The Eight Read online

  I was watching these maneuvers with such curiosity that I didn’t notice a man who slipped silently into the room until he passed close by my chair. He was tall and slender with very pale blond hair cut long and swept back to curl at the collar. He was wearing gray trousers and a loose white linen shirt open to reveal the strong neck and good bones of a dancer. He moved swiftly to where the workmen were puttering about and spoke to them in low tones. Those who’d been measuring the floor got up at once and went over to him. When he extended his arm to point at something, they scurried at once to carry out his wishes.

  A large scoreboard in front was relocated several times, the arbiters’ table was removed farther from the playing area, and the chess table itself was adjusted back and forth until it was absolutely equidistant from either wall. During these strange maneuverings, I noticed the workmen voiced no complaint. They seemed in awe of the newcomer and were reluctant to look him in the eye as they carefully carried out his orders. Then I realized that not only was he aware of my presence, he was asking them about me. He gestured in my direction and finally turned to look at me. As he did so, I felt a shock. There was something at once familiar and strange about him.

  His high cheekbones, narrow aquiline nose, and strong jawline formed angular planes that caught the light like marble. His eyes were a pale, greenish gray, the color of liquid mercury. He looked like a magnificent piece of Renaissance sculpture chiseled of stone. And like stone, too, there was something cold and impenetrable about him. I was fascinated by him as a bird is charmed by a snake and completely taken off my guard when he unexpectedly left the workmen and crossed the room to where I sat.

  When he reached my chair, he took me by the hands and pulled me to my feet. With one hand beneath my elbow, he started with me toward the door before I realized what was happening and whispered in my ear, “What are you doing here? You should not have come.” There was the faintest trace of an accent. I was shocked by his behavior. After all, I was a total stranger to him. I stopped in my tracks.

  “Who are you?” I said.

  “It makes no difference who I am,” he said, his voice still low. He looked into my face with those pale green eyes as if he were trying to remember something. “What matters is that I know who you are. It was a grave mistake for you to come here. You are in great danger. I feel danger all around me, even now.”

  Where had I heard that before?

  “What are you talking about?” I said. “I’m here for the chess tournament. I’m with Lily Rad. John Hermanold told me I could—”

  “Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “I know all that. But you must leave at once. Please don’t ask me to explain. Just leave this club as quickly as possible … please do as I say.”

  “This is ridiculous!” I said, my voice rising. He quickly glanced over his shoulder at the workmen and looked back at me. “I have no intention of leaving until you tell me what you mean. I’ve no idea who you are. I’ve never seen you before in my life. What right—”

  “Yes, you have,” he said quietly. He placed his hand ever so gently on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. “And you will see me again. But now, you must leave at once.”

  Then he was gone. He’d turned on his heel and left the room as silently as he’d arrived. I stood there a moment and realized that I was trembling. Glancing over at the workmen, I saw they were still puttering about and hadn’t seemed to notice anything strange. I went to the door and stepped out onto the balcony, my mind tangled from this strange encounter. And then I remembered. He’d reminded me of the fortune-teller.

  Lily and Hermanold were calling to me from the lounge below. They stood on the black-and-white marble tiles beneath me, looking like oddly costumed chess pieces on a cluttered board. There were other guests moving about them.

  “Come down,” called Hermanold, “I’ll buy you that drink.”

  I walked along the balcony to the red-carpeted marble staircase and descended to the lobby. My legs still felt a little weak. I wanted to get Lily alone and tell her what had happened.

  “What will you have?” asked Hermanold as I approached the table. He pulled up a chair for me. Lily was already seated. “We should have some champagne. It isn’t every day we have Lily’s presence at someone else’s chess game!”

  “It isn’t any day,” Lily said irritably as she tossed her fur over the back of her chair. Hermanold ordered the champagne and launched into a self-glorification that seemed to set Lily’s teeth on edge.

  “The tournament is going very well. We’ll be playing to full houses every day. All that advance publicity has really paid off. But even I couldn’t have foreseen the luminaries we’d attract. First Fiske coming out of retirement, and then the blockbuster. Solarin’s arrival! And yourself, of course,” he added, patting Lily on the knee. I longed to interrupt and ask about the stranger upstairs, but I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

  “Too bad I couldn’t have had the big hall at the Manhattan for today’s game,” he told us as the champagne arrived. “We would have really packed them in for this one. But I was afraid of Fiske, you know. We’ve got medics standing by just in case. I thought it best to play him off early, eliminate him up front. He’d never make it through the tournament in any case, and we’ve already got the press, just by his coming.”

  “It sounds so exciting,” said Lily. “The chance of seeing two grand masters and a nervous breakdown, all at one game.” Hermanold glanced at her nervously as he poured our drinks. He wasn’t certain whether she was joking. But I was. That bit about eliminating Fiske early had struck home.

  “Maybe I’ll stay for the game after all,” she went on sweetly, sipping her champagne. “I’d planned to leave, once I got Cat settled in.…”

  “Oh, you mustn’t!” said Hermanold, looking genuinely alarmed. “I mean, I’d hate for you to miss this. It’s the game of the century.”

  “And the reporters you’ve phoned up would be so disappointed if they didn’t find me here as you’d promised. Wouldn’t they, darling John?” She threw down a mouthful of champagne as Hermanold turned a little pink.

  I saw my opportunity and interjected, “The man I saw upstairs just now, was that Fiske?”

  “In the gaming room?” said Hermanold, looking worried. “I hope not. He’s supposed to be resting before the game.”

  “Whoever it was, he was very strange,” I told him. “He came in and started having the workmen move the furniture about.…”

  “Oh, Lord,” Hermanold said. “That must have been Fiske. The last time I dealt with him he insisted on having a person or chair put out of the room as each piece was removed from the board. It restored his sense of ‘balance and harmony,’ he said. Hates women as well, doesn’t like them in the room when he’s playing.…” Hermanold patted Lily’s hand, but she pulled it away.

  “Maybe that’s why he asked me to leave,” I said.

  “He asked you to leave?” said Hermanold. “That was uncalled for, but I’ll have a talk with him before the game. He’s got to be made to understand that he can’t carry on as he did in the old days when he was a star. He hasn’t played a major tournament in over fifteen years.”

  “Fifteen?” I said. “He must have quit when he was twelve years old. The man I saw upstairs just now was young.”

  “Really?” said Hermanold, puzzled. “Who could it have been, then?”

  “A tall, slender man, very pale. Attractive but icy-looking, …”

  “Oh, that was Alexei.” Hermanold laughed.

  “Alexei?”

  “Alexander Solarin,” Lily said. “You know, darling, the one you were dying to see. The ‘blockbuster’?”

  “Tell me more about him,” I said.

  “I’m afraid I can’t,” Hermanold was saying. “I didn’t even know what he looked like until he arrived and tried to register for the tournament. The man’s a mystery. He doesn’t meet people, doesn’t permit photographs. We have to keep the cameras out of the game rooms. He finally gave a
press interview at my insistence. After all, what’s the use of having him here if we can’t publicize the fact?”

  Lily glared at him in exasperation and let out a loud sigh. “Thanks for the drink, John,” she said, tossing her fur over her shoulder.

  I was on my feet as soon as Lily. I walked out of the lounge and up the stairs with her. “I didn’t want to talk in front of Hermanold,” I whispered as we moved along the balcony, “but about this guy Solarin … There’s something strange going on here.”

  “I see it all the time,” said Lily. “In the chess world you meet people who are either pricks or assholes. Or both. I’m certain this Solarin is no exception. They can’t bear to have women in the game—”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” I interrupted. “Solarin didn’t tell me to leave because he wanted to get rid of a woman. He told me I was in great danger!” I had grabbed her arm, and we stood there at the railing. The crowd was thickening in the lounge below.

  “He told you what?” said Lily. “You’ve got to be kidding. Danger? At a chess game? The only danger at this one is falling asleep. Fiske likes to beat you into the ground with draws and stalemates.”

  “I’m telling you he warned me that I was in danger,” I said again, drawing her back near the wall so some people could pass by. I lowered my voice. “Do you remember that fortune-teller you sent Harry and me to see at New Year’s?”

  “Oh, no,” said Lily. “Don’t tell me you believe in the mystic powers?” She smiled.

  People were beginning to drift down the balcony and brush past us into the gaming room. We joined the flow, and Lily picked out some seats near the front to one side, where we’d have a good view but remain inconspicuous. If that were possible in the getup she was wearing. When we were seated, I leaned over and whispered, “Solarin used almost the same words as that fortune-teller. Didn’t Harry mention it to you, what she told me?”

  “I never saw her,” Lily said, pulling a small pegboard chess set out of a pocket in her cape. She set it up in her lap. “She was recommended to me by a friend, but I don’t believe in that shit. That’s why I didn’t go.”

  People were taking their seats around us, and Lily was getting a lot of stares. A group of reporters had entered the room, one with a camera around his neck. They caught sight of Lily and headed in our direction. She bent over her pegboard and said in a low voice, “We are seriously involved in a conversation about chess. Should anyone inquire.”

  John Hermanold had entered the room. He swiftly approached the reporters and collared the one with the camera just before he reached us.

  “Excuse me, but I’ll have to take that camera,” he told the reporter. “Grand Master Solarin does not want cameras in the tournament hall. Please take your seats back here so we can start the game. There will be time for interviews after.”

  The reporter grudgingly handed his camera over to Hermanold. He and his companions moved to the seats the promoter had designated.

  The room quieted to hushed whispers. The arbiters came in and sat at their table, followed quickly by the man I now knew to be Solarin and an older graying man I presumed was Fiske.

  Fiske looked nervous and high-strung. One eye was twitching slightly, and he kept moving his graying mustache around as if he were shaking off a fly. He had thin hair, a little greasy, that was brushed back but kept falling over his forehead in loose strands. He wore a maroon velour jacket that had seen better days and had not been brushed in some time. It was sashed like a bathrobe. His baggy brown trousers were wrinkled. I felt sorry for him. He seemed totally out of place and despondent.

  Beside him, Solarin looked like the alabaster statue of a discus thrower. He stood at least a head taller than Fiske, who was hunched over. He moved gracefully to one side, pulled out a chair for Fiske, and helped him into his seat.

  “Bastard,” Lily hissed. “He’s trying to win Fiske’s confidence, gain the upper hand before the game even begins.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little severe?” I said aloud. Several voices shushed me from the row behind.

  A boy came over with the box of pieces and started setting them up, the white pieces before Solarin. Lily explained that the color-drawing ceremony had taken place the prior day. A few more people shushed us, so we fell silent.

  As one of the arbiters read the rules, Solarin looked out at the audience. His profile to me, I now had the opportunity to study him in detail. He was more open and relaxed than earlier. Now that he was in his element, about to play chess, he looked young and intense, like an athlete on the brink of competition. But then his glance fell upon Lily and me, and his face tightened, his eyes riveted upon me.

  “Whoo,” said Lily. “I see what you meant when you said icy. I’m glad I got a look at this before I saw it over a chessboard.”

  Solarin was looking at me as if he could not believe I was still there. As if he wanted to get up and drag me out of the room. I suddenly had the slow, sinking feeling that I’d done something terribly wrong by staying. The pieces were set up, and his clock started, so at last he moved his eyes to the chessboard. He pushed his King’s pawn forward. I noticed that Lily, sitting beside me, made the same move on her lap pegboard. A boy standing near the easel chalked up the move: P-K4.

  The play went on uneventfully for a while. Solarin and Fiske each had a pawn and a Knight out. Solarin slid his King’s Bishop forward. A few people in the audience muttered. One or two stood up to go out for coffee.

  “It looks like Giuoco Piano.” Lily sighed. “This could be a very long game. That defense is never played in tournaments, it’s as old as the hills. It’s even mentioned in the Göttingen Manuscript, for Christ’s sake.” For a girl who never read a word about chess, Lily was a gold mine of erudition.

  “It lets Black develop his pieces, but it’s slow slow slow. Solarin is making it easy on Fiske, letting him get in a few moves before obliterating him. Call me if anything happens in the next hour or so.”

  “How am I supposed to know if anything happens?” I whispered back.

  Just then Fiske made a move and stopped his clock. There was a brief murmur among the crowd, and a few people who’d been leaving paused to look back at the easel. I looked up in time to see Solarin smile. It was a strange smile.

  “What happened?” I asked Lily.

  “Fiske is more adventurous than I thought. Instead of moving a Bishop, he’s taken the ‘Two Knights’ Defense.’ The Russians love it. It’s far more dangerous. I’m surprised he’d choose it against Solarin, who’s known for …” She bit her lip. After all, Lily never researched other players’ styles. Did she.

  Solarin now advanced his Knight and Fiske his Queen’s pawn. Solarin took the pawn. Fiske then took Solarin’s pawn with his Knight, so they were even. I thought. It seemed to me that Fiske was in good shape, with his pieces sitting at center board and Solarin’s all trapped at the back. But Solarin now took Fiske’s Bishop with his own Knight. A large rumble ran through the room. The few people who’d left dashed back in with their coffees and looked at the easel as the boy chalked up the move.

  “Fegatello!” cried Lily, and this time no one shushed her. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What’s Fegatello?” There seemed to be more mysterious buzz words in chess than in data processing.

  “It means ‘fried liver.’ And Fiske’s liver will be fried, if he uses his King to take that Knight.” She chewed on her finger and looked down at the pegboard in her lap as if the game were going on there. “He’ll lose something for sure. His Queen and Rook are forked there. He can’t get at the Knight with any other piece.”

  It seemed illogical to me that Solarin would make such a move. Was he trading a Knight for a Bishop only in order to get the King to move one space?

  “Once Fiske has moved the King, he can no longer castle it,” said Lily as if she’d read my mind. “The King will be shoved out into center board and be scrambling for the rest of the game. He’d be better off t
o move the Queen and throw away the Rook.”

  But Fiske did take the Knight with his King. Solarin slid his Queen out and checked. Fiske tucked his King away behind some pawns, and Solarin moved his Queen back to threaten the Black Knight. Things were definitely picking up, but I couldn’t tell where they were moving. Lily seemed confused as well.

  “There’s something odd here,” she whispered to me. “This is not Fiske’s style of play.”

  Something strange was going on. Watching Fiske, I noticed that he refused to look up from the board after he’d made a move. His nervousness had certainly increased. He was visibly perspiring, large dark circles of sweat had appeared beneath the arms of his maroon jacket. He seemed ill, and though it was Solarin’s move, Fiske concentrated upon the board as if it were his hope of heaven.

  Solarin’s clock was running now, but he too was watching Fiske. He seemed to have forgotten that a game was going on, so intently was he staring at his opponent. After a very long time Fiske looked up from the board at Solarin, but his eyes slid away; he looked back to the board again. Solarin’s eyes narrowed. He picked up a piece and shoved it forward.

  I was no longer paying attention to the moves. I was watching the two men, trying to figure out what was happening between them. Lily was sitting beside me with open mouth studying the board intently. Suddenly Solarin stood up from the board and pushed his chair back. A commotion started behind us as people whispered to their neighbors. Solarin punched the buttons to stop both clocks and bent over Fiske to say something. An arbiter ran over to the table quickly. He and Solarin exchanged a few words, and the arbiter shook his head. Fiske just sat there hanging his head and looking at the chessboard, his hands in his lap. Solarin said something to him again. The arbiter went back to the judges’ table. The judges all nodded, and the center judge stood up.