The Demonata 1-5. Darren Shan
of my pieces but doesn’t follow up on the captures.
And then I start taking his pieces.
I capture pawns first, a few on each board. I line them up in neat little rows, toying with them while he contemplates his moves. Then one of his knights falls prey to my queen on the board to my right. On the far left board I take a rook and bishop in quick succession. While he struggles to shore up his defences on that board, I push my queen ahead on the board next to it — straight into the path of a black bishop.
Lord Loss gasps, his face lighting up. He sweeps the bishop forward, giggling intensely, eyes shining evilly.
I snort at the demon master’s pleasure and slip a knight in behind his bishop. “Check.”
He freezes. Stares at the knight, then his king, then the captured queen in the mangled palm of his hand. His jaw quivers, then firms. “A clever strategy,” he commends me with icy politeness.
“Actually, I only saw the opening as you were removing my queen,” I answer honestly. “Lucky, I guess — though luck always plays a part in childish games like these.”
Lord Loss turns his face away in disgust. “You are a disgrace to the game,” he growls.
“So punish me,” I goad him. “Make me pay. Put me in my place.” I adopt a very young child’s challenging tone. “Dare ya!”
He hisses. Fixes his gaze on the boards. Studies them feverishly.
I pick at the nail of my left index finger and wonder if I should start using clippers instead of scissors.
→ The balance of power lurches wildly between us. Lord Loss works hard to take three of my pawns. I respond by idly chasing his king with my knight on the board to my left, the one on which I lost my queen. He blocks my path, attacks my knight and does all he can to repulse me, but I hang in there, amused by his failure to capture my knight. After a while I start thinking how lonely he looks, a single white knight stranded amidst a sea of black, and to provide him with company, I press forward with a bishop and a rook.
Lord Loss throws everything into smashing the three white irritants. He abandons attack completely and chases my knight, bishop and rook as though they were responsible for some personal insult. After several frenzied twists and cutbacks, he traps my bishop and chuckles fiercely. “Next move — it’s mine!”
“I reckon you’re right,” I sigh, then grin impishly and push a pawn forward. I’m not quite sure how it got there, but it’s now only one space away from the end of the board, where I can exchange it for any piece I like. “But on the move after that, my pawn becomes a queen — much preferable to a bishop, don’t you think?”
Lord Loss stares at the pawn, then the knight, then back at the pawn.
Two of his spare arms unfold around him. He covers his eyes. And moans.
→ “Checkmate.”
I mutter the word emotionlessly and scratch my left elbow. “Can I make your king melt?” I ask curiously.
Lord Loss doesn’t respond. His eyes are fixed on the trapped king on the board to my left, as though he can spot a way out if he looks at it long enough.
“I asked if I could make your–”
The black king explodes into tiny shards. I duck to avoid the flying bits of crystal. When I look again, Lord Loss’s face is peppered with shiny splinters. Blood trickles from the cuts.
“You should take more pride in your appearance,” I tell him. “You’ll never attract girls with an ugly mug like that.”
“I’ll see you suffer for this,” he says hoarsely, red eyes bulging. “Win or lose, I’ll find a way to pay you back for the insults you’ve dealt me tonight.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I smile. “It surely can’t be an insult to show no interest in a game in which I have no interest.”
“Later,” Lord Loss hisses, head shaking violently. “Later!”
He turns to the board on my right — the one with the Incan pieces — and broods over it in menacing silence, collecting his thoughts.
→ He pushes me hard on the Incan board. Slow but steady advances. Cutting off my avenues of attack. Forcing me back. Pegging me to my own half.
I take no notice of the mounting threat. When I can’t move forward, I slide sideways, dancing out of the path of his soldiers, shrugging it off when he captures one of my rooks, laughing as my knights leap clear of the closing net.
Lord Loss’s breath thickens the closer he gets to victory. Bloody sweat seeps from his pores. He twitches on his chair.
I ignore the danger I’m in. Keep one eye on Dervish as I shift a pawn forward. He’s locked in close-quarters combat with the familiars, holding Artery away from his throat at arm’s length, while Vein chews on his left leg. It looks serious, but I observe with cool disinterest.
Lord Loss grunts contentedly and takes my pawn. A path is opening up to my king. Another few moves and I’ll have to sacrifice my queen.
“You’re not laughing now,” Lord Loss notes sadistically.
“Only because my laughter seems to disturb you,” I smile sweetly, sending one of my knights to the right of the board, to cover my queen.
Lord Loss brings up a rook, blocking my queen’s path of retreat. I move my knight again, lodging it between my queen and his rook. Grinning wickedly, he swiftly takes my knight with a pawn.
I wince — then wink. “I can’t believe you fell for that one,” I chortle.
Picking up my queen, I slide her diagonally far up the board, through the gap left by the pawn he moved when capturing my knight — and knock Lord Loss’s black queen clean off the table.
His breath stops. His mouth closes. His stomach rumbles.
“Checkmate in four moves,” I note drily. “Or is it three?”
In response, Lord Loss picks up his king and crushes it softly between his mangled fingers.
“Two-two,” he croaks, and turns to the board on my far left — the final board — the decider.
→ Lord Loss moves his pieces sluggishly. He plays with sad remoteness, face cast in dull misery, flinching every time I capture one of his pieces, handing the game to me without a real fight.
I feel a bubble of joy rising in my chest — and swiftly move to burst it. If I show any emotion now, he might seize upon it and revive with a flourish. Although it’s difficult, I remain detached, moving my pieces instinctively, automatically, not dwelling upon thoughts of victory.
Gradually I rip his defences to shreds. I check his king and he beats a sad retreat. For a couple of moves he threatens my queen, but then I drag her out of the way and check him again, with a rook. For a second time his king is forced to flee.
A short while later I trap him on the left side of the board. He’s caught between my queen, two knights and a bishop. He starts to move his king. Pauses. Does a double-take. Sighs deeply and slowly tips the king over.
“Checkmate,” he intones morosely.
I blink — I hadn’t seen it. “Are you sure?” I ask, frowning.
In response he pushes himself away from the table and floats out of his chair, face impassive.
Real time crashes over me. I’m hit by a wave of hot air. Sounds — Bill-E’s howls, the snapping of Vein and Artery’s teeth, Dervish’s grunts. I spin. My uncle’s on the floor, furiously wrestling with the demons. Blood everywhere. His left leg cut to ribbons. His right hand chewed off.
“Stop them!” I scream, darting to Dervish’s aid.
Artery hears me, turns and snarls.