"Well, I am no chess master, but the knowledge of the game has advanced a lot in the four centuries since the Ring of Fire. If you are bright, I am sure I can teach you enough so that you will give your prospective father-in-law quite a shock."

"I would be very grateful." Felix bit his lip.

"What's the matter."

"My heart is big but my purse is small."

Vince smiled. "Don't worry about that, an old man likes to have company. You will learn by playing with me and my friends." He spread out his hands, indicating the room. "The Grantville Chess Club takes over this place every Thursday night. And I am sure we can find some chess books you can borrow and study, so we don't beat you too many times in a row."

"The Grantville Chess Club?" asked Felix.

"Yes, didn't you notice the sign outside?" Felix walked over to the door and poked his head outside. The Inn's sign showed a red, four-pointed crown, with a lightning bolt over it.

"I suppose the crown is symbolic of the queen, and the lightning bolt of madness," said Felix doubtfully.

"But what does that have to do with chess?"

Vince explained. The Inn had been started by Joshua and Colette Modi. Its name was a chess player in-joke. The medieval chess queen had been a rather weak piece, but its role had changed over the past century. The Italian masters Lucena and Damiano popularized a new, faster form of chess, in which the Bishop was allowed to move more than one space at a time, and the Queen was given the powers of both the Rook and the improved Bishop. The new game reached Germany by 1536, where it was usually called the "rapid" or "foreign" chess game. "And if you preferred the old game," Vince concluded, "you called it the 'chess of the maddened Queen.'"

"Is this your prayer book, sister?" asked Karl.

Birgit looked up. "Yes, it is."

"Well, don't leave it out." He handed it to her.

"I will take it to my room right now. I might read a prayer or two, while I am at it."

Birgit carefully closed the door to her bedchamber. As expected, a letter was concealed inside the book. It was from Felix. He assured her of his undying love, and announced that he had safely arrived in Grantville. Birgit was happy to learn that he had found someone to tutor him in chess. But really, he needed to find buyers for his art.

The letter ended with a story. "I must tell you about the dream I had. We were standing together on the battlements of the tower in Stroebeck, watching the sunrise. Suddenly, the tower shrunk, and we shrunk with it. The tower was now a fighting platform on the back of a great elephant, and the elephant was standing on a giant chessboard. The other pieces were there, too, and they were alive as well. The knight was on a horseback, and carried a great lance; the bishop stood, brandishing a mighty mace. For you know, dear Birgit, that the church militant cannot use edged weapons. The queen had a chariot drawn by a winged dragon, and the king sat on a throne carried by bearers. I could not see the Player who controlled our movements, but his opponent was your Father.

"If one piece captured another, they actually fought, the former slaying the latter. At last we were brought into play, capturing a pawn. But then your father's queen charged across the board, straight toward us, her mount breathing fire that singed us from several squares away. It was clear that we were doomed.

"Then I woke up, of course."

Clearly, her sweetheart did not have fond memories of his first chess match. Not surprising.

But Felix' dream had given Birgit an idea. At her first opportunity, Birgit visited the minister at the Church of Saint Pancratius in Stroebeck. "Reverend Sir, there is a way in which our town can draw some business from Halberstadt."

"What do you have in mind, Birgit?"

"A game of what you might call, 'living chess.' The pieces are played by townspeople. The pawns are young children, the minor pieces are older ones. And perhaps the privilege of being the king, queen and rook could be sold to visitors. Captures would be presented as a mock battle. And the village champion could play a paying visitor. Or some dignitary."

"What an interesting idea, Birgit. I will tell the Mayor how clever you are."

"Oh, it wasn't my idea. I am just a girl, after all. It is something that Felix thought of." "Felix? The young artist your father disapproves of? You have been in touch with him?"

"Yes, sir. Please don't tell father. Felix will return in six months. He deserves a fair rematch. Please don't let father trick him into playing some crazy variant."

"Well, if he is willing to come back in six months, it says something about his character. And this 'living chess' idea of his, it speaks well for his creativity and intelligence. I will see what I can do."

On that first Thursday, Vince had taught Felix the moves of each piece, and taught him how to mate using the major pieces, the Queen and Rook, against a lone enemy King. He also showed him a few common chess situations: discovered check, double check, and forks. Felix was falling asleep at that point, and Vince ordered him home to get some sleep.

When Felix returned, the following week, Vince announced that it was time for Felix to play an actual game. Not surprisingly, Vince won match after match.

Felix sighed. "Chess is taking so long to learn. Sketching and painting came so naturally to me."

"I hope you won't take offense, young man," said Vince, "but I think that your time could be better spent putting your artistic skills to good use, rather than learning how to play chess. If you have a livelihood, your Birgit's father will be more likely to favor the marriage, and you can afford to pay that penalty if you lose the 'engagement' game."

Felix shrugged. "In the rest of Germany, your standing in the community is primarily dependent on your ancestry, and your financial situation. But in Stroebeck, a great deal of consideration is given to how well you play chess. So yes, I need to make money, but I cannot ignore the Stroebeckers' board game obsession."

"I understand. Let me show you what you did wrong in the last game." He did so.

"Dearest Birgit," wrote Felix. "I begrudge every day I must spend here in Grantville, without you. It is purgatory.

"Nonetheless, Grantville has its compensations. First of all, there are no guilds. Can you imagine that? I can sell my work without either paying dues, or waiting for a market day.

"Moreover, my landscape drawings have drawn attention from an unexpected quarter. The school here teaches a branch of natural philosophy which they call 'geology.' It is the study of the Earth. One of the teachers walked by and noticed how accurate my depiction of what they call the 'ring wall' was. I told him about where I have traveled, and the specimens I collected, and he said that the government might be interested in my services. I could make maps, and draw illustrations of minerals, rocks and landforms for the books they are writing, and even perhaps train to be a 'field geologist.'

"Please give me your advice."

Felix entrusted the letter to a friend who had business in the Harz Mountains. In token of his appreciation, Felix sketched the friend's daughter. "Her grandparents in Braunschweig will be very happyto see how much she's grown!" the friend commented.

The response came a month later. "Dearest Felix, I hope and trust that you immediately accepted this offer. It gives you a reliable source of income, which few artists enjoy. Moreover, it moves you into government circles in which you may come to the attention of greater men, whose patronage can allow you more freedom in what you choose to portray."

Birgit gritted her teeth. She knew it wasn't proper, but she couldn't help herself. This was the third time in three months that a young man had been invited to her home for dinner. A young,unmarried man, of good family and prospects, of course.

One would-be beau was a journeyman smith, who could take over her father's smithy one day. He had been unwise enough to say that he was "just passing through Stroebeck."

"Passing through Stroebeck?" she had asked in mock surprise. "On your way to where? Paris? Venice?

Vienna? Moscow? Far Cathay?" Before she was done with him, her victim wished he was in far Cathay.

Another, a clergyman's son, had bragged of having attended the University of Wittenberg. Birgit pretended to be impressed, lured him into a game of chess, and caught him in a four move Scholar's Mate. She then scornfully suggested that he return to his studies if he couldn't outplay a mere girl.

Birgit's father had sternly warned her to be polite this time. Or else. The latest pawn in her father's game of matrimony was even less promising than the first two. He was her second cousin, a merchant's clerk in Leipzig. He was handsome, but boring.

After an interminable dinner, in which he contributed such sprightly conversational tidbits as "pass the salt, cuz," Birgit suggested that they take a walk to the town square together. Her father beamed.

However, Birgit had made her plans. Once they were out of her father's sight, she said brightly, "Oh, we must stop at my friend Barbel's house. She will be so upset with me if I go to town without her." Cuz was agreeable to this detour.

They knocked, Barbel emerged, Barbel batted her eyelashes at Cuz, right on schedule. As the threesome walked, Birgit contrived to fall slightly behind the other two. In town, they encountered Anna.

Also on schedule.

Anna suggested that they go visit Max. Barbel demurred. "I have an idea," said Birgit. "Barbel can take our guest to see the Tower, and I will go with Anna. We will meet up at the square when we are done."

Cuz politely declined. "I am here to see Birgit, I can't leave her behind."

"Don't be silly, you have seen me many times before. Like that time when I was seven years old, and I threw up on you." Birgit could see that Cuz had not forgotten that incident.

"It is your duty to escort Barbel." It wasn't very logical, but Barbel was giving Cuz plenty of encouragement. Which Birgit wasn't. He agreed, and they all went their separate ways.

When Cuz proposed to Barbel a few weeks later, it was a surprise to her father, but definitely not to Birgit. Birgit had removed her father's rook, bishop and pawn from play, but she needed her knight to win the game.

Felix relaxed into the booth he'd managed to acquire at Tip's Bar. He'd achieved some notoriety, as he was the first down-timer his Grantville friends had met who could say he had been in America. More precisely, who had been in what, but for the Ring of Fire, would have become the United States.

One of his new up-timer friends, Louis Giamarino, bought the first round. "So, Felix, how come you're here?"

"Here in Tip's Bar? I am celebrating the printing of the new geology pamphlet I illustrated." Felix just happened to have a copy with him, which he proudly presented to Louis. It had sketches of the rim wall, with and without the rock formations labeled, diagrams explaining how a topographic map depicted a landscape, and so on.

Louis flipped through the slim pamphlet quickly, and closed it with a snap. "Well, congratulations. But I meant, here in Grantville. I'm telling you, if I could get back to America, I'd go in a heartbeat."

Felix shook his head. "It would not be the America you remember, the America in the twentieth-century books I have been shown. It is mostly wilderness. Beautiful, but savage."

Louis spotted a buddy, Tony Masaniello, and waved him over. "Hey, Tony, c'mere. This is Felix of New York."

"New York?" said Tony. "But you didn't come through the Ring of Fire."

"No, he lived indown-time New York. What they call New Amsterdam. But he was born in Holland."

"Really? How'd you end up in America, then?"

Felix took a deep breath. "This is a long story, please stop me if I am telling you too much.

"You have heard of Peter Minuit, perhaps? Herr Minuit was born in Wesel. He patronized my father's bookshop because he, too, was German born.

"In 1625, the Dutch West India Company honored Herr Minuit with the appointment of Director General of New Netherland. He asked my father if he knew of an artist, skilled, yet young enough to risk the rigors of a transatlantic voyage. One who could prepare maps, as well as drawings. Drawings which might intrigue the people back home to invest in the Company, and perhaps even to settle in New Netherland.

"My father, of course, volunteered me! But in truth I was pleased by the prospect of seeing new lands and peoples, and capturing them on paper and canvas. I stayed in the New World for several years."

Felix sighed. He was approaching the painful part. "Then, unfortunately, my patron had a falling-out with his superiors. He was recalled, and I left with him. That was in early 1632.

"Then matters turned from bad to worse. Our ship, theUnity , was damaged by a storm, and we had toseek shelter in the British port of Plymouth. Instead of offering us aid and comfort, the English threw us into prison and seized our goods, my paintings included."

"Why did they do that?"

"The English had the nerve to claim that because Cabot landed in Newfoundland in 1497, that they thereby gained title to all of America, including New Amsterdam. And so all of our American goods belonged to them, not us."

Felix raised his voice, involuntarily. "Unbelievable! Considering that Cabot thought he was on the shores of Asia. And, of course, that he didn't properly map the territory, or land settlers."

"Easy, Felix, don't burst an artery."

"We were released, eventually, but we didn't reach Amsterdam until May of 1632. And I never saw my American paintings again."

Felix shrugged. "I have heard that King Charles is fond of art. He knighted Rubens and Van Dyck, after all. I suppose that my paintings are now in good company, at least."

Felix took a long swallow. "Fortunately, the English thieves didn't think to take my sketchbooks. And, of course, I still own all the artwork that I did before I went to the New World.

"It is really too bad that so much of it is still trapped in Amsterdam. I would like to show Birgit my etchings."

All the up-timers laughed. Felix looked at them confused. What was so funny?

Hans Wegener normally had his son go to Halberstadt for supplies not available in Stroebeck, but this time he had to make the trip himself. Karl was sick in bed.

Hans had traipsed about more than he expected to; his usual supplier had been out of stock on several items. Hans passedThe Roasted Pig , and decided to stop for something to eat before returning to Stroebeck.

Hans placed his order, and then noticed that the innkeeper was giving him a strange look. Hans beckoned the man over. "Am I a two-headed calf? Why do you stare at me so?"

"It is just that you look very much like someone who comes here regularly."

"A younger man? Perhaps an inch taller than me, but a similar build? Big frontal lock of hair, always askew?"

"Yes, that's the one. His name is Karl."

"That's my son. He's sick today. I am in town in his stead."

"Ah, then you'll be wanting his mail." Mail?

Rummage, rummage. The innkeeper found what he was looking for. "Here you are." He extended his hand for a tip, and Hans grudgingly gave him a small coin.

Hans studied both sides of the letter, then held it up to the light.Enough , he thought. He broke the seal, and read the letter. His face purpled.

My son! My daughter! In cahoots with that artist! I'll disown them! And I'll throttle that Felix!

Wait. I have a better idea."Are you a father?" he asked the innkeeper.

"Why, yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

"Your son, or daughter, ever do anything foolish? Despite your warnings?" Many times, the innkeeper assured him.

"Well this letter writing, it is about something foolish. And parents must look out for each other in these situations. So what I would like you to do is this. If any other letters come in for Karl, you tell him nothing, but hold them for me. And I will come by, from time to time, and pay you a silver piece for each one. Also, if Karl has any letters to send, you accept them, but don't send them on. I will buy them back at the same price."

Whether driven by parental solidarity, or professional cupidity, the innkeeper agreed.

That's that, thought Hans.Check!