Part 2: The Immortal Game

What would you sacrifice, for the ones you love?

Photo by Randy Fath

This is a two-part story about a fated chess set. You can read Part 1 here.

Chess is addictive—at least when you have a cultured, elegant man on the other side of the board. Eli was a fountain of anecdotes and quips, which he traded freely as long as the chess pieces moved. As soon as the game finished, he would retreat into his corner as the comic book vendor, silently waiting for his next customer.

“Don’t you worry about thieves?” Esther asked him during one of their five-minute blitz games. Eli moved his knight, swiftly corralling her pawn into a corner. He paused his timer. 1:35 left.

“No need,” he said offhandedly. “I can see everything from here, and a sharp warning usually suffices. If they get out the front door whilst I am distracted, they usually return within a day or two and apologise.”

Esther frowned at the board. Where had that bishop come from? She took it out with one of her knights and slapped the timer to stop it. 0.55 on her clock.

“I can see my way to your King,” Eli said gently.
It was a warning she was about to be checked.
“I resign,” she grumbled, tipping over her king.

Eli leaned over to shake her hand. “Thank you for the game.”
It was part of the ritual now.
“Did I win anything?” she always asked.
Eli’s lips turned up. “Wait and see,” he always replied.

Esther caught Triss frowning at her as she left.

*

The walk home was always a bubble of anticipation. Esther knew something annoying was about to happen as she had resigned the game. It would be a minor misfortune - a ripped coat, a twisted ankle or losing her card for the London Underground.

Today, it was her book. A thief grabbed her bag and sprinted up the street before he bounced off a red-headed giant and staggered sideways, spilling the contents. Rather than pick them up, the thief kept running. Esther could retrieve her phone, keys and library textbook, now grey from its time in a puddle.

“I am sorry he got away,” the giant said, helping her. Esther thanked him and looked sadly at her textbook. It would be costly to replace.

“I know where we can get a cheap copy,” the man offered. He grinned at her. “My name’s Rory.”

The second-hand bookshop was a treasure trove, and she secured rare books to send to her brother in Iran. Rory also turned out to be good company, and the shopping trip extended into a coffee date.

That was the trade-off with the chess games. As long as she resigned before she lost, the misfortune led to something better.

*

“Esther! Esther!”

It was Triss, running across the small Japanese garden from the Student Centre. Everything was rimmed with frost today - a rarity in London - and Eather was buried deep in her parker coat. She was surprised Triss recognised her.

“I didn’t know you studied at UCL,” she exclaimed, then blushed. Triss ignored the implied slight. “Yeah, PGCE training,” she said briefly. “Look, Esther, you’ve got to stop the games with Eli. You’re going to get hurt.”

“I’m careful,” she said, stung.

“That’s what they all say.” Triss moved closer. “He’s a monster,” she said softly. “It always ends badly for anyone who plays him. If you don’t believe me, find out what happened to Mrs Heseltine.”

*

Mrs Heseltine had been abducted. A carjacking, according to the newspapers.

“So, she’s not dead?” Rory asked. He was sat opposite her in the trendy coffee shop, checking his phone. He was a social media manager, meaning his device constantly buzzed with alerts.

“Apparently not,” Esther said, still scanning the headlines on her laptop. “But I know what I heard. And Triss was certain he was behind it.”

Rory frowned. “I looked him up, you know. After you told me about the games. There’s nothing online about him. Nothing about the shop, either.”

That got her attention. “Not everyone has a website and LinkedIn profile, Rory.”

“No, you don’t understand. There are no tax records. There are no rental records. No credit files. Nothing at Companies House, the council or the DVLA. Not a single mention on any social platform. I’m good at doing online research; Esther and I couldn’t find a damn thing on this shop or its owner.”

Esther’s laptop pinged, and she looked down at the news alert. Rory watched her eyes widen. “Look, if it’s a problem….”

“No,” she said, cutting him off. “It’s not that. There’s a crackdown going on in Iran. I need to call my family.”

Roray leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Good luck,” he said. He strolled outside and stopped to recheck his phone. A delivery motorcycle skidded into him, and Esther watched, horrified, as he was crushed between the biker and the cafe window.

*

Esther banged on the front door. The porch light came on, and she waited, shivering, for Eli to answer. The last few hours had been a blur of blood, phone calls and paperwork. When the door finally opened, she burst into tears.

“There now,” Eli said, as patient as ever. “Have a tissue.” He was dressed a little more casually now that it was evening; his collar was unbuttoned, and he wore a jumper instead of a waistcoat.

“I need your help,” Esther said, mopping her face.

“Oh?”

She hiccuped. “My brother’s been arrested by the Pasdaran. And my boyfriend is in hospital, having surgery. I need to play a game with you.”

Eli nodded and stepped back, gesturing for her to come in. “We’ll play in the front room,” he said. “It’s warmer in there as I put the radiators on to read.”

Esther glanced around as he rearranged the table, chairs, and chessboard. It was a life in miniature: the single comic book taken from its series on the window seat, the half-drunk cup of cocoa, and reading glasses.

“Why do you read comics?” she asked, taking her place.

He leaned forward and steepled his fingers, peering over the top of them at her. “Because they were the only thing I could afford to read regularly when I first came to London. They amuse me. Superheroes are this century’s equivalent of saints and holy men. By ‘Pasdaran’, I take it you mean the Iranian Revolutionary Guards?”

The rapid change of topic made Esather blink with confusion. “Yes.”

“They are fanatic beasts. The good news is that you can release your brother from them if you dare.”

Esther nibbled her lip. “And Rory?”

“One or the other. Our small games are not enough to cover both.”

Esther sucked in a breath. “What if I played a proper game?” she said. “Like Mrs Heseltine.”

Eli regarded her silently. Esther squirmed under his gaze, digging her thumbnail inbetween the knuckles of her other hand. “That will take everything you have,” he said finally. “And everything I have. Are you sure you want to play?”

Esther hesitated. “What happened to Mrs Heseltine?”
“Her body will be pulled from the Thames tomorrow.”
”Did you do it?”
Eli shook his head. “I don’t kill,” he said, a shadow of contempt on his face. “I merely…reallocate. We only ever bring ourselves to the table, Esther. On that occasion, she lost it all to me.” He spun the board so the bone pieces were in front of her. “Shall we play?”

Esther reached out to touch the white King. It was unexpectedly warm. “Yes,” she said. “For everything.”

*

The game was brutal. Unlike the five-minute blitzes, Esther could take her time. This allowed her to trace out more moves but also second-guess her mistakes.

Eli was endlessly patient, with a gleam in his eye. After the first hour, unprompted, he paused the game to supply her with tea and cake. “You can resign anytime,” he offered, topping her cup with hot water.

Esther slumped against her seat. There had been no word from the hospital or her family. The board was mostly empty. Her queen had been taken early, Eli’s late. They each had three pawns: a bishop and the kings. The game had grown sluggish - the pawn and kings could only advance one square, whilst the bishops could zip anywhere but only diagonally. It was the worst set of pieces for a decisive battle, and Esther had a sinking feeling that Eli had arranged it that way. The man was a superb player.

If he was a man.

“How old are you?” she asked. She moved a pawn to protect her king.

Eli slid his king one square back. “41.”

“How long have you been 41?”

He snorted. “Hoping to put me off, girl? Or perhaps you want to know what you will win?”

“It’s life,” she said softly. “Two lives.” Her mind was racing. Her pieces could menace his king, but it was safe behind his bishop. In effect, his side and hers mirrored each other. Stalemate.

“Not for this game,” Eli replied. “You are playing for everything, Esther. That is the deal. One dies, and one endures. But if you accept a draw, you can escape.”

She couldn’t do that. Jory and Hami needed her help. She had to kill the option of a draw.

She closed her eyes, made a soundless prayer and sacrificed her bishop, moving it in line with Eli’s pawn.

Unable to restrain himself, he pounced. His king was open. She immediately moved her own to the centre.

He paused, his hand trembling over the board and shook his head. “Amazing,” he whispered. He looked up at her hungrily. “You are a fighter.”

She nodded. “I have to be,” she said.

The game resumed, faster now. Esther corraled the enemy bishop with her pawns and - barely able to believe it - darted her king in an arc around the board to checkmate Eli.

“Do you resign?” she asked, triumphant.

He shook his head in disbelief. “You killed me with temptation,” he whispered. “You turned your bishop’s sacrifice against me.”

She grabbed his hand. “Do you resign?” she asked again, urgently. “Is my brother safe? And Rory?” Her hand slipped slightly on his, and when she pulled away her fingers, they were covered in dust. Looking down, horrified, she saw her thumbmarks on his skin. The flesh had collapsed, showing the muscle and bone underneath.

“I resign,” Eli said, his voice sounding more hollow than before. His face was slowly turning grey. He knocked over his wooden king. “They are safe. And the chess set is yours.”

“What does that mean?” she said - almost shrieked.

“You are the new owner,” he said. “You will need to play every day. That is our penance.”

“Penance? I just wanted to take care of my family.”

Eli grinned and his bottom lip flaked away. She realised she was watching a corpse dissolve into air. “I wanted the same. My daughter to be safe and free. We were war slaves, but the Shah had a weakness for games. So, I offered him a bet. I said I could beat anyone at his court. He accepted on one condition: I would have to provide the chess set. He laughed when he said it. He knew I owned nothing. Not even myself.”

He picked up Esther’s bone king and put the piece in her hand. Flakes from his skin drifted over hers. Horrified, she dropped the little carving. Eli made a disgusted noise in his throat. “Please be careful with it, Esther.”

“Where did you get it?” she asked, rubbing her fingers against her leg.

“I whittled it from my wife’s bones and the tree over her grave. Her ghost would have agreed with me. Anything for our child.” Parts of his skull were appearing now.

“Did it work?”

“Yes. Dalia was freed. She even went on to have a family of her own. But I was cursed to keep playing. When you do anything to win…the price is to keep on winning.” He wiped a skeletal hand across his face. As his fingers passed his nose, it crumbled. “The court wouldn’t let me go. Nor would the chess set. First I played with the advisors, then with Cyrus himself…” he shook his head. “I fattened myself on their losses. The years crept away, one game at a time.”

“How did you escape?” she asked.
Eli sat down, barely recognisable.
“I didn’t,” he whispered. “Not until now.”

He coughed, once, nudging the table. Esther’s spent pieces cascaded into her lap. She fumbled for them automatically, her heart hammering. When she finally looked up, Eli was gone.

She was alone in a circle of dust with the gleaming chess board.

Author’s note: Both the chess games mentioned in this tale were played in real life by chess grandmasters. You can see the moves of the Immortal Game here and Shirov’s Bishop’s Sacrifice here.