bout de papier, Vol. 33, No. 2 (2025), pp. 44–48
IN A SPECTRAL REALM running parallel to ours, a man sat at a stone table under an ancient oak, a chess board in front of him. He looked not entirely unlike Humphrey Bogart and not entirely unlike Scarlett Johansson. His aura combined the knife-edged malice of Agatha Christie with the warm bonhomie of Henning Mankell. He had John Candy’s waistline, Wilford Brimley’s moustache, and Bette Davis’ eyes. They weren’t using them anymore.
The man pushed a pawn forward. Out of the misty treeline strode a smiling figure in a white three-piece suit and broad-brimmed hat, twirling a rattan cane. He stopped in front of the table, looked down, and said, “Dutch Stonewall defence? How quaint.” The seated man replied, “White linen? Not your usual style. And what’s with the walking stick?” “They say that white is the new black. Even Time has to recognize the passage of time. And have you ever tried to check a scythe as carry-on?”
The seated man said, “So you’ve come for me?” The figure in white nodded, “But no hurry. Let’s finish your game.” He sat, pulled an hourglass out of the air, set it down, and moved a bishop.
MEANWHILE, IN OUR WORLDLINE, Hairy Harry January stood in the hot sun at the Chess in the Park Extravaganza, talking on mobile to his friend Shamus Dikk, “I am waiting for Maxie and Moxie Slye, these twin dames who work for me from time to time. They want to meet here to tell me why they are not delivering on their latest heist, a Fabergé rutabaga for which I have an interested buyer.”
He was watching a chess game on the green, not on the usual board but laid out 10 metres square with people in costume playing the pieces, their moves being called by captains on either side. Adding to the spectacle, one team was all clowns in full makeup and huge shoes, while the other was mainly women in tuxedos carrying Tommy guns. “Shamus, this is a grudge match between two of the toughest gangs in town. The clowns are run by Commander Chaos, the whiteface anarchist. Calling the shots for the dames is Bertha de Kuhl. Her gang controls the East Side.”
Harry noticed that Bertha’s line-up had a woman as king and a man as her consort, who kept singing “I’m Just Ken” until Cillian Murphy ran out and clocked him. As pieces were captured, they didn’t go quietly. The women were not shy to put the clowns down in a hail of gunfire, while the clowns had an interesting line in deadly cream pies. Fortunately the players were holograms, who disappeared in a flash of light. Except for one mime, who seemed to be protected by an invisible box.
Harry heard a cheery greeting behind him and turned to find the twins. He closed the call with Shamus and said to the sisters, “You are late”. One of them — Harry though it was Moxie — replied, “It’s true that the early bird gets the worm.” The other completed, “but the second mouse gets the cheese.” “What? Never mind. Where is my rutabaga?” They pointed in unison at the chess match, where both teams were ganging up on the mime. “We buried it out there last night for safe keeping. But the city came in early this morning and laid out the chessboard on top. Now, with our marks removed, we can’t tell where it is. And the field is watched constantly by all the gangs — it isn’t just Bertha and the Commander in this tournament — so no-one can sow landmines or other surprises. We may have to wait until Sunday, when it’s over.”
Harry said, “This is not a happening thing. My customer leaves at dawn tomorrow for Europe.” The twins consulted. “There might be a moment after the last game today when everyone is heading to the pavilion for the reception. We can maybe delay the arrival of the guard’s night shift for a while, but there’d only be time to search one square. And we don’t know which one.”
They looked around the park for inspiration. A determined-looking file of army cadets marched along the path under the banner “Onward to Saanich”. They stopped in mid-stride and broke into a quick Zumba before moving on. Maxie said, “Wasn’t expecting that.” Moxie replied, “Nobody expects the Saanich expedition!” Harry said, “Look, we need someone who is here last night when you are digging. The soldier boys, or that bunch of Elvis impersonators and dachshunds in matching raspberry-sequinned overalls — not so much.” Maxie said, “Whoa, who’s the stud on the pogo stick?”
Harry shaded his eyes. “Hey, that’s Manitoba Jones. I hear he is doing undercover security for the Extravaganza. We should talk to him.” The denim-clad figure hopped rapidly closer. A last mighty bounce propelled him into the branches of the oak shading them, where he stuck and had to be helped down. “Say hey, Harry, good to see you!” “Likewise, Manny. Look, we need help on something that happens last night near the big chess board. You around then?” “I was in the hospital being surgically extracted from a liquorice piano. But I know someone who might have seen something.” He pointed down the line of trees to a clearing. “See that tent? A fortune teller lives in it full time, stays up all night as far as I can tell. I’d try there. But now duty calls and I must be away.” Remounting his stick, he headed off, delayed only momentarily by skidding off the path into a lily pond. The twins face-palmed.
The trio approached the tent, its silk panels covered with esoteric symbols. Outside was a sign offering a full range of mystic services. Maxie called out, “If anyone in there can do telekinesis.” Moxie added, “Please raise my hand.” Harry whispered, “Stop that. We are asking for help, best not to start with a razz.” They went in and were surprised to find an overweight young man with a bushy moustache and piercing eyes. wearing a turban and board shorts, and sitting behind a chess table. He gazed at them from kohl-rimmed eyes and said, “Seekers after a lost treasure, I perceive. How may I help in your quest?”
Harry’s eyebrows went up. “This freaks me out. How are you knowing why we are here, before we even say?” “What use would I be to you if I couldn’t look deeply into the mysteries? Oh, and I happened to see these young ladies digging out there last night and now you come in all worried-like? A simple enough deduction.” He took off his turban, invited them to sit and offered them foaming cups of “the best fluorescent fungus latte in town”. They declined and looked relieved when he didn’t insist.
Harry gave the mystic the abbreviated version, avoiding distracting elements such as how they had acquired the egg or why it was buried in the park. He spoke instead of a dying grandmother whose final wish was to see her prized ornament from the old country just one more time before donating it to a home for indigent wolverines. The twins were in tears. The mystic clapped softly. “Bravo, bravo. A truly impressive piece of … utter garbage. I actually do have some powers, you know. These ladies are thieves, you are a fence, you are doing this entirely for your financial gain, and hoping to pull the wool over my eyes. I should toss you out on your collective ears. But among the things I also know is that the man you stole from swindled the rutabaga from its rightful owner, who is indeed a dying grandmother in Ruritania, and the man who hired you is her grandson. So I will help you. But l’Il make you work for it.”
He pulled a battered briefcase out from under a paisley cushion and removed two documents — a series of questions and a small blank chart.
“These were the final-round questions for the Extravaganza’s chess trivia contest. The completed chart would show how each of the five finalists answered them. It is up to you to fill it in.” Harry sputtered, “But how does this help us find the rutabaga?” “Patience, patience. In Alice Through the Looking Glass, Alice finds herself on a giant chessboard and goes all the way to the far end, where she becomes a queen under the rules of chess. By one of those odd coincidences that pop up in these puzzles, your lost vegetable is buried in the same square as the one from which she started on the black side of the board. Encoded, that square is D1-A4- E1-E1-D4-E4 C3-A2-B2-D3.”
“OK,” said Harry, “but how are we supposed to decode this message?” “That gets us back to the chart. Once you have filled it in, each currently blank square will have a country name in it. Each square can also be identified as the intersection of a letter (A to E on the left) and a number (I to 5 along the top). Link the intersections (like A3) with the first letter of the country name found there, and you will be able to read the message.” “But how do we know what country to put in each box? None of us is a chess expert.” You don’t actually need to know the answers. You can solve the puzzle using these clues.” (See next page.)
Harry sighed. “You cannot just walk out there and show us, eh?” “No, you don’t deserve it. You are intelligent and capable people who could achieve great heights, but instead you choose to work the shadows.” Moxie piped up with, “Eagles may soar.” Maxie closed, “But weasels don’t get sucked into jet engines.” The mystic laughed. “Oh, and part of the price is sending 10 per cent of what you get to that wolverine sanctuary. Think of it as looking after your own.”
Harry and the twins made shorter work of the puzzle than they expected. Once the chess matches had finished for the day and the parks crew had cleaned up the accumulated piles of spent bullets, fedoras, red rubber bobble-noses, poisoned lemon meringue, and other detritus from the board, the three swung into action. The twins sashayed over to the pavilion and strolled through the open doors into a tall atrium. It was filled with fans claiming unlikely boardgame achievements. A word with the band and the sisters broke into a torchy rendition of “Chess Nuts Boasting in an Open Foyer” that riveted the crowd and blocked the doors.
Meanwhile, Harry donned a parks uniform, took a shovel to the designated square and began to dig for the ruby-encrusted treasure. It was a big square. He paused to wipe his brow and leaned on the shovel. In the distance, the sun was setting. He watched as a 1930s mobsters’ sedan and a classic clown car chased each other around the nearby track, the passengers exchanging obscene gestures, loud insults, and louder gunfire. A lone figure on a pogo stick bounced into their path. Both cars broke off to chase him instead. Harry shrugged and went on digging.
The man with Betty Davis eyes conceded, toppling his king. “Well played. Even if you did consult Karpov when you thought I wasn’t looking. I’ve folded the tent — for now.” The figure in white harrumphed and said, “Talking about clever moves, kudos on hiding those quixotic forays of yours. Took me forever to pick up your trail. But then, I have forever, don’t I?” Looking for a moment not entirely unlike Max von Sydow, the other man said, “It meant I could make a real difference for real people. You wouldn’t understand. Anyway, now’s the time?” “Yes. Right now.” He sniffed. “Your mother’s made dumplings.”
Can you duplicate the trio’s feat and provide the decoded message? Submit your answers to [email protected]. Not necessary to win, but can you fill in the chart and answer the five trivia questions? bout de papier will award a book prize signed by A Aalto to the submitter of the first correct answer drawn from a hat on April 15, 2025.
Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 33, No. 2 (2025), pp. 44–48. Read the rest of this issue →
