Posted on: Monday, 13 July 2009
“If the pawn attacks here, with the bishop as backup, then Red would be foolish to risk a counter-attack with the knight.”
“Granted,” said Alice, leaning over the schematic diagram of the city and examining it. “But Your Majesty has forgotten that Your scouts sighted the Red bishop here.” She pointed to the outer courtyard of the White Kingdom. “In which case, if Your Majesty takes the Red pawn, the Red bishop can easily move in here–” she traced a diagonal line across the battle map, showing a smooth and almost entirely unobstucted path between the positions of the White defenders, which ended nearly at the palace steps, “–and place You back on the defense.”
The White Queen frowned. She was tall and angular, with sharp features practically chistled from stone – which, actually, Alice realized, was the truth. They certainly weren't wood or plastic, at least. The Queen's sculpted gown was likewise rigid, despite the illusion of flowing lines, and her skin was as cold and pale as marble.
There were other possibilities on the grid, of course: a knight here, a pawn there, capture or feint or supply reinforcements. To the denizens of the White and Red Kingdoms, it was war; for them it had always been war, and always would be. At first Alice had found it amusing to watch these animated pieces play out their lives in deadly earnest, but a few years in Wonderland had made her more sympathetic to the local way of things. For her it might have been a game, but she'd seen how the pawns and rooks came back cracked and shattered, missing limbs and dripping black blood. She'd seen at least one White Queen beheaded, only to be replaced by courageous pawn who'd infiltrated the Red ranks. Similar atrocities doubtlessly took place in the Red Kingdom as well, but she had a hard time feeling sorry for anything red. There was still bad blood there, and Alice always played White.
The White Queen moved a few of the chess pieces on the board, calculating moves three or four rounds in advance, testing consequences and follow-throughs. She did this every day for hours on end, spending her life trying to out-guess her counterpart in the Red Kingdom. Finally she seemed satisified.
“Pawn to C5!”
The timbre of the command echoed throughout the room and somewhere, somehow, the rest of the kingdom would hear it. There was something magical in the words, as was so often the case in Wonderland: some special power of language that changed the reality it described. One lone pawn would soon move, take another, and likely be taken in return: a necessary sacrifice of war.
“Thank you, Alice,” the White Queen said. “Your advice has been quite valuable.”
Only because I know the rules, she thought to herself. Despite living in the game – or perhaps because of it – none of the Chessmen realized that their moves were restricted to simple geometrical patterns: straight lines, diagonals, a few steps or just one. To them it was life, and they fancied themselves as having free will as much as Alice fancied that she herself did. But if there were a giant hand above somewhere, moving her along a series of squares and circles, would she know it? Could she be merely a piece in a game, playing games with the pieces of her own small entertainments? Stranger things could happen – and had happened – in Wonderland. It was bad for one's sanity.
