The stall owner reached down under the stall table and with a flourish produced a board, a little faded in colour, but serviceable. From a corner of the stall table he picked up a wooden box and slid back the cover. “A full set, sir. Check if you like, but they’re all there. A fine set, sir. No doubt about it.”
David smiled apologetically as he meticulously removed the slightly faded chess pieces from their box and counted them out, despite the young man’s assurances, black first then white. “Yes, very good. I think these will do. How much?”
“Three zloty.”
“You are joking my friend. One zloty.”
The stallholder sucked in his breath and shook his head. “Two zloty.”
The two men haggled for a few minutes and settled on one zloty and fifty groszy. David handed over the money.
“Shall I wrap it, sir?” The stallholder pulled some old newspaper out from a box at his feet.
“Yes, please, but can you keep it for me? I have an appointment nearby. I will be back in an hour. Will that be alright?”
The toothless grin again. “Of course, sir. I’ll be here for the rest of the day. Don’t worry.”
“Good. See you later then.”
The stallholder bowed low and doffed his cap again.
Worrying that it was probably unwise to place such trust in a market vendor, David slipped through the narrow gap between a stall selling homemade jams and honey and another selling kettles and pots and pans and found himself in front of an impressive doorway. Up two steps and set a few feet back from the pavement was a high, broad, oak door, to reach which he had to step through a magnificent stone portal. Some of the masonry above the door was covered in gilt and in the centre stood a unicorn with a bright, golden horn. With one hoof raised and its head turned, it stared imperiously into the square.
David stepped up from the pavement and reached for the heavy, black door knocker. He struck the door twice and could hear the sound of the vibrating oak echoing in the room beyond.
A white-haired man in an old-fashioned, green servant’s uniform appeared at the door. He had a long, bushy, white moustache, the ends of which hung down well below his chin.
“I am—”
The man put his finger to his lips. He looked coldly at David. “Yes, I know. You are expected. Please, come in.”
David went in and stepped onto a highly polished, marble floor. Above him, dark oak beams traversed the ceiling and around the walls were scattered heavily framed and forbidding portraits of members of the Polish nobility through the ages.
“I will let the master know you are here.” The servant inclined his head towards a high-backed, wooden chair in the far corner of the room, which was otherwise devoid of furniture. Then he disappeared through another thick, oak door and David sat down carefully on what proved to be a singularly uncomfortable chair.
He glanced up and noticed that the ceiling in between the strong old beams was covered in faded, decorative artwork. The unicorn featured heavily as did various other mythical or non-mythical animals. David presumed that there was some symbolic, heraldic meaning in the design. He looked down to appreciate the beauty and symmetry of the star-patterned marble floor and then stood up and stretched his arms in the air. The pain in his right arm was pounding again and he rubbed it vigorously. He sat back down and began to relax, only then to be assailed by fresh uncertainties. Perhaps Hannah was right and this job could only lead to trouble? But what choice did he have? His talent was what created the opportunity, but then again, without his talent he would still be languishing in the Pawiak Prison. What other choice did he have? Survival was at stake.
He heard steps in the adjoining room. The door flew open and David stood up. His right arm shuddered in a brief spasm.
“Ah, there you are. Come, come, my clever friend. Come through here, if you please.”
*
Monday, September 16, 1940