodbye," Ethan said.
"That can't be easy. I know that Otis is your friend and I'm just about to finish him."
The vision of Ashley near her imminent victory brought back memories of old times to Ethan. He'd been in the same situation before. It was a pleasure to be so close to victory that you could smell it. It was a critical moment. He remembered the brutal tension that he'd had to bear when it was his turn to checkmate his rival. It meant the end of the game and his coronation as victor.
It was an intense but happy moment. But he didn't see the same in Ashley's eyes. She looked worried.
"Someone has to lose. That's the game. He asked me to congratulate you. You've done very well, Ashley."
"Thanks, Ethan. I'd like to ask you a favour. Tedd and Todd are up to something with my husband. I need you to get him out of all of this."
Ethan saw what was torturing Ashley. Not even the game of chess, with the danger that defeat implied, could make her forget Aidan. It had been five years since she'd been able to talk with him, resigned to watch him rebuild his life as best he could. There was little doubt that he'd gone through a terrible time, particularly when he'd been with other women. And she was still around, until the last moment.
Ethan felt like nothing beside this living example of love that stood before him. It hurt him more than he could have imagined to refuse to help her.
"You know that I can't intervene."
"Ethan, please. He's my husband, the only reason for me to be here now."
"I'd do anything to help you, but I cannot."
Ashley's eyes shone suddenly.
"Of course you can, but it is easier not to do it. You only care about your son. Thanks anyway. Now go away and hide wherever you like. I see you don't understand my situation."
Ethan opened his mouth and then closed it again. He took a deep breath and made an effort to control himself.
"I know how you feel about it, but you are wrong. Do you remember Sarah?"
Ashley was not expecting this question and it took her by surprise. She tried to remember.
"You spoke about her once… She was your girlfriend, wasn't she?"
It was difficult for her to concentrate on her memories while Aidan was in danger.
"Not exactly," Ethan said. "I have never loved a woman as much as I loved her. I agreed to play the chess match for her."
"You never told me that," Ashley protested, still not understanding what Ethan was trying to say.
"I agreed to play and I won," Ethan repeated with glassy eyes and a thoughtful expression. "I became the great champion and all that."
"You should be happy about it; you are the only one who has ever achieved it. I don't understand you."
"It is easy to understand, bearing in mind that my opponent was she, my dearest love, Sarah."
"Good Heavens…"
"I didn't know it when I agreed to play…" Ethan was not looking at her. His eyes were out of focus and he was talking to himself. "I should have let her win… but I didn't. And I hate myself for it… I was weak. Never again…"
Ashley remained silent for a while. Ethan's story had impressed her deeply. She could understand now that air of sadness, which would probably accompany him throughout all his eternal life. It was a burden she wouldn't have been able to carry.
"I tried to commit suicide many times," Ethan confessed while he was leaving, looking down. "But I cannot die, and it is better this way. Now I understand it, I must pay for my mistake, that's just…"
Ashley observed him while he walked away, not knowing what to say. She tried to assimilate his story and to draw some conclusions that could be applied to her situation. But the only thing she knew for sure was that nobody would help her.
"Goodbye, Ethan," she said in a whisper.
Ethan had gone. She was alone.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 27
Aidan Zack had no idea where he was going to find Tedd and Todd, but find them he had to. He was convinced they were the ones responsible for this unbelievable game of chess. He ran all the angles through his mind as he was driving, and despite explaining almost everything that had gone on, he felt a natural rejection towards the theory. It was almost impossible to believe that London was a great board upon which live chess was being played.
He'd spoken with Fletcher about it, testing the theory on a second pair of ears. And while he was as suspicious about Aidan's sanity in the first ten minutes as Carol had been, he eventually came to see the glimmer of truth in the preposterous idea. He finally agreed that it was the best hypothesis that anybody had put on the table up to now. Aidan concluded in the end that if Fletcher was convinced then that had to be because the theory was correct.
With James dead, disappeared or converted into Helen, which to all intents and purposes was the same thing, all that occupied Aidan's thinking was getting hold of Tedd and Todd. Ethan was the key to that. He'd been a player, so that meant he must know where the odd couple was. He drove towards Wilfred's mansion with the idea of telling him what he'd found out and asking for his help in locating his father. It was the only idea he had apart from getting himself locked up again and having them bail him out.
The flow of his thoughts was interrupted suddenly by a frightening sight. A short distance in front of him, a child was crossing the road with his back to him and had crouched down to retrieve something from the ground. Aidan slammed his foot on the brakes, but the child showed no reaction to the car skidding towards him. Aidan's heart was in his mouth, hoping for dear life that he would stop in time. The tyres were screeching, leaving a layer of rubber on the tarmac, the car veering to one side of the road, but not enough to slide out of the lane and avoid hitting the child. Aidan pulled on the handbrake and stamped on the brake pedal. The car came to a screeching halt and the child disappeared under the bonnet. Aidan charged out of the car, fearing the worst.
"I've got your walking stick, Tedd," he heard a young voice say.
Aidan froze on seeing Todd pick up a walking stick from the street and continue walking towards the pavement as if nothing had happened.
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"I don't know what I'd do without your help, Todd," the old man said, waiting for his young companion to give him the stick.
"You scared the life out of me," Aidan shouted furiously. "I feel like giving the pair of you a thumping."
"Are you sure he wants to see us, Tedd?" Todd asked, giving the stick back to him. "He doesn't seem too happy to have found us."
"Perhaps, I was mistaken, Todd," Tedd said. "If he's not going to show us the respect we deserve, then perhaps it's better that we go."
The old man grabbed the stick and started walking off, supported by Todd. Aidan watched them go, stunned. They were the strangest pair of individuals he'd ever seen. He made an effort to remember how they'd talked to each other back in the police station and he remembered the emphasis they'd placed on being shown respect. He'd have to find some from somewhere, because he needed to know the truth.
"Wait! I definitely wanted to see you. We have to talk. Who are you?"
"Are you sure that you can maintain this rhythm while we talk, Tedd?" Todd asked. "I don't want you to miss your daily walk."
"Of course, Todd," Tedd said, "But his question bothers me. It shows that he doesn't know that we're his best friends. He asks who we are, when up to now no one has helped him as much as we have."
"Are you talking about getting me out of jail?" Aidan enquired. "You did that for some motive that I still don't understand. And you lied to me when you said that Wilfred sent you. Why should I trust you if I can't believe a word you say?"
"I have to admit he's got a point there, Tedd," Todd said. "I guess our little lie doesn't make us deserving of his trust. Nevertheless, it was necessary at the time, given that he wasn't ready to know the truth. He didn't know then that he'd need time to assimilate everything that's going on. And saying that Wilfred had sent us was the best way of getting him to accept us without asking inconvenient questions."
The Big Ben mystery Page 25
