He looked up at me with his deep brown eyes, a frown on his face, clearly having trouble forming the words he needed to. "I saw your mother yesterday morning when I was delivering mail in Lathbury, and I picked up a letter for you. I knew how much you wanted to hear from her, so I was excited to find you as soon as I could. I looked 154.

everywhere. I even asked Grayson, but he just shrugged me off and said you were probably spying around the lodge somewhere. I called your name all over the lodge and walked down nearly every street in town, but I couldn't find you. I was planning to tell your father I thought you were missing when he returned, but I checked your room this morning and there you were, sound asleep." He paused, advanced to a bench, and sat down. "Naturally, I'm wondering where you were."

Silas was a kind person, and I liked him very much. He was what you might call simple, but not stupid simple. He liked easy answers to life's complications, and he was unaccustomed to confrontation in any form. These things were clear from my brief encounters with him, and I thought humor was my best chance to give him an answer he could live with.

"I travel alone in secret, for I am Alexa, the spy of Bridewell!" I proclaimed in my best comic voice, but he didn't laugh. Instead he glared at me, and I began to feel uneasy about his motives. I tried my next tactic. "It might be hard to understand, but Grayson and I have an unwritten rule when my father travels and I'm stuck in Bridewell. He pretends to watch over me, and I play spy as much as I want. It's a game, you see? I thought Grayson sent you to flush me out. He's used that trick before, but obviously not this time. Sorry to have worried you."

Silas looked relieved. "Next time I call for you and 155.

you hear me, do me a favor and a.s.sume I'm not playing a game."

"It's a deal. And I really am sorry," I said. I hated lying to everyone, and I think the extra apology was more for me than Silas. I knew the day was coming when all my lies would be revealed, and each time I told one I felt worse.

We talked a spell longer and then Silas got up and started to leave. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said, reaching into his breast pocket. "Here's that letter from your mother." He handed it to me and walked off, the lightness of his step clearly showing the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.

I sat thinking a moment longer, twirling the unopened letter with my fingers. I thought back on everything that had just happened, and I couldn't help but feel that Pervis's imprisonment had been too sudden -- and perhaps even wrong. I was surprised by this thought, and by my next thought, too: I had to go see him.

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CHAPTER 17.

THE CHESS MATCH.

The emotional distraction I expected my mother's letter to create forced me to shove it into my back pocket unread. I started off in the direction of Renny Lodge, intent on visiting Perris, but completely unsure of how such a meeting would go. I stopped in one of the cla.s.srooms and grabbed a wooden chessboard and a leather bag of matching pieces.

The holding cells were in an area of Renny Lodge that was dark and uninviting. There was one advantage, though, which I found refreshing just now it was belowground, in the bas.e.m.e.nt, and thus cool. Even as dusk approached in Bridewell, the soggy air belowground was a welcome change from the dusty, dry air above. It reminded me of how it felt to be in the tunnels, which in turn reminded me of Yipes, Darius, and the rest. I found myself missing them.

Turning the corner at the last step, I held back and reviewed the scene. Two guards were present, one at the door into the cellblock, the other at a desk, busy with reports of one kind or another. I recognized the man at the desk, but not the other.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Martin. It's been a while since you've had any business down here. How's our guest doing?" I said.

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"Alexa, what are you doing here? This is no place for you to be roaming around. You should go exploring somewhere else, especially given the cargo this place is holding," said Mr. Martin. The man at the door stood motionless and said nothing.

"Has he sobered up yet?" I asked. The man guarding the door smirked and let out a small laugh.

"Let's just say he's been spending a lot of time with his face in a bucket," said the guard.

"Can I see him? He enjoys playing chess, and I thought a game might take his mind off his troubles."

"Now why would you want to make Mr. Kotcher feel better? Everyone knows you two hate each other," said Ir. Martin.

"I know he's a brute, I just "Hold it right there," Mr. Martin interrupted. He was offended, out of his chair and leaning against his desk with both hands in front of him. "We work for him, so as you can imagine we've got mixed feelings about the current state of affairs. A lot of people think he's difficult to deal with, and he surely can be. But he's got his good points, too, not the least of which is an everlasting love for Bridewell and all it stands for. If we lose him we lose a measure of security, especially if he leaves and stirs up trouble in Ainsworth. Just you remember that when your father runs him out of town."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Martin. I'll try to choose my words more carefully in the future."

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"You sound more like a politician every day," said Mr. Martin.

"So, can I go in and see him? I promise not to do anything stupid," I said.

Mr. Martin rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right. But behave yourself if you only desire to cause him more misery, I won't hesitate to report you to your father."

"Yes, sir."

"Step aside, Raymond. Let her through."

The guard opened the door and cool air escaped out into the hallway. It had the subtle sweet smell of vomit hanging over it, just enough to make- me gag for a brief moment. Upon entering the cellblock, the guard slammed the door shut behind me.

The cellblock contained four rooms with rows of bars, two rooms on each side. There were hard floors, bunks, and nothing on the cold stone walls. The two cells in the rear had small windows high up on the farthest wall back, which let in a faint mist of light. The windows were only about a foot in diameter and had bars running across them.

I heard soft moaning from one of the back cells. A three-legged stool sat next to the doorway and I picked it up. With some difficulty I held the stool, the chessboard, and the bag of chess pieces, and I made my way slowly to the back of the cellblock. Three of the cells were empty; the fourth, on my right in the back, held Pervis Kotcher. He looked dreadful.

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At first he did not see me. He was rocking back and forth, sitting on the edge of a cot facing the back wall, staring down into a bucket that was surely full of something unspeakably gross. I dropped the three-legged stool with a bang and began setting up the chessboard a few inches away from the bars to the cell.

The sound of the stool hitting the stone floor had an interesting effect. Pervis attempted to turn around quickly with an impaired wrenching of his neck. It was clear that the sudden jerk of his head sent unearthly pain shooting through his skull. In the next moment, he was on the floor holding his head, writhing in pain, and muttering something about "that dim-witted girl." Then, as quick as a rabbit, he was back on his knees, holding the bucket, making a sickening, echoey noise. The quick rise from floor to knees had clearly given him a jolting head rush, and no sooner was he finished with his work at the bucket than he was flat on his back again, moaning quietly.

"Hi, Pervis, how are you doing?" I said, not meaning to be sarcastic, but realizing it sounded that way as soon as I'd said it.

He continued moaning for a few seconds more, then turned toward me and rolled his eyes open. "Whatever it is that you want, please come back for it later. I've no patience for dealing with you today."

"Actually, I thought you might like some company. I brought a chessboard. Want to play?" I said this in my 160.

most exuberant voice, undoubtedly irritating Pervis even more.

Pervis opened his mouth and started to curse at me, and then he seemed to think twice about the idea. He closed his eyes, slowly rose on one elbow, and winced in pain. With his right hand he grabbed the bucket and slid it along the floor with a screech, producing an awful slushy sound from the contents. He spat into the bucket, and then began the slow process of dragging his body off the bed and along the floor. First the arm pushing the bucket forward, and then pulling the rest of his body behind him. Inch by grinding inch Pervis made his way over to the bars while I set up the game. When he finally arrived, he slowly moved to a seated position, hurled a mighty discharge into the bucket, and inquired calmly, "What shall we wager?"

Sitting on the stool, I had a bird's-eye view of the contents of the bucket, so I retreated to the clammy dirt floor and crossed my legs. For a twelve-year-old I was a marvelous chess player. It was a game that came naturally to me. Pervis would not be the first adult I'd made haste of with little or no effort.

"Funny you should ask I was just wondering the same thing," I said. "If I win, I get to ask you five questions that you must answer honestly, on your honor. If you win, I'll do the same for you."

With some effort, Pervis replied, "What could you possibly know that I would care about?"

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I stared at him long and hard. "A lot," I said.

At some level he seemed to believe me, and a typical Pervis Kotcher smirk crept onto his face. He was looking a measure better, though it might have just been an act to rattle me.

'All right, then, you've got yourself a game. On your honor, five questions, answered honestly," he said. "Deal."

There wasn't much about Pervis I trusted -- close to nothing actually. He was a shameless opportunist, a shifty-eyed leader to his men, and probably the lousiest drunk I'd ever laid eyes on. But it was known around Bridewell Common that people, even bad people, never wavered from telling the truth once they gave their word.

It was this knowledge that made my lying so difficult, even if the lies were intended for good. I believed Pervis would tell me the truth if I got the chance to ask him five questions, because that was just the way of things around these parts. In any case, it was a risk I was willing to take.

"White first. That would be you," I said.

Pervis moved his p.a.w.n to g4, a typically meaningless first move for an amateur. This was going to be easier than I thought.

I moved my p.a.w.n to b6, playing a waiting game to sniff out his next move. Now the board looked like this, with me at black and Pervis at white: 162.

[Diagram removed]

One of my useful tactics was to distract my opponent with offhand remarks or questions.

"I've never seen you drunk before. Why the sudden downward spiral?"

"Sorry, no honest answers -- and no talking until you beat me," Pervis said. Okay, so he was focused, unwilling to partake of my little distractions. Fine, I'll just finish him off faster that way.

The next three moves put me in a good position to start taking pieces with my bishop and my kingside knight, and I was beginning to understand his tactics, however juvenile they might be. Now the board looked like this: 163.

[Diagram removed]

From the look of it, Pervis had no plan of attack. He was simply countering my moves while he waited for me to reveal a power piece (something I never did early). Unfortunately for Pervis, this strategy was leaving his king wide-open for attack with no protection from the center. Yes, this was definitely starting to shape up nicely. At this point in the game we had each moved five times. I gave myself a personal challenge to finish him off in fewer than twenty moves.

Pervis took my p.a.w.n at d5. I countered by taking his p.a.w.n with mine at d5, followed by Pervis taking my p.a.w.n at d5 with his knight from c3. Two moves later, Pervis moved his queen to e2, directly in front of his 164.

king. That was odd. He was trying to create a situation where my king would be pinned down by my own pieces. Slightly fl.u.s.tered, I moved my knight to g1.

Pervis moved his knight to f6, leaving the board looking like this: [Diagram removed]

"Checkmate," said Pervis, which he followed by hacking a big gob of phlegm into the bucket.

"You tricked me. You played dumb and I fell for it." I was in a state of disbelief, and I was angry. He'd beaten me in only nine moves. That hadn't happened since I was seven years old.

"I'll go you double or nothing. Ten questions!" I said. "No, thank you. I'll take what I've won and cash out 165.

if you don't mind." He shuffled back to the cot, dragging that disgusting bucket as he went. After a monumental effort, he was laying flat on the cot, head on the dirty old pillow that had probably been a fixture of this cell for as long as Renny Lodge had been standing.

"Good old Grob, works every time against overconfident players," said Pervis, a new air of satisfaction in his voice.

"What's a Grob? Are you telling me you cheated?" I said.

"No, cheating would have been much harder than the Grob," said Pervis. He was back up on one elbow, looking as if he were past the peak of his incapacitation.

He continued, "The Grob opening begins with an ugly-looking p.a.w.n to g4. Many players would not dream of making such a revolting first move in a serious game of chess. It wrecks the kingside p.a.w.n structure with an unprotected advanced flank. But, as you have seen, it offers many tactical shots along unusual opening lines. I began playing the Grob as an opportunity to exercise my tactical skills, but found that a lot of my stronger opponents in Lunenburg would fall for it over and over again."

I had badly misjudged Pervis in regard to his chess- playing skills.

"The Grob," he went on, "is an excellent surprise weapon against good players who know and expect all the common openings. I played a Grob blitz against one A-cla.s.s player at the Lunenburg Chess Club. I won the 166.

game in a few moves. Appalled, he demanded that I play the ugly opening again. I did, and I won again. This cycle continued for five games. The Grob won each game to the horror of my stunned opponent." Pervis struggled into a sitting position, obviously encouraged by the sheer enjoyment of beating me so badly. Strangely enough, I had a new respect for him. He was clearly intelligent and very good at a game that takes cunning and skill to be great at.

"Let's see, first question needs to be a real eye-opener, something to set the tone, don't you think?" he said. He rubbed the weak stubble on his nearly nonexistent chin, spat into the bucket, which was now sitting between his legs on the floor, and looked up at me with a big grin on his face.

"Ever kissed a boy before?"

I looked at him with total disrespect.

"I'm twelve years old, Pervis. Of course I've kissed a boy before." I said this with an air of indignation, even though it wasn't true.

"Like I said before," said Pervis, a little flushed, "I can't imagine you knowing anything I don't already know that I'd want to know."

He ran his hands through his unwashed hair and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he looked up at me.

"All right, I've got one," he said. I braced myself for whatever sick idea he could come up with. I imagined he 167.

might ask me if I'd ever eaten my boogers, sucked on my big toe, or sniffed my armpits -- all of which I had done.

"That night when Warvold died, you were out there a long time. On your honor, now, tell me what happened out there for real."

I thought seriously about lying, but something stopped me. I don't suppose it was any honorable streak I could claim. Something else altogether prompted me to tell the truth. Maybe it was the first signs of desperation from everything swirling out of control around me.

"He died," I began. "He was dead awhile before I noticed. I was upset about sitting in the dark with his life less body, but I pulled myself together. Not long after I figured out he was dead I ran back to Renny Lodge, but not before I opened his amulet and took the silver key that was inside."

"I knew it! I knew you were lying about that night!" "I never lied I just omitted certain facts. I'm only telling you this because I need your help, because for some reason I either trust you or think you're too dense to be the person I'm looking for," I countered.

"What are you talking about 'person you're looking for.' What's that supposed to mean?"

"Is that one of your questions?" I asked.

Pervis bit his lip and took a moment to answer. "Yes, it's one of my questions," he finally said.

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"In that case, I'm looking for a man named Sebastian."

"Who's Sebastian?" Pervis was clearly confused beyond all hope. He was either a gifted actor even after a long night of drinking, or he was quickly becoming someone I might be able to trust based on his apparent lack of knowledge. about that one is that one of your questions?" I asked.

"No, no wait, that's not my question."

After a moment of awkward hesitation, he said sheepishly, "Okay, yes, it is my question."

"Sebastian is, as far as I can tell, an escaped convict posing as a citizen of Bridewell," I said matter-of-factly.

After a moment of reflection on what I'd said, Pervis asked, "So you think this is a game, coming down here and making up stories to torment me, is that it?"