The Chess Queen Enigma Read Online Free Page B

between our nation and that of Betrovia is long and varied, and fraught with upheaval, mistrust, and competition—but it comes down to two important things: we British have become great consumers of the uniqueand beautiful Betrovian fabric, and the Betrovians wish to supersede Paris as the center of fashion in the civilized world. Therefore, the Betrovians wish to have open trade and excellent diplomatic relations with England because of the reaches of our Empire, and our deep pockets. But it’s only been fifty years since the Betrovians returned the Theophanine Chess Table and we’ve reinstated a working trade agreement.”
    â€œWhat on earth does a chessboard have to do with anything?” Evaline asked rudely.
    That was my opportunity to launch into the explanation I’d been trying to give. “The chessboard and pieces were separated centuries ago during a war in Byzantium. The chessboard was promised to Queen Elizabeth as a gift—she had, at some point, acquired the pieces of the chess set— but the King of Betrovia refused to let her have it. That is what caused the great rift between our countries, and it was only fifty years ago that the chessboard was finally delivered to Her Majesty here in London. I’m certain you recall seeing it—it’s a massive piece built into a table—and it’s displayed in the Third Graeco-Roman Saloon. Surely you—”
    The carriage gave a great jolt, nearly throwing me off my seat as the vehicle slammed to a halt. Evaline and I looked at each other, then swung to look out our respective windows.
    The last time we’d experienced such an event, that scoundrel Mr. Pix had engineered the cessation of traffic merely so he could deliver a message to my companion. Apparently, flair and dramatics were his
modus operandi
. Butthis time, it appeared he had no hand in the mess on the lower street level . . . for the thoroughfare was filled with people celebrating the arrival of the Betrovians.
    Flags of purple and gold, emblazoned with the Betrovian seal, fluttered from extendable rods from whence they were waved by a great number of spectators at every street level. I wondered whether the flags were made from Betrovian silk or plain old British cotton. There were a great number of them, as if someone had distributed the pennants and gathered the bystanders into place to ensure a celebratory welcome for our foreign guests.
    I chafed at the delay as our carriage wended its way through the throngs of people on the street and then turned into the drive of the museum. At last it was our turn to alight, and as one of the guards assisted me to step down, I spied several people making their way up the long, low staircase to the side entrance of the museum.
    The gentleman who caught my eye wasn’t particularly tall, but he carried himself with such authority that he appeared to tower over everyone near him. Dressed in the most regal and up-to-date fashion, the man moved smoothly and gracefully despite the copper-knobbed cane he employed to climb the steps. I knew the necessity of the cane was due to an accident he’d suffered at the hands of a business rival several years ago, which had resulted in the death of his business partner.
    The gentleman wore a tall hat with a particularly curly brim, but I had seen pictures indicating he had a full, thickhead of dark hair just beginning to thread with gray at the temples. He sported long sideburns and was otherwise cleanshaven. His handsome features might have been carved from marble. The press reported his age to be approximately forty, but based on what the man had accomplished, I suspected he could be a year or two older.
    â€œIs that Mr. Oligary?” asked Miss Stoker in an undertone.
    However, her circumspection wasn’t needed in this particular situation, for the crowds were loud (now they were singing the Betrovian National Anthem), and the sound of a loud motor above us