“Watch closely,” Muns continued, “and see if you can determine why this game earned such renown.” Abby didn’t really play chess. She knew the rules, but she didn’t have the patience for it. She doubted she would notice anything. But as she watched, the man with the strange beard lost piece after important piece. His opponent captured his pawn, his bishop, then the two that looked like castles, and then he lost the piece Abby knew was the most important—his queen. All this time, his opponent had lost only three pawns, the least effective pieces on the board. The Bridge simulation paused.
“It is interesting,” Muns said, “that to the untrained eye, this may not seem like an ‘immortal’ game at all. In fact, it may seem like a fairly pathetic showing. A casual observer might think Anderssen was doomed, that with each move his opponent grew closer to victory. But Anderssen was the master of the gambit. He would sacrifice pieces, letting his opponent build confidence, letting him think he had the advantage, but all the losses were deliberate and were calculated to set up the victory.” The game started again, and in a matter of a few short moves, Anderssen—the man who had lost all his important pieces—won. Checkmate. Game over. Each move, including the losses, had lured his opponent into a trap.
The scene faded from Anderssen smiling at his victory to Muns at his desk. “Your grandfather and all those who side with him have a very important question to ask themselves: Did they just win a victory, or did they fall for a gambit? If what we are playing is an Immortal Game, one that will be more famous than any other before—and I am also a master of the gambit—your grandfather and his followers may have just fallen into a trap.”
Half of his mouth curled up into a smile. “I must warn you, Abby. This battle is about to . . . ,” he searched for the right word, “ escalate .” His smile broadened. “Those who oppose me”—his smile disappeared—“will first tremble in fear, and then they will lose. Checkmate.” Muns moved a chess piece on the board in front of him, then toppled over the opposing king. “Leave this alone. If not”—his eyes didn’t blink—“I will treat you like the rest.”
Abby quickly sent another message to her grandfather.
12
The Sentinels
Derick hadn’t given his grades another thought.
He sat in a class where he recognized almost no one. It was another change from his original schedule. He could feel his heart thumping.
The hum for class to start sounded, but there was still no teacher. Derick struck up a conversation with the brunette sitting next to him. She was two years older than him and absolutely loved squirrel monkeys; apparently a squirrel monkey named Miss Baker was one of the first two creatures to be sent into space and return alive.
“Good morning,” Dr. Mackleprank said, walking slowly into the room. “I apologize for being late. It shouldn’t happen again.” Perhaps he didn’t teach a first period and had slept in after all the excitement over the weekend. Or perhaps he was sore. Chances were he hadn’t had to flying kick anyone in a while.
He sat on the desk at the front of the room, letting his legs dangle as usual. Something about it seemed slightly different, less natural. Again, probably sore. “Because this is an advanced avatar class and you were all invited to be a part of it,” Mackleprank said, “you have shown a certain degree of competency with the avatars, as well as knowledge about the animals you have studied so far. However, because this is an advanced avatar class, I will also expect advanced performance.” Derick couldn’t help but remember the teacher spinning through the air. He would love to see what he could do in an avatar. It would definitely be advanced. Mackleprank was completely qualified for his job.
“Most of you are in your third year and have mastered the squirrel monkey, as well as
“It is interesting,” Muns said, “that to the untrained eye, this may not seem like an ‘immortal’ game at all. In fact, it may seem like a fairly pathetic showing. A casual observer might think Anderssen was doomed, that with each move his opponent grew closer to victory. But Anderssen was the master of the gambit. He would sacrifice pieces, letting his opponent build confidence, letting him think he had the advantage, but all the losses were deliberate and were calculated to set up the victory.” The game started again, and in a matter of a few short moves, Anderssen—the man who had lost all his important pieces—won. Checkmate. Game over. Each move, including the losses, had lured his opponent into a trap.
The scene faded from Anderssen smiling at his victory to Muns at his desk. “Your grandfather and all those who side with him have a very important question to ask themselves: Did they just win a victory, or did they fall for a gambit? If what we are playing is an Immortal Game, one that will be more famous than any other before—and I am also a master of the gambit—your grandfather and his followers may have just fallen into a trap.”
Half of his mouth curled up into a smile. “I must warn you, Abby. This battle is about to . . . ,” he searched for the right word, “ escalate .” His smile broadened. “Those who oppose me”—his smile disappeared—“will first tremble in fear, and then they will lose. Checkmate.” Muns moved a chess piece on the board in front of him, then toppled over the opposing king. “Leave this alone. If not”—his eyes didn’t blink—“I will treat you like the rest.”
Abby quickly sent another message to her grandfather.
12
The Sentinels
Derick hadn’t given his grades another thought.
He sat in a class where he recognized almost no one. It was another change from his original schedule. He could feel his heart thumping.
The hum for class to start sounded, but there was still no teacher. Derick struck up a conversation with the brunette sitting next to him. She was two years older than him and absolutely loved squirrel monkeys; apparently a squirrel monkey named Miss Baker was one of the first two creatures to be sent into space and return alive.
“Good morning,” Dr. Mackleprank said, walking slowly into the room. “I apologize for being late. It shouldn’t happen again.” Perhaps he didn’t teach a first period and had slept in after all the excitement over the weekend. Or perhaps he was sore. Chances were he hadn’t had to flying kick anyone in a while.
He sat on the desk at the front of the room, letting his legs dangle as usual. Something about it seemed slightly different, less natural. Again, probably sore. “Because this is an advanced avatar class and you were all invited to be a part of it,” Mackleprank said, “you have shown a certain degree of competency with the avatars, as well as knowledge about the animals you have studied so far. However, because this is an advanced avatar class, I will also expect advanced performance.” Derick couldn’t help but remember the teacher spinning through the air. He would love to see what he could do in an avatar. It would definitely be advanced. Mackleprank was completely qualified for his job.
“Most of you are in your third year and have mastered the squirrel monkey, as well as
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