How do you fight an enemy who never shows his face?
The murder of crows must band together with a privateer prince to face their greatest challenge yet. But though Kaz is playing for the Dregs, Nikolai suspects that the future of the world is at sta...
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The Mask leaned forwards, pulling the chess-table in front of him, and Kaz sat down on the other side. "State your terms, Mister Brekker."
"For every piece I take of yours, you answer a question truthfully. For every piece you take of mine, I answer one of your questions truthfully. If I win, you call off Raven and close the Silver Sun Casino - permanently."
"And if I win?" the Mask said smoothly, his gaze level and piercing. "What do I get to ask of you?"
"I wouldn't know. What do you get to ask of me?"
The corner of the masked man's mouth turned upwards. "I ask of you," he murmured, voice almost down to a whisper, "to join my gang, and break off all ties you have with both Lantsov and the Dregs, and close the Crow Club – permanently."
Once more, Kaz nodded. "I accept."
But there was something niggling at the back of his mind, telling him he'd missed something. Something big.
"I play white," he stated, leaving no room for any negotiations. "I start." One pale hand reached for the king's pawn and moved it to E4.
Kaz replied by slowly sliding his own pawn out to E5. He knew he had to be careful. Being good at chess was a completely different thing to being good at the card games like poker that Kaz had mastered. Those games were about luck – what cards you were dealt – intelligence – how you play your hand – memory – if, like Kaz, you could memorize the order of each card in the pack – and possibly sleight-of-hand – if the people you were playing with were stupid enough or drunk enough to not notice you cheating. But there was no way of cheating in chess. It wasn't about memorizing moves or rules, it was about skill and how you adapt to the way your opponent plays. It needed you to be mentally strong, not deft with your fingers and guarded with your expressions.
Kaz was out of his depth, and he knew it.
They took turns moving, and still Kaz couldn't see where the Mask was aiming or which piece he was trying to take. His plans stayed as hidden as his face, concealed behind that white, antlered mask.
And then Kaz saw an opening and moved his knight, taking a white pawn. He felt a slow smile spread across his face.
"So," said the Mask, steepling his fingers, "what question will you ask of me?"
"Who are you?"
The dark-haired man sitting across from him laughed – actually laughed. "And they told me you were intelligent! That's the oldest of all word-traps."
"Answer the question."
"I am the Mask."
Inwardly, Kaz cursed. Goddamnit. I should have seen that coming from a mile away.
The Mask moved his bishop to take Kaz's knight and he nearly groaned with shame. So obvious, and I still fell for both traps! He forced his expression to stay cool and nonchalant, despite the humiliated and angry red flush creeping up his neck, obvious against his pale skin. "What will you ask of me?"
