‘And,’ said Colm, with an edge to his voice, ‘we’ll both take another glass of wine.’
Storm clouds were gathering outside as they began to play, and the light from the lamps cast pools of light. But outside of those pools, Declan had the increasing feeling that something hid in the thick shadows and that it watched from sly narrow eyes.
Sheehan’s expression was unreadable. He played the black pieces, and when Colm captured his bishop, Sheehan shrugged and said, ‘A weak piece. Of little account. In Persian tradition, the piece was originally an elephant. Later, the Europeans called it Aufin. Aufin is related to a French word for fool. It’s curious how language merges one with another, isn’t it, and produces totally different words and meanings? But in that case the transformation was appropriate, for most bishops I ever met were fools anyway.’
Colm said, ‘Chess is a Persian game, isn’t it?’
‘Who knows? Some tell how the God Euphron created it, or that it began as a dice-playing game at the Siege of Troy. But most legends place its origins in India, although it was supposed to be part of the princely education of Persian nobility.’
‘You’re very knowledgeable,’ said Colm, with reluctant admiration.
‘I learned a little – a very little – from the man who owned this set before me. He possessed far more knowledge than I ever will,’ said Sheehan.
When Sheehan’s King was placed in jeopardy, Colm gave a soft hoot of triumph, and Sheehan said, ‘Yes, that’s a telling move. But you should not feel too pleased with yourself. The King is the most important piece, but it’s the Queen who is the most powerful.’
But as the black pieces were taken with measured inexorability, Colm and Declan had the impression that Sheehan no longer cared if he won or lost. Whether he was suddenly tired of the old legend and wanted to put an end to it, they had no idea, but at length the black Queen was cornered. As Colm reached out to lift the ebony figure from the board, the tiny jewelled eyes in the carved head caught the light and seemed to glint evilly. Colm hesitated. Then he shrugged and his fingers closed round the figure.
Sheehan and Colm looked at one another for a long moment. Then Sheehan said, ‘Congratulations, Colm. A game well played. I imagine you’re about to demand I keep our bargain.’
‘I am.’
‘Leave Kilglenn? Leave this tower?’
‘That was the agreement.’
‘A gentleman’s agreement only. And,’ said Sheehan, ‘it’s a long while since I was regarded as a gentleman.’
Colm said, ‘You’re reneging on the deal?’
‘An ugly word.’
‘Well?’
‘I’m not leaving this place,’ said Sheehan. ‘I can’t.’
As the words fell on the old room, something seemed to enter it – something that was not part of the ocean or the greasy lamplight, but that hissed its way through the black bars of the tiny window and scalded its way round the old walls.
‘Then by God, I’ll make you!’
‘Colm, no!’ Declan started forward, but Colm was already on his feet, his fists clenched, and Declan had the astonishing impression that the hissing anger had poured into Colm and glared from his eyes.
Sheehan threw up a hand to defend himself, backing away. In doing so, he stumbled against the chess table and fell. His head hit the stone floor with a sickening crunch and his neck lolled at a dreadful angle. There was a gasping exhalation of breath, then his eyes rolled upwards and he was still.
The scalding anger drained from the room as quickly as it had come, and Colm stood staring down at the prone figure, white-faced, his eyes no longer holding the terrible glare.
‘He’s dead,’ said Declan in panic. ‘Mother of God, he’s dead and it’s your fault, you bloody madman.’
‘He’s shamming,’ said Colm, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. ‘Feel for a heartbeat – it’ll be pounding away like a tinker’s drum. Well?’ he said, as Declan knelt down and thrust a hand inside Nicholas Sheehan’s jacket.
‘Nothing. Wait though – a mirror.’
‘What in God’s name . . . ?’
‘You put a mirror to somebody’s lips to see are they breathing. If they are, it mists the mirror. Fetch that glass from the wall there.’
‘I’m telling you he’ll sit up in a minute and laugh at us,’ said Colm, but he unhooked the small oval mirror from the wall and between them they lowered it over Sheehan’s face.
‘Nothing,’ said Declan presently. ‘He’s not breathing. He’s dead.’
‘It’s my fault,’ said Colm, staring at Sheehan’s body, in horror. ‘Only, I didn’t mean to kill him, I swear to all the saints. I didn’t so much as touch him, Declan, you know that.’
‘I do know. But would anyone else?’ said Declan.
‘They’ll hang me for a murderer.’
‘Of course they won’t.’
‘He’s a priest, for God’s sake! Of course they will! What do I do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, think. Can we leave him here and not know anything? Will he be missed?’
‘He might be missed after a few days,’ said Declan, trying to think clearly. ‘He’s noticeable. If he’s around in Kilglenn or even Kilderry, people always remember seeing him because of the old story about the chessmen.’
The chessmen. They both glanced uneasily at the carved figures.
‘And,’ said Declan, speaking reluctantly, ‘for all he set himself up as a . . . a hermit, I think he has visitors here at times. People seek him out. My father once said some of the young men considering entering the Church come to talk to him. Colm, his body will be found, and people will know he was killed. There’s a socking great bruise on his head.’
‘Where he hit it on the ground.’
‘Yes, but would people think someone had hit him with a fist?’
‘Well, you had nothing to do with it,’ said Colm firmly.