Cool Chess Short Story for the Weekend!

Chess blog for latest chess news and chess trivia (c) Alexandra Kosteniuk, 2012

Hi everyone,

An interesting chess short story comes from Siobhan Gallagher. What would you say? Philosophical, eccentric, stream of consciousness, chess dream... or, something else? Enjoy the story that ends with a twist.

The Invitation

IT’S THE WAITING GAME THAT HAUNTS ME. Half-past midnight under a lone street lamp and, nothing. Empty streets and sleeping buildings. So unlike the roaring noise of day, with cars honking and engines starting, people yakking in voices louder than they need be on their phones. All headache inducing. It’s why I’ve escaped into the night, a personal pain reliever, and in my hand an invitation.

The invitation appeared earlier today, beside my coffee in a diner. A slick piece of film with golden letters that came and went as they please. And I just knew it was for me. I didn’t even think that perhaps someone had left it behind.

It said to wait at this specific spot, and I don’t know what to expect. I should be in bed; I have work tomorrow. Oh yes, work. Whatever love I once had for it has vanished under piles of paper, my patience consumed by dragged out board meetings. Now I stare at figures on a computer screen, wondering when my eyes will fall out.

Since I’ve obtained this invitation I haven’t released it, my fingers gently stroking it like a lover, hoping it will provide me a clue, a little hint of its origins. I need to sate this curiosity of mine, to understand why I have been summoned — and by whom.

If I don’t, I might just go mad.

Dry words ride on a chilled wind, wrapping itself around me tighter than my own jacket. The words tell me of a spire-topped building in the middle of the city.

My steps are swift, yet soundless. The wind trails behind me like an eager familiar, occasionally nipping at my heels. It isn’t long before I arrive at the great ebony tower, so massive it appears to stir the clouds; its surface reflects back the moon’s glow, as though undesiring to be showered in silvery light. In my mind’s eye I can see it as an obelisk rising up from Egyptian sands — and it’s no wonder it wants to hide; return to the deserts from which it commanded. I wonder what could be housed in such magnificence.

I take a moment, breathing deeply. The cold sinks to the bottom of my lungs, and each fresh intake of air becomes a pain in my side, sapping at my courage. What lies beyond those dark doors? Read further at the link.

From Alexandra Kosteniuk's
www.chessblog.com
Also see her personal blog at
www.chessqueen.com

Cool chess short story for New Year's eve!

Chess blog for latest chess news and chess trivia (c) Alexandra Kosteniuk, 2011

Hello everyone,

It's lot of fun finding videos, poems, short stories, paintings, and lots of other creative chess expressions by chess lovers! So, it was really cool to find this nice chess story today. Enjoy.
Do you think there is an interesting twist to the short story?

Monday Writing Essential: Chess with dead warlocks.
by Franklin Newman 

 It had been a nightmarish day at the Symington clinic that morning. The outbreak of a flue virus had caused a panic among the parents, but because she's Kylie Moriarty, Dr. Kylie Moriarty had gotten it sorted out. Now everything was peaceful enough for her to actually take her lunch break. The pizza she ordered from "Pizza Heaven" showed up, and so she took it and her tea and went to her office. To relax, she decided to use her computer and check out the latest record by thespian superstar Sarah Willopps, who just happened to be her best friend. As she was listening to Sarah's top hit this week, a message box popped up, alerting her of a new e-mail. Kylie did not recognize the e-mail address it came from, so she decided to run a security scan. When she did, a second message box popped up, declaring a second message.


"Not exactly the brightest thing to do, clicking on e-mails when you don't know the source." With a snap of her fingers, she looked at the e-mail's address and then searched for the source. She discovered, to her grave surprise, that the e-mail actually came from Hell. "How utterly queer. Who in Hell would wish to bother with me?" A third message box popped up, indicating yet again another e-mail. Intrigued, Kylie clicked on the box and reviewed the e-mail. The name caused her to gasp, for it was Matthew Sheridan. The old warlock, her deadliest arch-enemy and one of her best friends, long since killed years ago by Kylie's magic, was requesting a chess game. She could hardly resist, and sent a message back agreeing to the game.

"It's been a long time," Sheridan e-mailed back. "And it took me a long time to get permission to do this."

   

"You're in Hell, Sheridan," Kylie countered with an e-mail of her own. "I didn't know they had computers there."

"They've got everything here," Sheridan answered. "But it takes forever to get it to work. Imagine the worst life has to offer, multiplied. And no, Kylie dear, I don't mean America. Honestly, I don't see what you've got against the place. Nor do I want an answer. Your thinking can often be as twisted as my own."  

 

"We often were the only two who understood each other," she answered. "How've you been lately?"

"I'm getting out soon," Sheridan wrote. "Found a little neophite mage who I've convinced to resurrect me. Back to old times."

"I don't do that anymore," Kylie replied. "No more world-saving for me. Just a little town Doctor now."

"Yeah right," Sheridan retorted. "You can't help but solve everyone's problems. Maybe I can solve one for you."

"Maybe," Kylie wrote, "I insist you not solve me boredom, however. Shall we begin?"

"Yes," Sheridan replied. "I'll take black."

"You'll take white," Kylie argued. "Spend most of your life being black."

"You just want the advantage of not going first," Sheridan replied. Kylie sent back a wink symbol. He answered with an icon that represented laughter.

"Let us begin," Kylie answered. Sheridan opened a program, and invited Kylie to it. She clicked on the invitation link, and a chessboard appeared on the computer screen, completely set up and ready to go.

"Yes," Sheridan wrote back. He moved Queen's knight to to C-3. "Control of the center is very important."

"I never thought so," Kylie replied. She moved Queen's rook's pawn to A-5.

"You must be getting rusty," Sheridan answered. He moved Queen's pawn to D-3

Without saying anything, Kylie simply moved Queen's bishop's pawn to C-6.

"So what's new with you, Matthew," Kylie wrote him?

"Oh, me? You will not believe it," Sheridan replied. Then he moved Queen to D-2.

"Jazmine left me."

"That's no surprise," Kylie responded. "She loved your magic, not you.

She was the biggest tramp to come along since Madonna."

"Supertramp," Sheridan lamented. "How did I not see it?"

"She was the villiage bicycle, Matthew. You're well rid of her. Who'd she leave you for?" With that, Kylie moved King's pawn to E-6.

"A big rock star who died in the 70's," Sheridan answered. "But she didn't stay long. She started cheating on him with a televangelist." This caused Kylie to physically laugh. Meanwhile, Sheridan moved Queen to E-3. In response, Kylie moved King's bishop's pawn to F-5.

"How long did she stay with him," Kylie wrote back?

"Until his money ran out, of course," Sheridan said. "You'd think being Queen of Flourae would satisfy her. And I could've taught her any spell she wanted to know."

"A wizardess with no intelligence is as unimpressive as a fighter with no strength," Kylie fired off.

"You're right," Sheridan replied. "On to other news." Then he moved Queen's bishop to E-2. And Kylie moved Queen's knight's pawn to B-5. "My powers of prophecy and fortune-telling have really improved. Plus, being without Jazmine Rozzekker wasting all my money, my money-making skills have benefitted, too."

"No more need to go out and take over the world now then, I presume," Kylie replied. Sheridan sent her an e-mail with a laughing symbol, then a follow-up.

"That was never really my intention," Sheridan argued. "Everyone around me wanted that. Takurem, and Rolaina, Scott, Lignoss and his brothers. They wanted the power of Callistor. Not me. Not that I wasn't tempted but . . ."

"I know," Kylie wrote. "How's your bi-polar disorder?"

"It's gone," Sheridan answered. "Hell cures all your diseases, so you're in prime shape to be tortured. Then it starts anew every morning."

"Remind me never to visit," Kylie replied. In response, Sheridan castled on the Queen's side. And Kylie moved Queen's knight's pawn to B-4.

"Oh, so that's your game," Sheridan wrote.

"It couldn't be clearer you intended to castle," Kylie replied. "How many times need I tell you castling is a trap."

"Says a woman who uses her King to attack when no one else would dare," Sheridan countered. "Only one safe spot for my knight to go." He promptly moved his knight to A-4.

"What were you saying about making money," Kylie inquired?

"Oh yes. Well, I've been able to use some human psychics who didn't think before they astrally projected. Makes it so easy for a soul like me to slip in and take over while they're out."

"Ghost in the machine syndrome," Kylie answered.

"Exactly," Sheridan said. "Since my divination skills have improved so well . . . it's amazing how effective torture is at focusing a person, bringing out hidden talents and sharpening current ones."

"Almost mascochistic."

"Actually yes," Sheridan wrote. "They punish mascochists here by forcing them to endure endless pleasure and joy. Of all the people with nothing in Hell to complain about. And it's your move."

"I know," Kylie wrote. She moved Queen to F-6.

"If that's the way you want it," Sheridan answered. He moved Queen's bishop to C-3.

"Are you sure," Kylie asked? "Please reconsider." Sheridan looked at the board again, and realized that he'd put his bishop right where Kylie's pawn could kill him.

"May I," he asked?

"Just this once," Kylie said. "But I've the right to one reconsideration meself."

"Fair is fair." He put the bishop back to B-4, and moved his knight to B-6 instead. "There. A split, Kylie. Have to choose. The bishop or the rook?" She answered by moving Queen's bishop to B-7.

"Go for my rook and your knight is also lost," Kylie warned.

"I take it you forgot the value of the pieces," Sheridan answered. He gladly moved his knight to A-8, killing Kylie's rook. She answered by moving her bishop to A-8, slaying his knight. He reacted to that by moving Queen's pawn to D-4. So Kylie struck back, moving King's bishop's pawn to F-4. Sheridan simply moved Queen to E-4. Then Kylie moved Queen's pawn to D-5.

"I didn't care for Rolaina or Jazmine," Kylie wrote. "And I don't care for this one either. You've got terrible taste in Queens."

"I offered you the position once," Sheridan replied.

"Forgive me, but I don't date outside me species," Kylie answered.

"I'm offended," Sheridan joked. "I'm human."

"Aye, but I'm an Orc. This human form is just a glamour," Kylie responded.

"When did you become an Orc," Sheridan asked?

"After Scott and I killed each other," Kylie replied.

"I thought he loved you."

"Mere obsession, Matthew, nothing more. Love doesn't involve violence."

"He told me about that," Sheridan wrote. "One day he got drunk and jealous and started beating you. No one does that to people like me, or you."

"Exactly," Kylie rejoined. "Never strike a witch. You won't like what happens."

"At least this Queen has the sense to know when she's not wanted," Sheridan said. He moved Queen back to D-3. Kylie moved King to D-7. "Stop that. I won't be distracted by you flaunting your King around," Sheridan shot off. He moved King's rook's pawn to H-4. Kylie merely moved King to C-7. Sheridan moved King's pawn to E-3. Kylie moved King to B-6.

"If you use your Queen to move to the white squares next to me King, she will die either by me knight or me princesses. You'll need to find another approach."

"Did I mention that I hate you," Sheridan asked?

"Frequently," Kylie answered.

"By the way," Sheridan asked, "I've always wondered why you call pawns Princesses."

"Because they become Queens most frequently," Kylie said. "What could be more logical?"

"Maybe I should try a spell to heal your autism. Remove all this logical thinking."

"You're just mad because I out-thought you whenever you hatched your evil plans," Kylie said. "Speaking of evil plans, what is Scott up to now?"

"Oh, him? He's around me all the time," Sheridan said. He moved Queen to B-3.

Kylie moved King's bishop to D-6. "He mopes around, and I don't envy him. At times, I regret invading eath to save him and having you prove with your D&A tests that he was my son."

"You saved him from Mark Frakes, an abusive man who'd let his superhero powers override his good judgement and his restraint," Kylie said. "Scott was being abused."

"Yes, and became an abuser. I hardly did him any favors by allowing Takurem to influence him," Sheridan said. "At least my two daughters turned out all right. Do you talk to them?"

"Vickie's too busy protecting the druids and working with Madame Kirustinu," Kylie explained. "You'd never know her. Jackie and I speak often enough. She's visiting soon. Shall I send her your regards?"

"Better not," Sheridan shot back. "She and I aren't exactly on opposite sides of the law."

"Neither are we, but we get on great, when you're not trying another dastardly scheme."

"It's not quite the same," Sheridan said. "Fathers and daughters are a more difficult relationship than a man and his daughter-in-law. By the way, how is Steve?"

"Chief detective on the Symington police force," Kylie said. "And unlike me, Steve is still in the business of saving the world. He'd be so cheesed if he knew you were active on earth again."

"Don't worry," Sheridan said. "If I did come, I'd come only as a father come to see his family."

"I'd advise against it," Kylie warned. Sheridan moved Queen to A-4. Kylie moved King's knight to E-7.

"Let's see if I can clean up some of this mess you've made of the chessboard," Sheridan wrote. He moved Queen's bishop to B-4. "Now it looks like I've got you trapped, because however you take my bishop, you open up a doorway for my Queen."

"I think I see the way out." Then Kylie moved King's bishop's pawn to E-3, taking

Sheridan's King's pawn.

"Playing pawns won't save your bishop, or your King," Sheridan argued. He moved Queen to E-5, taking Kylie's Queen's rook's pawn.

"Only a threat if I let it be," she said. She moved King to B-7. Sheridan moved his bishop to D-6, killing Kylie's bishop.

"You must be rusty," Sheridan wrote. Ignoring him, Kylie moved Queen to F-2, taking Sheridan's pawn. Sheridan scoffed at this, and picked up his Queen to send it to A-6, to directly threaten Kylie's King. But as he was doing it, he realized her knight was stationed on B-8. A typical Kylie trap, and he nearly walked right into it. But because he did not remove his hand from the Queen, he broke no law from changing his mind. He realized he could still get her indirectly, and moved Queen to B-4. "Check."

"Quite," Kylie stated. She retreated King to C-8. He couldn't get her now.

"That's only stalling," Sheridan wrote. He sent Queen to E-5.

"You forget who I am," Kylie replied. Boldly, she moved King to D-7. So Sheridan moved Queen to B-4. And in response, Kylie moved King's rook to C-8.

"Ah, so that's what you were planning," Sheridan wrote. "And all I did was help you out by cleaning up part of the board."

"No, you also put me in check," Kylie stated. "Drawing in the snare."

"Speaking of snares," Sheridan said. "We forgot to finish talking about Scott."

"I'm sorry I brought it up," Kylie said.

"And I'm sorry I didn't, bring him up, that is," Sheridan said. "He has all of Simon Freznik's psychic powers but none of Simon's discipline. Even for the most evil man I ever sensed, Simon was no fool, but coldly calculating. Scott is being eaten alive by the power. I wish I could do something to redeem him, save him. If he'd let me, I'd use a spell to strip him of his memory. Then he could start life over again, fresh and new."

"You know, that's one more thing we both have in common," Kylie said. "We both love Scott, and yet each of us knows he needs to be destroyed."

"Agreed," Sheridan said. Sheridan moved King's bishop to A-6.

Only to realize he'd walked right into Kylie's trap after all. Her knight moved to A-6 and slaughtered his bishop. To save his Queen, he moved her to A-3. Gently, Kylie moved King's pawn to E-5.

"I've put some bondage magic on Scott, but he doesn't know it yet. It confines his greatest abilities, though nowhere near as much as you killing him with his own power did, Kylie."

"It had to be done," she wrote.

"I know. He mourns for the loss of you, but his particular madness, Hell doesn't heal. For him, they're leaving him burdened with it forever," Sheridan said. "It breaks my cold, evil heart."

"I know," she wrote back. "Maybe I'll visit Hell after all. Perhaps I can help."

"I think I'd be glad if you did," Sheridan answered. Sheridan moved King's knight to H-3. Kylie moved Queen to G-2, taking Sheridan's pawn. So he countered, moving Queen's rook to G-1. Kylie took her Queen away, to E-4. Sheridan moved Queen to A-6, killing Kylie's knight. And Kylie moved King's rook to D-8. Then Sheridan moved Queen to A-7. "Once again, check," Sheridan wrote.

"But the log jam is slowly breaking up," Kylie answered. She moved King to E-6. Sheridan moved Queen to E-7, killing Kylie's knight.

"Yet again, check. Running out of answers." Kylie moved her King to F-5, so Sheridan moved his Queen to D-4, slaying her rook. Kylie moved King's bishop's pawn to E-2. So, Sheridan moved his Queen to F-8. "You're not going to get another Queen, Kylie. And it's check."

"So did I tell you about Doctor Beltane, Matthew," Kylie wrote?

"No, you didn't," Sheridan remarked.

"She resigned from medicine due to age, and left me in control of the clinic. Her daughter's in control of the family coven."

"Then Karyn Beltane must be the most bored woman in England," Sheridan wrote.

"Actually, no," Kylie corrected him. "She ran for Mayor of Symington, and won, with her completely brill 'I am a witch' campaign."

"Oh my," Sheridan said. "I wonder where she got that idea."

"From an American politician with more mouth than sense," Kylie shot back. Kylie returned her King to E-6. Sheridan moves his King's knight to G-5. "Yet again, check." Quickly, Kylie moved her King to D-7. Sheridan moved his Knight to D-4, slaying Kylie's Queen. But it got answered by Kylie moving King's pawn to E-4, slaying the knight. So, Sheridan moved Queen's rook to G-7. "Give up, my girl. This game is mine. I told you, you're rusty."

"Not quite," Kylie wrote. Then she moved her King back to E-6. Closing in, Sheridan moved his Queen to F-6.

"Check." Kylie escaped with King to D-5. Undaunted, Sheridan sent Queen to E-5, slaying a pawn and once again putting Kylie in check. She sent her King to C-4. Finally, Sheridan moved Queen to C-5. It was over.

"Checkmate, I believe," Kylie wrote to Sheridan. "You are right. I am rusty. But don't you worry. I'll get together with me brother, Kelly, and we'll practice all day like we used to do. Then we'll see who's rusty!"

"You're on," Sheridan said. There was a knock at the door. Kylie looked up, and saw Nolan, her Brazillian head nurse, waiting outside.

"Hey, Doctor, we need you up front. It's a medical emergency. Someone's having a heart attack."

"Be right there," Kylie said. Then she wrote Sheridan an apology for having to leave so quickly.

"Sheridan, I need to go. A heart attack."

"I understand. I'll be waiting for your visit," Sheridan wrote back.

"We'll play another game of chess," Kylie answered. Then she grabbed her green medical backpack and ran out of her office. 

From Alexandra Kosteniuk's

www.chessblog.com

Also see her personal blog at

www.chessqueen.com

Winter chess short story from Berlin

Chess blog for latest chess news and chess trivia (c) Alexandra Kosteniuk, 2011


Hello everyone,


A chess friend from Berlin - Keith Schmidt - has sent us this short chess anecdote he says he remembers from a chess cafe party. Enjoy.


Chess in Berlin
On a cold day in December 1945 two chess players were sitting in a coffeehouse in Berlin playing each other and were deeply immersed in the calculations of various chess variations in their game. The Allied Forces were bombing the city heavily and suddenly there was a terrible big noise outside, right in front of the coffeehouse. Something must have been hit and blasted away.


"Bloody noisy outside today!", murmured one of them deeply in thought. "Shut up, damned!"


After about ten minutes the other one said: "It's very cold in here! Why, for christ's sake, can't they turn up the damned heating?"


After the game was finished they went in direction door. The room seemed to be somehow bigger as usual.


"Hey, there is something wrong here, don't you think? I can't find the door." It was already late at night and dark, they went further and suddenly they were standing on the road. They had a look around and were amazed to see, that the forefront of the coffeehouse was completely missing and that a lot of houses were completely destroyed.


From Alexandra Kosteniuk's
www.chessblog.com
Also see her personal blog at
www.chessqueen.com

Remember Jeffrey Archer's strip chess short story?

Chess blog for latest chess news and chess trivia (c) Alexandra Kosteniuk, 2011

Hello everyone,

We just thought why shouldn't Tuesday be chess short-story time! So, here is one of the best chess stories out there. It's from 'A Twist in the Tale' collection by none other than Jeffrey Archer.

A Twist in the Tale
by Jeffrey Archer

Checkmate 

As she entered the room every eye turned towards her.

When admiring a girl some men start with her head and work down. I start with the ankles and work up.

She wore black high-heeled velvet shoes and a tight-fitting black dress that stopped l enough above the knees to reveal the most perfectly tapering legs. As my eyes continued their upward sweep they paused to take in her narrow waist and slim athletic figure. But it was the oval face that I found captivating, slightly pouting lips and the largest blue eyes I've ever seen, crowned with a head of thick, black, short-cut hair hat literally shone with lustre. Her entrance was all the more breathtaking because of the surroundings she had chosen. 

Heads would have turned at a diplomatic reception, a society cocktail party, even a charity ball, but at a chess tournament ... 

I followed her every movement, patronisingly unable to accept she could be a player. She walked slowly over to-the dub secretary's table and signed in to prove me wrong. :She was handed a number to indicate her challenger for the opening match. Anyone who had not yet been allocated an opponent waited to see if she would take her place opposite their side of the board.

The player checked the number she had been given and made her way towards an elderly man who was seated in the far corner of the room, a former captain of the club now past his best.

As the club's new captain I had been responsible for instigating these round-robin matches. We meet on the last Friday of the month in large club-like room on top of the Mason's Arms in the High Street. The landlord sees to it that thirty tables are set out for us and that food and drink are readily available. Three or four other clubs in the district send half a dozen opponents to play a couple of blitz games, giving us a chance to face rivals we would not normally play. The rules for the matches are simple enough - one minute on the clock is the maximum allowed for each move, so a game rarely last more than an hour, and if a pawn-hasn't been captured in thirty moves the game is automatically declared a draw. A short break for a drink between games, paid for by the loser, ensures that everyone has the chance to challenge two opponents during the evening.

A thin man wearing half-moon spectacles and a dark blue three-piece suit made his way over towards my board. We smiled and shook hands. My guess would have been a solicitor, but I was wrong as he turned out to be an accountant working for a stationery supplier in Woking.

I found it hard to concentrate on my opponent's well rehearsed Moscow opening as my eyes kept leaving the board and wandering over to the girl in the black dress. On the one occasion our eyes did meet she gave me an enigmatic smile, but although I tried again I was unable to elicit the same response a second time. Despite being preoccupied I still managed to defeat the accountant, who seemed unaware that there ere several ways out of a seven-pawn attack.

At the half-time break three other members of the club had offered her a drink before I even reached the bar. I knew I could not hope to play my second match against the girl as I would be expected to challenge one of the visiting team captains. In fact she ended up playing the accountant.

I defeated my new opponent in a little over forty minutes and, as a solicitous host, began to take an interest in the other matches that were still being played. I set out on a circuitous route that ensured I ended up at her table. I could see that the accountant already had the better of her and within moments of my arrival she had lost both her queen and the game.

I introduced myself and found that just shaking hands with her was a sexual experience. Weaving our way through the tables we strolled over to the bar together. Her name, she told me, was Amanda Curzon. I ordered Amanda the glass of red wine she requested and a half-pint of beer for myself. I began by commiserating with her over the defeat.

"How did you get on against him?" she asked. "Just managed to beat him," I said. "But it was very close. How did your first game with our old captain turn out?

"Stalemate," said Amanda. But I think he was just being courteous.

"Last time I played him it ended up in stalemate," I told her.

She smiled. "Perhaps we ought to have a game some time?"

"I'll look forward to that," I said, as she finished her drink.

"Well, I must be off," she announced suddenly. "Have to catch the last train to Hounslow."

"Allow me to drive you," I said gallantly. "It's the least the host captain can be expected to do."

"But surely it's miles out of your way?"

"Not at all, I lied, Hounslow being about twenty minutes beyond my flat. I gulped down the last drop of my beer and helped Amanda on with her coat. Before leaving I thanked the landlord for the efficient organisation of the evening.

We then strolled into the car park. I opened the passenger door of my Scirocco to allow Amanda to climb in.

"A slight improvement on London Transport," she said as I slid into my side of the car. I smiled and headed out on the road northwards. That black dress that I described earlier goes even higher up the legs when a girl sits back in a Scirocco. It didn't seem to embarrass her.

"It's still very early," I ventured after a few inconsequential remarks about the club evening. "Have you time to drop in for a drink?"

'It would have to be a quick one," she replied, looking at her watch. "I've a busy day ahead of me

tomorrow."

"Of course," I said, chatting on, hoping she wouldn't notice a detour that could hardly be described as on

the way to Hounslow.

"Do you work in town? I asked.

"Yes. I'm a receptionist for a firm of estate agents in Berkeley Square."

"I'm surprised you're not a model."

"I used to be," she replied without further explanation. She seemed quite oblivious to the route I was taking as she chatted on about her holiday plans for Ibiza. Once we had arrived at my place I parked the car and led Amanda through my front gate and up to the flat. In the hall I helped her off with her coat before taking her through to the front room.

"What would you like to drink?" I asked.

"I'll stick: to wine, if you've a bottle already open," she replied, as she walked slowly round, taking in the unusually tidy room. My mother must have dropped by during the morning, I thought gratefully. "It's only a bachelor pad," I said, emphasising the word "bachelor" before going into the kitchen. To my relief I found there was an unopened bottle of wine in the larder. I joined Amanda with the bottle and two glasses a few moments later to find her studying my chess board and fingering the delicate ivory pieces that were set out for a game I was playing by post.

"What a beautiful set," she volunteered as I handed her a glass of wine. "Where did you find it?"

"Mexico," I told her, not explaining that I had won it in a tournament while on holiday there. "I was only sorry we didn't have the chance to have a game ourselves."

She checked her watch. "Time for a quick one she said, taking a seat behind the little white pieces.

I quickly took my place opposite her. She smiled, picked up a white and a black bishop and hid them behind her back. Her dress became even tighter and emphasised the shape of her breasts. She then placed both clenched fists in front of me. I touched her right hand, and she turned it over and opened it to reveal a white bishop.

"Is there to be a wager of any kind?" I asked light-heartedly. She checked inside her evening bag.

"I only have a few pounds on me, she said. I'd be willing to play for lower stakes. `What do you have in mind?" she asked.

"What can you offer?"

"What would you like?"

"Ten pounds if you win."

"And if I lose?"

"You take something off."

I regretted the words the moment I had said them and waited for her to slap my face and leave but she said simply, "There's not much harm in that if we only play one game."

I nodded my agreement and stared down at the board.

She wasn't a bad player - what the pros call a patzer - though her Roux opening was somewhat orthodox.

I managed to make the game last twenty minutes while sacrificing several pieces without making it look too obvious. When I said "Checkmate", she kicked off both her shoes and laughed.

"Care for another drink?" I asked, not feeling too hopeful. "After all, it's not yet eleven."

"All right. Just a small one and then I must be off".

I went to the kitchen, returned a moment later clutching the bottle, and refilled her glass.

"I only wanted half a glass," she said, frowning.

"I was lucky to win," I said, ignoring her remark, "after your bishop captured my knight. Extremely closerun thing.'

"Perhaps," she replied.

"Care for another game?" I ventured. She hesitated.

"Double or quits?" "What do you mean?"

"Twenty pounds or another garment?" "Neither of us is going to lose much tonight, are we?"

She pulled up her chair as I turned the board round and we both began to put the ivory pieces back in place.

The second game took a little longer as I made a silly mistake early on, castling on my queen's side, and it took several moves to recover. However, I still managed to finish the game off in under thirty minutes and even found time to refill Amanda's glass when she wasn't looking.

She smiled at me as she hitched her dress up high enough to allow me to see the tops of her stockings.

She undid the suspenders and slowly peeled the stockings off before dropping them on my side of the table.

"I nearly beat you that time," she said.

"Almost," I replied "Want another chance to get even? Let's say fifty pounds this time," I suggested, trying to make the offer sound magnanimous.

"The stakes are getting higher for both of us she replied as she reset the board. I began to wonder what might be going through her mind. Whatever it was, she foolishly sacrificed both her rooks early on and the game was over in a matter of minutes. Once again she lifted her dress but this time well above her waist. My eyes were glued to her thighs as  she undid the black suspender belt and held it high above my head before letting it drop and join her stockings on my side of the table.

"Once I had lost the second rook," she said, "I was never in with a chance."

"I agree. It would therefore only be fair to allow you one more chance", I said, quickly resetting the board.

"After all," I added, "you could win one hundred pounds this time."

She smiled. "I really ought to be going home," she said as she moved her queen's pawn two squares forward. She smiled that enigmatic smile again as I countered with my bishop's pawn.

It was the best game she had played all evening and her use of the Warsaw gambit kept me at the board for over thirty minutes. In fact I damn nearly lost early on because I found it hard to concentrate properly on her defence strategy. A couple of times Amanda chuckled when she thought she had got the better of me, but it became obvious she had not seen Karpov play the Sicilian defence and win from a seemingly impossible position.

"Checkmate," I finally declared.

"Damn," she said, and standing up turned her back on me. "You'll have to give me a hand." Trembling, I leaned over and slowly pulled the zip down until it reached the small of her back. Once again I wanted to touch the smooth, creamy skin. She swung round to face me, shrugged gracefully and the dress fell to the ground as if a statue were being unveiled. She leaned forward and brushed the side of my cheek with her hand, which had much the same effect as an electric shock. I emptied the last of the bottle of wine into her glass and left for the kitchen with the excuse of needing to refill my own. When I returned she hadn't moved. A gauzy black bra and pair of panties were now the only garments that I still hoped to see removed.

"I don't suppose you'd play one more game?" I asked, trying not to sound desperate.

`It's time you took me home, she said with a giggle.

I passed her another glass of wine. "Just one more," I begged. "But this time it must be for both garments."

She laughed. "Certainly not," she said. "I couldn't afford to lose."

"It would have to be the last game," I agreed. "But two hundred pounds this time and we play for both garments." I waited, hoping the size of the wager would tempt her. "The odds must surely be on your side.

After all, you've nearly won three times."

She sipped her drink as if considering the proposition. "All right," she said. "One last fling."

Neither of us voiced our feeling as to what was certain to happen if she lost.

I could not stop myself trembling as I set the board up once again. I cleared my mind, hoping she hadn't noticed that I had drunk only one glass of wine all night. I was determined to finish this one off quickly.

I moved my queen's pawn one square forward. She retaliated, pushing her king's pawn up two squares. I knew exactly what my next move needed to be and because of it the game only lasted eleven minutes.

I have never been so comprehensively beaten in my life. Amanda was in a totally, different class to me.

She anticipated my every move and had gambits I had never encountered or even read of before.

It was her turn to say "Checkmate", which she delivered with the same enigmatic smile as before, adding,

"You did say the odds were on my side this time."

I lowered my head in disbelief. When I looked up again, she had already slipped that beautiful black dress

back on, and was stuffing her stockings and suspenders into her evening bag. A moment later she put on her shoes.

I took out my cheque book, filled in the name "Amanda Curzon" and added the figure "£200", the date and my signature. While I was doing this she replaced the little ivory pieces on the exact squares on which they had been when she had first entered the room. She bent over and kissed me gently on the cheek. "Thank you," she said as she placed the cheque in her handbag. "We must play again some time." I was still staring at the re-set board in disbelief when I heard the front door close behind her.

"Wait a minute," I said, rushing to the door. "How will you get home?"

I was just in time to see her running down the steps and towards the open door of a BMW. She climbed in, allowing me one more look at those long tapering legs. She smiled as the car door was closed behind her. The accountant strolled round to the driver's side, got in, revved up the engine and drove the champion home.

From Alexandra Kosteniuk's

www.chessblog.com

Also see her personal blog at

www.chessqueen.com

A chess love story with a diagram!

Chess blog for latest chess news and chess trivia (c) Alexandra Kosteniuk, 2011

Hi everyone,

This Sunday we decided to share this nice chess story from Tim Krabbé. Without much ado, here it is. Enjoy.

A LOVE STORY WITH A DIAGRAM

Behind chess games, there are stories. Suppose you have a big database, and for some reason you decided to play over the game Anand - Krabbé, clock blindsimul (5) Amsterdam 1991, 40 moves, draw. (I know it is in some.) You'd see the moves, how Anand got into a bad position and extricated himself ingeniously, but you wouldn't know it had been played on a cheerfully sunny Sunday in September, in a half-open tent in the center of the city, watched by noisy chess-lovers and passers-by. The database also wouldn't tell you that between moves, I was looking out to the street to see if the wonderful girl was coming back who had borrowed my car for an errand, and with whom I had just spent the night for the first time.

I'd met her three days before in the city where she lived, not far from Amsterdam. I was there to give a talk in a little theatre, and afterwards I had a beer in the café next to it. There were three girls sitting at the bar there, one blond, one dark, one redhead. The blond, the only one whose face I could see, had a splendid laugh. She was very attractive. I looked at her, trying to catch her at looking back. She did look in my direction, but without ever really locking eyes.
'Come on,' I said to myself, 'don't be a fool. You're 48, and these girls can't be older then 24. So let's be a fool. After this sip of beer, I will do it.' And I did. I went up to her, said something like: 'Hey, hi, I saw you, and I just thought...' and then I saw the face of the redhead. 

Fate helped. Fate was okay that night. The blond and the darkhaired girl had to go, the redhead stayed. We talked, and when I thought it was time for me to go to my car, she thought it was time for her to go home. We left the café together and walked through her dark streets. When our ways parted, the threefold social kiss became a series of little kisses, very light, never quite touching each other's lips, incredibly full of feeling.

I called her two days later, a Saturday morning. The weather was beautiful, did she have anything to do? A few hours later we were driving over little roads and along waters between her and my city. We sat on a floating terrace where she told me that she liked it so much that in tennis, the player who makes the least points can win the match. 'That happens once in about sixteen best-of-fives,' I said, 'I wrote a computer simulation for that.'
She had also written little computer programs. She wrote higgledy-piggledies, too. 

A bit later, driving through the green fields, I said: 'Shall we get out and roll through the grass here together?'
'No,' she said. 'I have to know you better for that. At least half an hour better.'
There was a little problem. It was obvious we were going to stay together - if fate could help it: for the rest of our lives - but I had to go to a party that night, and I had already dated another girl. Oh, I was a ladies man in those days. We didn't want to part, so we went to get the other girl together. And we brought her home when it was almost light again. And then we went home ourselves, and to bed.

I had maybe had an hour's sleep when I woke up and remembered the chess tournament I had to play that Sunday - 'Schaken op het Spui'; a blitz team tournament in a tent, followed by a blind clock simul by Anand against five; the winning team plus a chess-playing celebrity.
She had something to do, too. She had to get an old refrigerator a friend had promised her, somewhere up in the country, so I lent her my car and raced to the chess tent on my bicycle. When I had finished my first game (I won, of course), I saw her again: she didn't know how to get the car into reverse; would I come and help her?
I was back in time to win my second game. And the third. Swept them right off the board, all of them. Even wrote down a few of those games later. Here is one, just to show you how a man plays after sleeping with a girl like that. 

Krabbé - NN, Amsterdam 1991, blitz 15'
1.e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nf6 3.Nc3 Bb4 4.Bc4 O-O 5.O-O d6 6.d3 Bg4 7.Bg5 c6 8.Qe2 a6 9.Nd1 Nbd7 10.Ne3 Be6 11.Nf5 Bxf5 12.exf5 d5 13.Bb3 Qc7 14.Kh1 Bd6 15.g4 Nxg4 16.Rg1 e4 17.dxe4 dxe4 18.Rxg4 exf3 19.Qxf3 Ne5 20.Bf6 g6 21.fxg6 hxg6 22.Qh3 and he resigned, he's mate next move. 

I won't give a diagram, because it would spoil the title of this story ('A love story with two diagrams', what a ridiculous title that would be), but really because it would single out a moment, when the whole point is that I played like a goddam Morphy the whole day that day.
Krabbé - NN, Amsterdam 1991, blitz 15'
1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 d6 5.Nc3 Nf6 6.Be3 a6 7.f3 e6 8.Bc4 Be7 9.Qd2 Qc7 10.Bb3 O-O 11.O-O-O Na5 12.g4 Nxb3+ 13.axb3 Nd7 14.Nf5 exf5 15.Nd5 Qd8 16.gxf5 Ne5 17.f4 Ng4 18.Bb6 Qd7 19.Bd4 Qd8 20.Rhg1 Nf6 21.Rxg7+ Kxg7 22.Rg1+ Kh8 23.Nxe7 Qxe7 24.Qg2 and again, one move before mate, he resigned.
My team won, and a little later we sat facing Anand, or rather, facing his back.
He was sitting at a little table in front of us where he was given our moves which we wrote down on pieces of coloured paper, a different colour for each game. 

Anand - Krabbé, Amsterdam, September 1st 1991, clock blindsimul 5
1.Nf3 d5 2.g3 c6 3.Bg2 Nf6 4.O-O Bf5 5.d3 e6 6.Nbd2 Be7 

Here he played 7.h3 in which, for lack of understanding, I presumed grandmaster depth. Until after the game, when Anand explained it. What I had not noticed was that the player beside me, against whom Anand had played 1.g3, had also used the New Yorker system, and had reached the same position, only with his bishop on g4. And Anand had forgotten which bishop was where in which game. 7.h3, in both games, was not so much a chess move, as a request for information.
It made me think of a story. A grandmaster once played a 10-board blind simul somewhere. Knowing the ropes of blind simuls, he varied his games right from the start, maybe opening two with 1.e4, two with 1.d4, one with 1.b3, and so on. To his suprise, all of his opponents played 1...b6. On the second move, five of them played 2...Bb7, and the other five 2...Ba6. On the third, three of the five players who had played 2...Bb7 now played 3...Bc8 and the other two played 3...Ba6, while three of the five who had played 2...Ba6 now played 3...Bb7, and the other two 3...Bc8. On move 4, the grandmaster saw bishops everywhere. After move 5, he excused himself and went to the toilet where he was happy to find a window big enough to let him through.
I didn't think of that then, I thought of her. I couldn't help having black romantic thoughts: if she didn't know where the reverse was, then how well did she drive? Suppose I'd never see her again? Would I ever know at which move exactly she had crashed? Have the diagram engraved in her tombstone? Would I, looking beyond Anand, not see her coming into the tent, but two solemn-looking policemen?


7...h6 8.b3 O-O 9.Bb2 a5 10.e3 a4 11.Qe2 Na6 12.a3 axb3 13.cxb3 Nc5 14.Ne1 Qb6 15.e4 Bh7 16.b4 Na4 17.Be5 Qb5 18.exd5 cxd5 19.Nb3 Rfc8 20.Nd4 Qb6 21.Ndf3 Nd7 22.Bd4 Qb5 23.Ne5 Bf6 24.f4 Nxe5 25.fxe5 Bd8 26.Qf2 Bg6 27.Kh2 Bb6 28.Bxb6 Nxb6 29.Ra2 Rc3 30.h4 Raxa3 

Around here, I saw her. While man plays a few moves, woman drives around the world with a refrigerator in the trunk. She had told me she didn't play chess, so I knew the positions on the demonstration boards wouldn't mean a thing to her. But I saw her exchange a few words with somebody, and knew what she was hearing: 'Yes, Tim Krabbé is winning, he's going to beat Anand.' 

How can I avoid the suggestion that because of her, I lost my concentration, and spoiled the game? If anything, I played better for seeing her. It's just that I'm not really a Morphy. After the game Anand showed me how easily and logically I could have won, but I only remember how evident it was, not the moves.
The game went: 31.Rxa3 Rxa3 32.g4 h5 33.gxh5 Bxh5 34.Bf3 Bg6 35.h5 Bxd3 36.Nxd3 Qxd3 37.Bg2 Nc4 38.Qxf7+ Kh7 39.Qxe6 Qg3+ 40.Kg1 Ne3 and here it was adjourned, and later adjudicated as a draw by Timman. 

While Anand and Timman were looking at the final position, a teammate, the one who had also played the New Yorker, turned to me, and said, nodding to her among the public, and with a certain incredulity: 'Is she your girlfriend?'
'A girlfriend,' I said.
I was joking of course, bragging, but in that answer there was a grain of truth, a grain of something that made me lose her not so long afterwards.
(Let's just say I came across an old photograph.)

(c) Tim Krabbé 1998

PS 25 May 2006: Playing this game over with Rybka in the background, I discovered that my 35...Bxd3 was a terrible blunder, and that Anand could have won outright with 36.Be2!, e.g. Bxe2 37.Qxf7+ Kh8 38.Qf8+ Kh7 39.Rf7 etc.

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From Alexandra Kosteniuk's

www.chessblog.com

Also see her personal blog at

www.chessqueen.com

When aliens discovered chess on earth!

Alexandra Kosteniuk's Chess News & Trivia (c) 2010

Sir Arthur C. Clarke

Hello Everyone,

Do you know what happened when aliens discovered chess upon earth? No, we don't have an answer but possibly many years ago -1977 to be precise - science-fiction writer Sir Arthur C. Clarke did.

He wrote a short story titled 'Quarantine' about an extraterrestrial civilization which discovers chess after visiting Earth! The anecdote goes that Sir Arthur C. Clarke was asked to write a story that would fit the back of a postcard. He came up with this gem. Here is the short story:

Quarantine

Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, First Issue, Vol 1, No. 1, Spring 1977

Earth's flaming debris still filled half the sky when the question filtered up to Central from the Curiosity Generator.

"Why was it necessary? Even though they were organic, they had reached Third Order Intelligence."

"We had no choice: five earlier units became hopelessly infected, when they made contact."

"Infected? How?"

The microseconds dragged slowly by, while Central tracked down the few fading memories that had leaked past the Censor Gate, when the heavily-buffered Reconnaissance Circuits had been ordered to self-destruct.

"They encountered a - problem - that could not be fully analyzed within the lifetime of the Universe. Though it involved only six operators, they became totally obsessed by it."

"How is that possible?"

"We do not know: we must never know. But if those six operators are ever re-discovered, all rational computing will end."

"How can they be recognized?"

"That also we do not know; only the names leaked through before the Censor Gate closed. Of course, they mean nothing."

"Nevertheless, I must have them."

The Censor voltage started to rise; but it did not trigger the Gate.

"Here they are: King, Queen, Bishop, Knight, Rook, Pawn."

From Alexandra Kosteniuk's

www.chessblog.com

Also see her personal blog at

www.chessqueen.com