The Medusa Gambit (Veil Knights Book 6)

by Rowan Casey

  “I got it. Okay, this is a good player, huh? You’re sure?”

  “Assume the best.”

  “Crap. Well, in that case, you really need to settle on a gambit.”

  “I don’t know any. Like I told you, I’m not even sure what that is.”

  “A gambit is just an opening strategy. A series of moves where you sacrifice some pieces to get the opponent into a certain position where you can gain an advantage.”

  “Yeah, sacrificing pieces in this game is not advisable.”

  “Son, you’re playing chess. The entire game is based on sacrificing pieces. Hell, you sacrifice every piece you need to, except the King. It’s all about sacrificing. The rules are set up that way.”

  PAWN’S DIE.

  Great, I thought, staring at the hourglass. How could sand possibly flow so fast? It was like the grains were in a race.

  “Right now, I just need my next move.”

  “Well, then, you’re going to have to figure out what gambit black is playing. Because if black isn’t defending yours, it’ll sure as hell be pursuing its own.”

  “How many gambits are there?”

  “Christ, I don’t know. Dozens and dozens, for sure. People come up with more of them all the time. Stumble across them, modify others. You have popular ones, like the Queen’s Gambit, the Latvian Gambit, the Stonewall Attack, the King’s Indian Attack…”

  “Pops, the clock is ticking here.”

  “The Ruy Lopez, the Sicilian…Hell, the list is practically endless. Then you have obscure ones, irregular openings, stuff only chess freaks know about…”

  “Pops!”

  “The Colorado Gambit, the Medusa Gambit, the Sokolsky…”

  “Wait, what was that last one?”

  “The Sokolsky?”

  “No! Before that. Medusa?”

  “The Medusa Gambit? Just one of maybe hundreds out there. You can find ‘em all over the internet.”

  Beware the Medusa.

  “Could black be playing that?”

  “Well, sure. But that seems unlikely. It’s meant to confuse the opposition by being random. Acting like an ass to force a mistake. Because, you know, Medusa was ugly with a head of—”

  “Snakes. Yes.” I stared up at the hourglass. “I need a quick, safe move here, Pops. Something that will give me a moment to think.”

  “Christ, son, almost everything is safe on that board right now! It’s two or three moves from now you have to worry about.”

  “Okay, safest, then.” The sand was starting to collapse in the middle, accelerating. “Please.”

  His sigh was loud. “Move your king’s knight. Up two and to the inside one.”

  I lumbered back to the horse and mounted it. Without thinking, I kicked my heels against it and it whinnied, rearing higher, then leaped over the pawn in front of it. It moved one space more, then over one without me even directing it.

  Black immediately moved the pawn in front of the king one space.

  “Okay, Pops. Quickly, what were you saying about that Medusa Gambit?”

  “Look, it’s just some obscure opening I happened across. The name came to mind, that’s all. I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. Yes, I read chess blogs and junk. Sue me.”

  “No, tell me about it, about the Medusa opening. I can’t explain right now. Humor me.”

  “Something some guy came up with. Everybody is always looking for something new. Chess players tend to follow norms and somebody thought this might be a way to frustrate those expectations, break a few rules.”

  Veronica.

  Beware the Medusa… Rules unseen are the key… Don’t be a thorough fool… There is no game if you understand the rules.

  The sand was already halfway gone. Was it starting to pass more quickly each time?

  “Pops, does this quote mean anything to you?” I repeated Veronica’s words, carefully enunciating. “Does that ring a bell? Some chess saying or something?”

  “No. Not at all. Chess is all about rules.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought. But it’s got to have a meaning.” Or, I thought, the idea sending a chill down my back, maybe she was just crazy, after all.

  “Does remind me of something else, though.”

  I felt a surge through my chest as I saw the sand was almost empty.

  “Another move, Pop! Quick!”

  “You could move your knight—”

  Before he could answer, I saw time was up. It wasn’t my imagination. The hourglass was accelerating. With a frantic kick of my heels, I prodded the horse forward two and over one, coming uncomfortably close to the opposing line of pawns. The hourglass reset with the number of grains I’d had left probably in the single digits.

  I had barely stopped moving when the queen raced out on a diagonal to the corner.

  “What the hell was all that racket?”

  “Sorry, I had to move. Moved the knight.”

  “Back to its original position?”

  “No. Forward. Inside another space.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  I took that to mean it was a bad move, but I didn’t have time to discuss it. The hourglass was emptying faster still, way faster.

  “Pops, that saying? What were you going to tell me?”

  “What was I going to…oh, yeah. It reminds me of a poem.”

  “About chess?”

  He laughed. Not like it was funny, but like I was an idiot.

  “No. About rules. Because you said ‘thorough fool.’ One of my favorites from when I was in the military. ‘Any fool can make a rule, and every fool will mind it.’”

  “Cute. Not really what I need. I need to fend off this queen to my right.”

  “Well, I only thought of it because of ‘thorough.’ You know, and fool?”

  “Don’t get it. And I don’t have time, Pops.”

  “Henry David Thoreau. He’s the one who said it. Any fool can make a rule, and every fool will mind it.”

  A few seconds passed before the words made full interface with my brain. When I looked up, the sand was almost gone. I had to use the same piece. I kicked the horse and moved back two, then over one. In the opposite direction of the queen.

  I hadn’t even stopped when she zipped along a diagonal into the space where a pawn stood, directly in front of the king’s bishop. I felt a strange tugging sensation, a feeling of falling, then, in the space of a blink, I was standing in that spot, as the pawn, wielding the short pawn’s sword. The queen towered over me. She hoisted her staff and swung it. The move was blindingly fast. What I couldn’t understand was, how I managed to dodge it. But dodge it, I did. I avoided that, then another, and another. It was exhausting. She moved without any wasted motion, her thrusts weren’t telegraphed, nor were her feints. If it weren’t for my unnaturally fast reflexes—which had never been quite this fast—I would have stood no chance. Even so, I couldn’t weave rapidly enough to avoid everything. I caught the shaft of her staff off the side of my head, and the sharp tip sliced the side of my arm, breaking my skin even through the chain mail.

  “You still there?”

  “Not now, Pops! Give me a minute here!”

  She wasn’t making any mistakes. I blocked her strikes with the sword—which seemed more like a long knife—and started to feel my energy draining. I knew from my time in the ring that depleting energy means slower movements. In a prizefight, it often decided the outcome by establishing who was in better shape and who conserved motion more efficiently. But I couldn’t count on superior wind here, since my opponent didn’t even seem to be breathing.

  I also couldn’t handle it much longer. The closest thing to a pattern I noticed was that when she’d thrust for my head, she tended to leave the staff out there for an extra second. This was so she could swing the bottom forward in an uppercut. I suppose you could say it gave me an idea, but it was more like a Hail Mary.

  After several swings, she thrust the spear at my head again, and this time as I ducked I dropped my sword
and grabbed the shaft with both hands. Then I dropped down, arcing a bit closer as I followed the curved path of the staff, and I smashed my armored boot into her shin. Once, twice. Then I rolled my body over the top of the staff, pinning the sharp edge against the board, applying all my weight on it until it snapped.

  She looked surprised as I rolled over and onto my feet, holding onto the piece that had broken off. Her eyes went to the remains of her staff protruding from her hands, the jagged end of broken wood. That distraction gave me the opening to lunge forward and stab her in the chest.

  If it hurt her, she didn’t show it. She just lowered her gaze to where I’d left the spear end sticking out, and then assumed a calm standing position in the middle of the square. My body fell into a heap and I watched it crumble, only then realizing it was the pawn, not me. It flickered a few times and faded, disappearing. When I looked up, the black queen was standing tall, full, unbroken staff in her hand, facing the king.

  Then I was back on the horse, a knight again. Back in the square I had occupied before I had to fight the queen as a pawn.

  Okay, I thought. That answered that question. I have to fight to stay alive, and if I win a battle, my piece still dies. If I lose, well, I get the distinct impression that wouldn’t be good for my health.

  The hourglass reset. This time, it started to blink, flashing brighter every other second. It looked like there was a lot less sand than previously. I switched gears in my head, remembered that Pops had said something important.

  “Pops, are you there? Sorry. You were talking about Thoreau. What was that poem?”

  “Any fool can make a rule, and every fool will mind it. It’s just a poem. The word ‘thorough’ made me think of it. That’s all. Did Black move?”

  Beware the Medusa… Rules unseen are key… Don’t be a thorough fool… What had she been trying to tell me? Thoreau fool? Don’t be a Thoreau fool?

  “You there, Bishop?”

  “Yeah. The queen took the pawn one over from the king.”

  “Really? I thought you said the player was good? Just take her, then. With the king. Unless there were moves I don’t know about.”

  Rules unseen are key… unseen… Did that mean, unobserved? Had this been her way of telling me to break the rules?

  “Bishop?”

  “I’m here.” There is no game if you understand the rules. “Pops, you said earlier that sacrificing was part of the rules. Remember? Every piece but the king?”

  “Yeah. Obviously, you can’t sacrifice the King, or you’d lose. That’s why the rules won’t let you. You can’t even move into check by mistake. Not allowed. The King is the only piece that never dies.”

  I looked at the queen, then my king, then across the board at black’s king. The game, my opponent, whoever or whatever I was playing against, wanted me to take the queen. Taking the queen meant fighting the queen. I wasn’t sure I could do that again. And even if I could, how many times could I fight an opposing piece before losing?

  The hourglass continued to blink.

  Of course, I thought. I am in check. It didn’t just want me to fight the queen, hoping I would—the game was giving me no choice. If I killed her, how long before I had to fight as a pawn again? And again?

  PAWN’S DIE.

  Any fool can make a rule, and every fool will mind it.

  I looked across again at the black king. There is no game if you understand the rules.

  The sand was down to maybe ten-seconds’ worth of grains. I had to make a decision.

  Any fool can make a rule and every fool will mind it.

  I dismounted the horse, gave once last glance at the black queen, then broke into a run. Clunky, slow, awkward, but a run. My body, like my legs, was motoring on pure adrenaline. My limbs felt limp and waterlogged.

  Five seconds.

  I crossed the board, glancing to see the sand disappear from the top, each step heavier and heavier.

  Two seconds.

  I drew my sword and threw myself between two pawns and stepped into the space occupied by the king. The black king.

  One second.

  I swung the blade with two hands in a tight arc, a Louisville Slugger going after a high fastball. It chopped through the king’s neck smoothly and I watched his head tumble off his shoulders, almost in slow motion. My eyes followed it halfway down before shooting over my shoulder to look at the hourglass.

  The last grain of sand hit the pile below at the same time the king’s head bounced off the board.

  That’s the way I remember it, anyway. Even though I know I couldn’t have been watching both at the same time, it sure seemed like I was.

  “Bishop? What happened?”

  Nothing. Nothing was what happened. I was still there. The pieces weren’t all turning to attack me, no cosmic hand was reaching down to smite me.

  I dropped to a knee, my body deciding it had had enough. I swallowed air in gulps.

  “Bishop?”

  I won, I thought. I beat the ultimate game of chess. I started to chuckle in disbelief. My first win. My only win.

  Before the words came out of my mouth to respond to Pops, the hourglass began to spin. Slowly at first, but accelerating until it became a blur. The blur dropped down onto the board and caused the center to sag and begin to lose its solid state, like it was liquefying. A hole appeared as the liquid spot whirlpooled, a widening funnel that doubled its diameter every second or two.

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  The white knight disappeared first, toppling and spinning down the growing spiral.

  “Bishop?”

  There was no time, nowhere to go. The hole was swallowing everything. The black queen was sucked in, her limp body whipping past me, making impassive eye contact. The middle pawns disappeared and I was standing at the edge, looking into an abyss, one expanding in front of me. A black void, empty and endless. I could have probably backed up a few feet had I started a moment earlier, but the flooring beneath me gave way as I tried and it wasn’t like that was some route to safety. There was no place to go.

  My last thought, as I felt myself being yanked violently into the swirl, was that as it turned out I really was the fool. For thinking I had won.

  16

  I woke with something warm and moist and sweet on my lips, pressing into my mouth. I opened my eyes as it pulled away.

  Everything was out of focus and bright. I blinked until I could make out shapes, colors. Something green. And blue.

  “Sir Regis!”

  Pip was leaning over me. Her face started to clarify and I could see she was smiling, her eyes, even more so than her lips. I reached a hand to my mouth. I could still taste her. And I mean, oh boy, could I taste her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  I pushed myself up. We were in the museum, or what was left of it. Surrounded by charred, soggy remains. I licked my lips, still unsettled by the sensation. Hunted, I thought. I had no doubt that was true. People have engaged in horrible, unspeakable acts against others for less than the feeling that kiss gave me.

  “Quite alright,” I said.

  “I mean, I wasn’t sure you were breathing. That is how you resuscitate people, isn’t it?”

  “Huh?” I rubbed my eyes, shook my head. “Oh, yeah. No, you did good.” So much for me being Sleeping Beauty. More like Stupid Bishop.

  “YOU did good!” she said, beaming. “You came back! You beat the contest, Sir Regis! You won!”

  Ridiculous as it sounds, I had almost forgot. That’s how out of it I was. I was still alive That meant she was right. I’d won. “How long have I been lying here?”

  “Long enough for me to worry. Several minutes. I was sitting right over there, waiting for some sort of sign, anything, then the chest started to vibrate. It began to rock and buck, like there was something in it trying to get out. It didn’t seem to let up. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I opened it, and the room was flooded again with a light so bright I had to close my eyes. When
I opened them, you were here, laying just like this. I’m so happy, Sir Regis! I knew you could do it! There’s a reason Mr. Grimm chose you for this!”

  She helped me to my feet. The chest was there, closed up and locked, the Key on the floor just in front of it.

  “Pip, if you would help me out of this ridiculous outfit, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Of course! But I don’t see why you would describe it as ridiculous. I think it looks wonderful on you.”

  Wonderful? I started to ask her if she was flirting, but I knew that question would lead to others, or at least to the possibility of an answer I wasn’t prepared for, and I just wasn’t good with that kind of thing. The fact she was a green Imp with blue hair certainly didn’t make the situation feel less complicated.

  “Mr. Grimm will be so pleased,” she said, unbuckling straps. “Oh, Sir Regis, you’ll have to tell me all about it. What was it like? How did you prevail?”

  “Well,” I said, pulling off layers and feeling the sudden change of temperature on my damp skin. “It was interesting. You had just as much to do with it as I did. If you hadn’t patched in the call, I doubt I could have done it.”

  “That worked? I didn’t know! I lost the connection as soon as I tried. In fact, the phone went completely dead. I was so worried.”

  “Oh, it worked. You really saved my hide. I seriously doubt things would have worked out the way they did if you hadn’t gotten Pops on the line. Some of the stuff he said, the wild connections I was able to make, well, I’m pretty sure I got lucky.”

  She stopped what she was doing and looked at me. “Pops?”

  “Yeah, Hector Morales. When you patched him through. Merged the calls?”

  “Sir Regis, I never was able to reach Claudia, let alone her stepfather.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She never answered. I tried five times, even left emergency messages. So I ended up calling Mr. Grimm again, and he finally answered.”

  I stared at her, not knowing what to say, but fully knowing what she was about to.

  “Mr. Grimm is who I connected to you.”

  17

  Pip spent the evening debriefing me on what happened, skillfully avoiding any discussion of my thoughts on Dante that I tried to slip into the conversation. She focused on the facts, hanging on every detail, stroking my ego like either a prospective girlfriend or a devoted squire, I couldn’t tell which. That was another area of discussion we avoided, this time by me at least as much as her. Probably more. Okay, a lot more.