Sixty-Four Places of Serendipity

It's been six months since I was last touched or checked. He seems to have found other ways to spend his time now, things that are maybe more exciting, or require less patience. All I do now is lie on this wooden table, my corners chipped, and dust settling down as if they found a new permanent home.

And today, I am surrounded by darkness. It is something I have never seen or experienced before. This thick, unfamiliar darkness feels like it is closing in on me. I no longer feel the table under me; instead, I sense dull uncertainty, as if I have been placed somewhere meant to be forgotten. Maybe they chose to replace me with a younger, neater, and more polished version of myself.

I am being taken away, and I do not know where. 

However, I was once important. I mattered. There was a time when every square of me mattered. And now I face being forgotten, which drives me to recount my past. I was not just a board to be played on; I was a part of a man's eternal fondness for the game. I did not just witness his games and moves, but I also became a quiet witness to a connection that formed off the board. I feel compelled to remember my role in that chapter. 

Before I am forgotten entirely and never remembered again, I must recall the story which only I witnessed, and only I remember.

That afternoon in June 1912, London was unexpectedly warmer than its usual self. Rays of sunlight streamed in through the window of the H. Whitmore & Sons store upon the table where I was kept. I was glanced at by the people coming in and out of the store with a hint of curiosity, before they turned their attention somewhere else. Some stopped for a moment, others rushed past, but none lingered long enough to matter. Just a few days prior, I had been brought here, and the excitement of becoming a part of somebody's chess journey was at its absolute peak within me. 

Soon, a young man who seemed like he was in his mid 20s stepped into the store, with his body language conveying that he wasn't really sure why he was here, like a character searching for diversion. He wore a light linen jacket despite the heat, trousers neatly pressed, the uniform of a respectable young Londoner. "Mr. Langley, what a surprise!" exclaimed the store owner, Mr. Dan, after noticing the man's posture, stance, and facial expressions for a few seconds. "Despite showing yourself after a millennium, it looks like you still aren't sure what you're after." 

"You are right about that one, sir. Maybe I am just hoping your shelves know me better than I do. After all, I have never been a stranger to boredom in the past couple of years," replied the man with a faint smile on his face. "Since you're here," said Dan lightly, "perhaps you'd like to try something new and different." me. Unlike the other people, he stared at me for a few minutes. 

"Do you know how to play that royal game, as they call it?" asked Mr. Dan. "Not really," said Clifford as he slowly shook his head in denial. "I mean, I should know how the pieces move, which I had learned as a kid, but never played since then." Mr. Dan understood that I was the exact thing Clifford needed to steady himself. "Well, go ahead and test your patience with this old pastime. They call it the strategy itself. Learn to outwit your opponent on sixty-four squares." 

"Good heavens, that's quite a speech to convince a fellow! Do you use this talent on every person who walks into your store, or was it reserved just for me?" asked Langley, smiling. "You see, I actually do some research before bringing something into my store. Now that you find my words convincing, here's the full set with all the pieces. Try it out and show yourself sometime sooner again." Clifford thanked Mr. Dan, and just as he was about to walk out, the latter asked him one last question, "So, tell me, do you have anyone special to share your new board with?" 

Clifford Langley looked towards the sky before answering, "Not yet, for now it seems the board will have to keep me company," and stepped out into the London afternoon, with a new companion in me. And this was how it all began.

Over the next six to seven years, what began as an uncertain adventure had now turned into a thing to be done every day. What started as curiosity became habit, and habit became fondness. Even when the war had cast its shadow upon the world, Clifford returned to me whenever he could. The world outside was in chaos, but he took refuge in me. From the very first day after returning home with me, he was fascinated by the endless possibilities that could occur in this game. in every corner of his room.

He lived alone, distant from his family, but he had a constant confidant in me. He started visiting chess clubs and cafés frequently, where he formed new friendships through chess, and he took me with him to all those places. He replayed many master games on my squares. Apart from those long hours that he spent as a clerk, he spent countless hours exploring this game. 

By the time the war was over, he had turned into a very good player. He had no interest in chasing the absolute top, but he had become strong enough to hold his own against players with years of experience compared to him. He read a lot about chess. Openings, endgames, from Morphy to Lasker, he was interested in all of it. He had no obsession with wins or numbers; he just enjoyed and loved the game for itself. 

On one evening of October 1918 at the Wordsworth Café, Clifford announced a spectacular mate in eleven in a position which was born from a Queen's Gambit Declined. I remember this position very well, and I also remember the shocked and confused looks on the faces of the people watching the game. 

Pure mastery, nothing else. Surely the "Clifford's immortal" up until that point. His opponent, ever the good sport, rose to his feet in applause, for he had never lost a game like this before, and perhaps never would again. 

Clifford's temperament was greatly influenced by chess during these years. He developed skills like patience, restraint, focus, and long-term planning. These traits changed how he listened, observed, and waited. This transformation came from countless evenings spent with me. He learned the importance of sacrifices by studying many games from the romantic era. And now, all he had gained would soon be tested in a battle not on my sixty-four squares but in a much more unpredictable arena.

On the weekend morning of 13th April 1919, Clifford Langley set up the pieces over my squares in Ashgrove Park and began replaying the first game of the very first World Chess Championship through one of his books, while also waiting for someone to probably join him for a game or two. It was a calm morning. Only a few people were in the park with Clifford. As he began to dive deeper and deeper into the notes of his book, he heard a gentle, soothing voice, "You look far too serious for such a beautiful morning."

Clifford came out of his world and noticed a young, beautiful lady with a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head. "Oh, I'm not serious," said Clifford while leaning back a little away from me, the chessboard. 

Without either of the two realizing an hour had now passed, as they kept on playing and playing while exchanging a few fun banters and words. Clifford won all those games, but nobody cared as they were having a great time. Elsie wasn't a beginner, but a decent player who learned a lot from Clifford about the game during this period. Eventually, she looked up at the clock and stood while asking, "Tomorrow evening?" Though her facial expressions said she already knew the answer. "Surely yes," he replied. She left, and Clifford had a faint smile on his face. 

And so it began. The following evenings found them together again, sometimes playing chess, or sometimes simply walking through the park. They discussed everything and enjoyed each other's company. Their faces always brightened up upon seeing each other. Chess was just an excuse now. 

And all of this had a positive impact on chess performance as well. In Elsie's company, not only did Clifford feel happier, but his chess skills also improved, as if her presence had cleared his mind; and a few months later, he found himself facing Harold Fenwick, the club's top player, at the London Chess Club. This game of his against a top 15 player in the country was expected to end in a one-sided contest. And it was indeed a one-sided contest.

Gracious me, that was some game. One can argue that Harold Fenwick didn't quite play at his level, but those moves by Clifford, especially 18.Rd6!!, might be the finest blocking sacrifice chess had ever seen up until that point. Clifford ended the tournament with a 7.5/10, finishing joint first with Joseph Dawson and going undefeated with 5 wins and 5 draws. 

After completing this final round masterpiece, Clifford stepped out into the soft light of early September. The city around him was busy, but something was off. Clifford felt something was surely out of tune. He ignored all of this and started thinking about Elsie. going to haunt him. 

The days that followed felt hollow. Instead of feeling victorious, Clifford felt empty. The memory of his great game against Fenwick was dimmed by Elsie's absence. He sat alone on the park bench where her smile used to brighten his day. She had promised to meet him the very next day, but it had been a week, and she was nowhere to be seen. He visited her house, but the effort went in vain as she wasn't there. 

On the Saturday morning of 13th September 1919, while heading to the park for his usual weekend routine, Clifford noticed something that left him frozen in shock. He faced trouble catching his breath, and the world around him stopped. He blinked a few times because he didn't want to believe it. 

A poster on a brick wall that had Elsie's face on it, but under her photo was the name "Brianna Robinson" along with the word "WANTED" and the charge of murder. He struggled to connect. He knew the face, no mistakes there. But he didn't know the name. "Brianna Robinson." Questions started flooding his brain as a cold wave of betrayal ran in his blood. "The woman who had spoken to me as if we had known each other forever had hidden an entire life?" he questioned himself. Had their laughter been real? Had her warmth been genuine? He asked himself a lot of questions. 

He tore apart the poster and headed straight home instead of playing chess at the park. Tried to calm himself down, but had no success. He couldn't help but believe all of this was true since he hadn't seen Els-, I mean, Brianna, for around two weeks now. However, one corner of his heart still believed that all of this wasn't true and that the truth was something else. He wasn't able to sit still, and with no planning at all, ran through the city, the park, the café, the streets, and asked people in her neighborhood, but all the attempts failed. 

He had no clue about where he should begin, since Elsie had discussed nearly nothing about her past or her background, except for one detail that she had been in the city of London since her childhood. Clifford questioned whether that was true or not. 

More than 2 days had passed since he saw that poster, and now he was really lost. It was just over 2 am on 15th September 1919, but he couldn't sleep and sat on his chair in disbelief and pain. Probably for the first time in his life, he had developed strong feelings for a girl, and all of that looked shattered in front of his eyes. Until he heard a gentle, hesitant knock on his door. He hadn't expected anything or anyone, not at this hour, not after everything. And to his and my surprise, it was Elsie/Brianna who stood there. 

Clifford stood there in shock for a few seconds and then stepped aside without a word, allowing her to enter his house. Her eyes stumbled upon the torn poster in one of the corners of his room. "So you've seen the poster," she said. Before she could speak anything further, Clifford asked her a very straightforward question with a voice that reflected his pain, "Did you ever love me?"

Her eyes became watery. "You know my real name, but you don't know the real truth. All those signs about my feelings for you were genuine. I really lo-" Clifford again didn't allow her to finish her sentence and asked a question again with a heavy voice, "How am I supposed to believe all that? I didn't even know your real name until I saw the poster a couple of days ago!" She wasn't able to speak but still did, "Just listen to me once, please!" Clifford nodded his head in a hesitant affirmation, "Alright then, help me understand, because I don't know what's real anymore." 

Clifford listened as she started talking, "I'm Brianna Robinson, born and raised in Birmingham, and during the war, I worked as a codebreaker in London. I spent years deciphering enemy messages and movements. However, one of the most haunting secrets I discovered was about someone within our own group. I found out that someone I trusted, a fellow codebreaker, was selling information. I passed along the cipher logs, intercepted messages, and internal memos that showed he sold info to the enemy." 

Clifford had never paid attention to something like the way he was to whatever Elsie was saying. She continued, "He was court martialed in 1917. They took his position away from him, his clearance, and gave him eighteen months in military prison. It wasn't enough. He should have been charged with treason, but he had connections. People who wanted the scandal forgotten. By mid-1919, Edward Mallory was out. Bitter than ever." 

"When Edward Mallory was arrested, and the war was over, I just wanted to vanish," Brianna said softly. "My past was filled with codes, trials, and secrets that almost ruined me. So, I left behind Brianna Robinson and became Elsie, a new name and a fresh start, away from the war's shadows. I wanted to go as far away as possible from that life." 

"However, last month in August, Thomas Elwood, the man who had assisted me in uncovering Mallory's truth, was discovered dead in his apartment. The police claimed it was a failed robbery, but the truth was far darker. His cipher logs, the same ones that had proved Mallory's treachery, were gone with him. Mallory probably had silenced the only man who could have come to my defense, and now that Thomas was out of the way, he was free to spin our history into a weapon." 

"Mallory never said my name during his trial in 1917," Brianna continued. "He knew Thomas would defend me, and the case we had was irrefutable. Any attempt to pull me into his web of deceit would've collapsed. But after prison, with Thomas dead and the records lost, he saw an opportunity. He claimed Thomas had just uncovered my treachery, that I'd worked with Mallory during the war and killed Thomas to keep it secret. The police saw a woman living under an assumed name, no witnesses, and Mallory still knew how to speak their language, the language of codes.”

"But Clifford, every smile, every word, every moment with you was real. I never lied about that. That's why I came tonight. The thought of you having a false image of me within you was too much for me. I couldn't help but knock on your door at this hour." 

Clifford saw the truth in her eyes, just like I did. It's not like he understood a lot about codebreaking or cryptography, but he was convinced that she was framed. He was sorry for having doubted her. She told him that it wasn't his fault at all, and they embraced. "Then we face him together," he said. For the first time, Brianna or Elsie allowed herself a faint smile.

In the months that followed, Clifford rarely sat across me. He was dedicated to freeing Elsie, yes, that's what he called her, despite knowing her real name was Brianna. He did not hesitate to enter her world. I only saw him a few times a day in those months. 

Even though Clifford wasn't well-versed in codebreaking or cryptography, his years of playing chess had sharpened his strategic thinking, helping him notice patterns and think two steps ahead. He and Elsie didn't work alone; I heard names of friends from chess clubs, and cafés helped them by probably taking care of different units individually. It was teamwork for sure.

I can't explain in detail how they revealed Mallory since I wasn't there for the final and many more important moments, but I could see that Clifford seemed lighter when he came back with Elsie. He stood tall, relieved, and it seemed like he wanted to never remember the past few months again. He wanted to move forward. 

Clifford and Elsie, for the first time ever, openly confessed their love to one another on 14 Feb 1920. However, they only married in 1923. Chess was the medium through which they met one another five years before, faced a huge challenge, but were now together. 

Currently, I am on the verge of being forgotten. If anybody's wondering, Clifford and Elsie's story wasn't the one where "they happily lived after." Seven years after their marriage on April 15, 1930, they both left for a friend's home, but never returned. After days of silence, the information reached me that a house fire had claimed both their lives, along with some of their friends'. I never discovered what had caused that fire. They spent a great seven years together, and in all those years, I was an important part of their life too. 

I will always cherish the moments Clifford and I spent together. I am glad I could become a part of his chess journey, and then Elsie joined us too. Their story ended in flames, and all that is left is me. My time is going to come to an end as well.

Oh, wait, I hear footsteps approaching. Here it comes, closer, and closer..........

AUTHOR'S TALK

Hello everybody, it's me, @AstroTheoretical_Physics! Thank you for reading this story. For the first time ever, I tried to do something like this, and yes, it definitely has flaws, but I hope you had a good time reading this. Thanks to our chessboard for narrating the whole story. If you read this completely and want to provide me some feedback, please write down whatever you have in your mind, either in the comments or in my PMs. I would like to hear whatever you have to say if it's gonna improve my fictional writing, whether it's about the storyline, pacing, etc. 

However, you may have a couple of questions in your mind. Astro, who was referred to as "he" in the very first paragraph of the intro by the narrator, and what happened after the narrator heard the footsteps approaching? Who was it? You are right to ask me questions like these. But hey, that "to be continued" banner in the last section wasn't just for fun. I will someday write a second part, and you'll get all your answers there! 

Before saying goodbye, I would like to list a few important things: 

1. The games used in the blog: The first one is a position that appeared during the 2022 game between Jan-Krzysztof Duda and Anish Giri. The second one is Krejcik-Krobst 1908, which came into my radar when I was viewing this article . 

2. The songs and audios used for different sections in chronological order: Good  Time s , Long Way Home, and Lovely by Alex Productions, Unseen Horror by Kevin Macloed, Voyage by Alex Productions, Precious Memories by Shane Ivers, and finally, After the Rain by Keys of Moon. Thanks to Chosic for having all these audios!

3. Thank you, @MrRiskau99 and @DocSimooo, who either directly or indirectly helped me with the HTML codes!

4. Thanks to Co-Pilot AI for all the images. 

Also, if you're a regular reader, you know by now that I don't feel like analyzing games in my blogs anymore. So, sorry about that. And finally, Happy Valentine's Day!

Right then, it's time to say goodbye. I hope you enjoyed it, and until next time, I am outta here.