“Not even the 1454 number?”
“Nah, but wait,” The Pillar waves his gloved hands in the air. Those were new gloves the woman at the hospice had given him with her phone number on the back.
“What is it?”
“1454 is a year.”
“I thought of it, Googled it, but found nothing of importance.”
“Not even in Croatia?”
“I don’t think Croatia existed in 1454,” I say, wondering if he is testing me. Usually he knows more, though today he strikes me a little off balance with his worrying about dying within fourteen years. I wonder about the real reason he visited the hospice. I wonder if there is still a part of what he’d seen in the future that he hasn’t told me about. And I hope he isn’t really dying because I am not sure what I’d do without him.
The Pillar pulls out a marker pen and stretches his arm forward, then crosses the word ‘miss’ out. Instead he writes, ‘Ms.’
“What different does it make?”
“All the difference in the world,” He looks like he’s got something.
Then I get it. It only takes a minute to see it, and I am proud of myself. “It’s an anagram.”
“Indeed,” he says. “The words ‘Ms. Croatia’ are meant to be shuffled and changed to give us another word.”
“The Chessmaster is brilliant. In order to make sure very few can solve it, he made it harder by substituting ‘Ms.’ with ‘Miss.’”
“I wouldn’t say that,” The Pillar comments. “He said Miss Croatia, never wrote it. So it was up to us to interpret it the way we want.”
“But now that we know, ‘Ms. Croatia’ is actually the word…” I am trying to figure it out without pen and paper.
“Marostica,” The Pillar says. “I am beginning to think I’ve underestimated the Chessmaster.”
“Marostica?” I Google it. “That’s in Italy.”
“Yes, it is,” The Pillar pulls the paper back and the woman flinches, glaring back at him. The Pillar sticks out his tongue like a kiddo, making her feel uncomfortable, she looks back immediately.
“So the message is Marostica 1454?” I whisper to him. “What happened in 1454 in Marostica?”
“Something beautiful,” The Pillar says, booking train tickets to Italy on his phone.
“Something beautiful?” I squint. “I doubt the Chessmaster is inviting us to something beautiful.”
“Dear Alice, buckle up and take a deep breath,” The Pillar says. “The Chessmaster might be some sort of Wonderlander after all.”
“I’m not following.”
“Let me put it this way: in the year 1454 in Marostica, Italy, the first chess game in the history of mankind was played. Something Lewis had been very fascinated with.”
Chapter 13
Marostica, Italy.
The train stops at Bassano del Grappa, the nearest railway station to Marostica. Most tourists take the buses but The Pillar insists on taking a private taxi in case someone is tracking us we could see them in the mirror. Who knows what the Chessmaster really has on his mind?
The Pillar converses with the driver in Italian, but I don’t understand what they’re saying. All I know is that the driver seems pretty amused with the professor, and at some point it seems they’re talking about national football teams.
Marostica itself is one exceptional town. I’d imagine Jack taking me here and us having a good time. But Jack is part of my past now. I shouldn’t be thinking about him, even if I want to.
Since we don’t know where we should be going in Marostica, the taxi driver starts giving us a little tour. He shows us a few landmarks and recommends a couple of restaurants. But none of that piques our interest. Not until he shows us two castles, one at the top of the hill above town, the other in the main square, Piazza Castello. It’s the one in the square that piques our interest.
The square before the castle is one large chessboard laid out in paving stones. I am not making that up, it’s true.
The view with the upper castle, Castello Superiore, behind it is enchanting. The lower castle, directly overlooking the chessboard, is Castello Inferiore, and it guards the main entrance through the town walls as well.
We stop and get out and the taxi driver refuses to take any money, which doesn’t strike me as an Italian behavior. He shoots me a pitiful glance then says in English, ‘I pray for you’ before he guns away.
“What was that all about?” I ask The Pillar.
“I told the taxi driver you were an insane girl who still thinks that Wonderland exists,” The Pillar says nonchalantly.
“Why?”
“It helped us get a free ride, didn’t it?” He pulls my hand and shows me ahead. “Now let me tell you about this place.” He points at the people gathered around the large chessboard. “The famous Chess Game, or like the Italian like to call it: Partita a Scacchi di Marostica.”
“So this is where the Chessmaster wants us to obtain his Carroll’s Knight?”
“It has to be. Right here, the first ever chess game in history took place.” He points at the live chess pieces, men and women dressed as such, gathering, each upon a block and pretending to be bishops, pawns, rooks, knights, kings and queens.
“Really?” I say. “I mean I never thought the first chess game was ever traceable.”
“You’re right about that. Let’s just say this is the first documented chess game in history, here in Marostica in 1454. There is no doubt this is where the Chessmaster wants us to be.”
“The only question is why.”
“I imagine we’re about to find out,” The Pillar says. “Usually there is a yearly festival in the memory of that game, in September of each year.”
“It’s not September, so why are people gathered and celebrating?”
“My assumption would be that it’s been planned by the Chessmaster.”
A woman wearing what looks like a rook’s top on her head approaches us and asks for tickets. The Pillar talks her out of it. She smiles pitifully and tells me she is going to pray for me.
“You have to stop that.” I tell him.
“It got us a free ticket, didn’t it,” The Pillar says. “Besides I’m only telling the truth. You’re a mad girl who thinks Wonderland exists. The game we’re about to see, accompanied by dancing and music, involves scores of costumed participants and human chess-pieces.”
“So this isn’t really a chess game?”
“No such thing. They’re reciting a traditional story of a local ruler with a beautiful daughter. She had two suitors, but rather than letting them fight a duel, the lord proposed a chess match with the winner receiving her hand in marriage and the loser marrying her younger sister.”
“So she didn’t have a say in the matter of her marriage?”
“They’re not called the dark ages for nothing,” The Pillar says. “What strikes me as interesting, though, is the fact that the first documented chess game in history was about two men trying to win one woman’s heart.”
“Are you trying to sound sentimental?” I mock him.
“Nah, I’m trying to remind you of your similar situation. You still don’t know who you’ll end up with. Jack or the mysterious future husband, but anyways, let’s…”
This is when the Chessmaster’s plan starts to reveal itself.
A tall man dressed as a black knight in the game on the large chessboard acts like he is about to checkmate the white Queen, but with a mallet in his hand, he threatens to knock off her head.
Chapter 14
I am about to run toward him and stop him, when The Pillar squeezes my hand, pointing at the armed men in the higher castle, all pointing their weapons at the crowd below, including us.
People panic in a rage of murmur, unable to comprehend or object against the situation. None of us understands what’s going on until a large screen nearby broadcasts the Chessmaster live on TV.