A Chance for Chess

Short Story

There lived a great king; high King Duremaine, ruler of the town Knight’s Square and its surrounding lands.

                The King had much to boast of: a loyal court, a thriving town and, chief among all, his chessboard.

                Every day, in the gloriously sunny afternoons, King Duremaine would sit at his chess board, atop his mighty castle’s roof, and play against himself.

                The red side – the King’s – always won. The black side would put up a good show, undoubtedly. Sometimes victory would be within their grasp, only to be shut out by a temperamental queen or unexpected bishop.  

                The chess set itself was exquisite. A board made of deep oak and mahogany, polished expertly every day after the King’s game, before being locked safely away.

The pieces: carved red and black glass, which played with sunlight majestically to liven up the game and make the board seem like it was covered in blood.

King Duremaine kept his beloved red pieces in a velvet pouch, secured to his belt at all times. The black pieces were locked away with the board.  

Needless to say, the life of King Duremaine was idyllic, peaceful and content.

Which means, of course that the door was left wide open for Boredom.

Boredom came to King Duremaine midway through his seven hundred and fifty sixth game.

As the red rook cornered the black king, Boredom showed him two things:

1. The red side; the untouched winners, the dull, arrogant, undefeated lot.

2. And the empty seat behind the black side.

It was with a small sigh that King Duremaine knocked down the black king that day. 

The following day, King Duremaine made a proclamation to the good folk of Knight’s Square. He promised to any man or woman who could best him at chess would win his very own crown.

Most town-folk merely laughed. The King’s chess prowess and constant practice were the commonest knowledge.

But a ripple of excitement did hit a few citizens. Who went away, deep in thought.

With that, the King declared the challenge would begin in one month. Many queried the delay aloud, but were left without answer.

 

In time, an answer did become clear.

For you see, Boredom had not travelled alone to King Duremaine. It had brought along dear Curiosity, and its distant relation, Creativity.

These three combined forces thus lead to King Duremaine to order a large slingshot to be constructed upon the roof of his palace.

The building of it lasted one month. Then the contest began.

 

The first applicant was a hopeful young farmer named Christopher. He too had received his own visit from Boredom, who had shown him the true worth of farming. The result of the visit was the reason Christopher was now standing in the castle entrance hall.

A queue of hopeful applicants, of ranging age and wealth, were arranged nearby behind him, kept in check by a small handful of guards.

Another guard led Christopher from the entrance hall, up a considerable amount of staircases, until eventually they reached the roof.

Christopher was unsurprised to see the slingshot, pointing out from the castle over the land surrounding Knight’s Square. Its creation had hardly gone unnoticed or undiscussed. 

Christopher’s surprise did arrive when he was directed to sit in the notch of the slingshot; him facing the chess board and the sling and his back facing the King’s land.

Surprise was rather rapidly replaced by deep anxiety.  

King Duremaine, already there and patiently waiting, wordlessly took one of his pawns and moved it two spaces forwards. He sat back afterwards, hands linked and eyes attentively on Christopher.

Christopher’s sweating hand slipped slightly on the glass piece, but even with a shaking hand, we managed to move one of his own pawns two spaces forward. He too sat back, with quite ragged breathing.

The King made a face, and an odd tut noise of disappointment. He moved his Queen’s bishop five spaces diagonally forwards.

“Checkmate,” he said with finality.

Christopher’s face fell, and he spluttered with confusion. Before he could defend himself, the catapult was engaged, and he was flung away into the distance.

The guard who had escorted Christopher walked towards the table. He studied the pieces, did a very quick calculation and said “Sir. I’m not quite sure that you’ve…”

He silenced himself immediately when the King turned to him. Never before had he seen the King with eyes like the ones he found himself staring into. The deepest anger; much more than he thought the King to be capable of. He mumbled something about ‘next person’ and hurried off down the stairs.

Other guards got to work resetting the catapult, while King Duremaine reset the board. It did not take long.

“He stank,” the King declared to no-one in particular. “Didn’t want his hands on my chess board.”

No-one replied.  

The Catapult-Chess game occurred only five more times. The first two, after Christopher, were simply unaware of the situation until they found themselves spending their last seconds alive above a field.

The latter three were, to all intents and purposes, desperate.

The King cheated on all five games; and would comment on each applicant’s unworthiness to even touch his board for more than ten moves. After they had been shot off, of course.

A field some distance from Knight’s Square received all six bodies without pity or question.  

Word spread, understandably, of mad King Duremaine and his rigged chess contraption. Most stories came from the escorting guard, who suddenly disappeared not long after the sixth occurrence.

Soon enough, the King was left to play alone once more. He stopped cheating, and he played, absent of the knowledge that his irrational game had lit the spark of revolution.  

The people of Knight’s Square were rattled, to say the very least. A leader who flung poor, rigged-chess-game players to their deaths was hardly an appropriate leader. With the idea of rebellion and treason building and nesting deeply in their hearts, one knight decided to give it one last attempt. 

The sixty two year aged warrior was named Sir Douglas. He had fought many, many battles, killed very often and had retired well. Knight’s Square had welcomed him in, happily, and treated him as nothing less than a hero. They had even hung his old armour in the Great Hall as tribute.

So Sir Douglas would be damned if he didn’t at least try and stop this war in his beloved town. If ownership came along in the deal, that was just an extra.  

The next day, Sir Douglas was escorted up the many staircases, by a different guard – “Wonder where the damned fool’s run off to?” the King had pondered while player six had landed with a dull thump a few miles away.

Sir Douglas had to stop for a breather, twice, on the way up, but was very soon sat in the notch of the slingshot, facing a truly wonderful chess set.  

King Duremaine respected Sir Douglas. He had given the order to hang his armour in the Great Hall in the first place. So he decided to let up on the cheating for today. Over seven hundred and fifty games experience should be enough.  

The game began and progressed silently, save for the dull clinks of glass on wood. The Old Chess Expert (rather mad) against the Old Warrior (rather determined). Differences were quite few and far between.

Pieces were lost and tensions were high. The glistening chess pieces shone with glass and sweat alike. Still, the silence remained. The King. Sir Douglas. The Slingshot Operator. No noise from anything but the board.  

Until one sudden moment.

King Duremaine had clearly spotted something Sir Douglas hadn’t. The vow of ‘No Cheating’ was still in effect; this literally was a flaw in the left side of the battlefield…. “chessboard”. Quite similar to game five hundred and twenty nine. Or was it five hundred and thirty?

The King let out a small grunt of satisfaction and slid a rook forward.

Five hundred and thirty, definitely.  

King Duremaine smiled a small smile. It had been a long road, but finally, he had come through, and won honest and true. He readied his jaw to form the two syllables of victory – and flying citizens – when the knight in opposition made a sudden move.

The King, still about to speak, thought there was different cheating afoot, but was left mistaken.  

As ‘checkmate’ left the royal lips, poor Sir Douglas was sent flying away a few miles away…clutching a considerable amount of small, red glass chess pieces.  

King Duremaine spluttered and mumbled in a mix of horror, confusion and spit. His men were already setting up the slingshot again, but to what purpose? The King had no beloved chess pieces to play with anymore; his velvet pouch would now forever be empty. Over seven hundred and fifty uses, now clutched in a dead man’s hand.

“No,” he growled, and jumped forwards. “CHECKMATE!” He roared.  

The Slingshot Operator: robotic, habitual, oblivious. Responsive.

He heard the word, and pulled the lever.  

King Duremaine shot forward at blinding speed, determined more than ever to get his beloved pieces back.

Right up until Gravity, and its somewhat partner Ground, caught up with him.

The King’s determination and optimism didn’t exactly count for much following that.  

Knight’s Square was left king-less for a long time following the accident involving a mad king, a slingshot and a chess board.

The lack of monarchy did then lead to an uprising in anarchy.

Sir Douglas had, at least, tried his best. 

As for King Duremaine; he had killed when Boredom came along and opened the door.

And died when it left the door open for a little one named Insanity.  

Checkmate.