Page 62 of Love Is A Draw
The man beside him scoffed. “Convenient, but not true. You’re a Jew, not Russian.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
The door opened, and all three heads turned. Gregory Stone strode in without invitation, Lady Hermione on his arm, her chin tilted just enough to convey disdain without needing a word. She surveyed the room with the poise of a queen inspecting a schoolroom.
Greg’s gaze fell on the table, then Victor, then the officers. “This man is my guest.”
The officer shifted. “He is under investigation for subversive materials. These ledgers?—”
“—Are chess records?” Hermy cut in crisply. “And any man who knows the game could tell you that. Just because your ignorance cannot parse Russian does not make it treason.”
Before they could speak again, the door creaked open behind them again. Baron von List appeared, uninvited but clearly expected. He carried himself like a man climbing onto a stage.
“Ah,” he said with a lazy smile. “Shall I demonstrate?”
He placed one of the ledgers flat on the table, flipping through the pages. “See here—bishop takes rook, rook pins queen. And here—forward advance, pawn sacrifices, flanking. These are battlefield movements. Military codes.”
Victor opened his mouth, but List lifted a finger. “You claim these are chess?” He smiled now at the officers. “I played through every line, and no victory emerged. They make no sense. Because they’re not meant to.”
Victor gulped. “You played them?”
List blinked. “Of course I did.”
Victor’s expression sharpened. “Then you admit to stealing them. Memorizing them.”
Greg’s brows lifted. “And using them in a public tournament against the author. Doesn’t that make you the thief?”
The officers glanced at each other.
List’s eyes darkened. “That’s irrelevant. These are coded attacks.”
Victor stood and reached for the nearest blotter. “May I?” He didn’t wait for permission.
He picked up a pencil and turned one of the ledgers toward himself. On a blank page, he drew a board—eight squares by eight—and filled it with quick, clean annotations. “This is Russian chess notation. Standard for master players from the Imperial School. But if you prefer your own method?—”
He flipped the paper over and began again. “Algebraic. Queen to d4. Knight to f6. Rook takes h7.”
The officer leaned closer. “This… this is a match?”
Victor nodded once, but he continued to write.
“And a brilliant one, if I may say so,” Greg said.
The officer studied the page, brows rising. “I might try this sometime. My brother and I play on Sundays. He always opens too wide.”
Greg smirked. “Might want to watch for that flanking move.”
List’s jaw flexed. “This proves nothing! I played this match and couldn’t make it work—there was no mate!”
Victor’s voice cut cleanly through the room. “Because you didn’t understand it.”
The silence was sharp.
“You memorized my lines,” Victor continued. “But chess is not just memory. It is vision. You cannot win with pieces you do not respect.”
List turned purple.
The first officer slowly closed the ledger, glancing at his colleague. “This is no enemy of the Crown. Just a chess player.”
