“Queens and kings are lame,” The Pillar says. “They stay back by the end of chessboard, cowardly hiding behind hordes of protective chess pieces and do nothing but eat and get fat, just like in real life.”
“Still, they’re the most important in the game. If you checkmate them, the country will fall, just like in real life by the way.”
“It’s a horrendously stupid idea, don’t you think? Having one king or queen or president representing the masses.”
“I agree. I mean how could one man be everyone?” I say. “But you didn’t tell me who’d you be in a chess game?”
“I’d tell you in the end. I have a firm answer. It never changes. I am curious to know if you’re like me.”
“Okay,” I shrug my shoulders. “If not Queen, I’d be a rook.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s a strong part of a castle. Essential, and it strikes me as brave.”
“Rooks remind me of scapegoats,” The Pillar’s says. “Just someone to take the blame.”
“You have a point. How about bishops? They move diagonally in the chessboard and have no limits.” I am trying to remember the little things I know about chess, as I am far from being good at it.
“Bishops are a joke,” The Pillar says. “First of all a bishop piece is an elephant. Why they ever call it bishop escaped me.”
“Hmm… haven’t looked at it from this angle before.”
“It’s an elephant. Elephants are big and slow, so how is it supposed to have no limits. It’s a flaw in the logic of the game if you ask me.
“Then I have no choice but to become a pawn,” I say, noticing I feel dizzy uttering the words. I wonder if I am remembering something. “Pawns stand brave, first in line. They fight like real men.”
“Alice. Alice. Alice,” The Pillar says. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pawns are nothing but the poor soldiers, pushed to the front line, defending our countries. They make movies about them and hail their names everywhere, but in reality, governments use them as sacrifice. It’s the oldest trick in the book.”
“Are you saying soldiers are useless?”
“Soldiers are the pride of our countries. We owe them our lives. They’re the best humans with the best intentions, but they’re manipulated, like pawns in a chess game. How many pawns did you see die in chess? Hell, how many idioms mention pawns in a sacrificial and humiliating sentence?”
I take a moment thinking about it. I hate to admit his point of view. I love soldiers who die for the freedom of their countries, but The Pillar’s point is solid. Pawns are also used as puppets by government authorities.
“Still, don’t underestimate pawns in chess games,” I remind him. “If a pawn reaches the other side of the board it can become any other chess piece. It’s a known chess move. It’s called promotion. I read it’s one of the best tricks used to win a weak game using just one pawn.”
The Pillar smiles again. “Nice touch. You’ve been practicing chess behind my back?”
“Just with a few Mushroomers back in the asylum. I don’t think that counts.”
“I wouldn’t say so. Actually, the most prominent chess players in the world learn their best moves from homeless people.”
“Really?”
“They’re called Savants,” The Pillar says. “It’s a well-known fact. Savants live on the streets and usually are genius at chess, but they never realize they can make money out of it.”
“So it’s you who’ve been reading behind my back.” I raise an eyebrow.
“Had to use my phone between the giant’s punches. After all, you say the notes you read mentioned a final chess game that would mark the end of the world.”
I let out a sigh. “So we’re really collecting those pieces to play a final showdown against this Chessmaster?”
“It looks like it.”
“Neither you and I can play chess, Pillar. We’ll let the world down.”
“I think the final chess game is rather metaphoric. Soon we’ll arrive and see what’s in store.”
“So tell me. You said you have a favorite chess piece on the board,” I say. “What is it?”
“Haven’t you guessed yet?”
“I did. It’s the knight. You love the knight, but why?”
The Pillar takes a moment, thinking it over then says, “A knight moves in an L shape, regardless of whomever stands in his way. A knight is a unique, unpredictable, and you will never see him coming.”
I wonder if The Pillar is telling me something about himself. Something that I am not supposed to see coming.
Chapter 48
Radcliffe Asylum, Oxford.
Tom Truckle didn’t quite grasp Inspector Dormouse’s visit. He stood behind his desk welcoming the sleepy detective who’d just taken a long ride from London and still slept occasionally on the sofa in the room.
“Inspector Dormouse?” Tom Truckle said, shaking the man a little.
“Oomph,” the Inspector sprang up on the couch. “I guess I fell asleep again.”
“You did,” Tom said impatiently. “I am really wondering why you visited if you intend to sleep between every couple of words you utter.”
“Can’t ever sleep at home,” he said. “Kids and their mother, not to mention the leaking faucet that drips out of tempo.”
“I can send you my plumber, if that will help,” Tom said. “Now if you don’t have something useful to tell me, could you please just leave?”
“No,” the Inspector said, standing up, and pulling his sleeves down. “You’re the only one who can help me.”
“Help you?” Tom walked back to his desk and sat. “What are you talking about?”
“I have important information that no one thinks is important, not even Margaret Kent.”
“Then maybe it’s not important.”
“Of course it is.” Inspector Dormouse yawned. “You will be interested, I’m sure.”
“Why so sure?”
“My information concerns Carter Pillar.”
Tom wasn’t interested yet. Though he wanted to know more about The Pillar, he sometimes preferred not to. The professor had been a headache when he was in the asylum, and Tom still had nightmares about The Pillar escaping his cell without anyone seeing him. How did he do it?
“What exactly do you know about The Pillar?” He asked the Inspector.
“I know why he killed the twelve people.”
“Come on,” Tom puffed. “Don’t tell me the professor had a meticulously calculated reason to do this.”
“It’s stranger than you’d ever think.” Inspector Dormouse sounded awake and alert. “Did you know that the twelve men had something in common?”
Tom tilted his neck, interested.
“The twelve men The Pillar killed were using fake names.” Inspector Dormouse said.
Tom didn’t see how that played out. It seemed strange, but not something that would interest him. “Fake names, you say?”
“All of them,” the Inspector said. “They’ve changed their names sometime around the last five years.”
“Are you saying they did it at the same time?”
“In the same year.”
Tom itched his neck. The thought of popping down another pill occurred to him, but he didn’t. This seemed to go somewhere. “Is that all?”
“I wouldn’t be here if it was,” the Inspector pulled out a long list of names and shoved it toward Tom. “This is a list with their names before they changed them.”
Tom put on his glasses and began reading. Most of the names were foreign, not English, but that was all. “If there is a catch about this list, I’m not catching it.” He told the Inspector.
“Of course, you wouldn’t,” the Inspector said. “Neither did I in the beginning.”
Tom grimaced, his face knotting, waiting for the Inspector’s punchline, which didn’t come. Instead, he watched the Inspector yawn and fall asleep while standing.