Chapter 13: Me Lucky Charms

Chapter 13: Me Lucky Charms 
Deciding it would be wise not to mention what he had overheard in the toilet to Jenny because he didn’t want her to say I told you so, Barry was relieved when an arbiter entered the hotel bar and announced the tournament was going to begin. ‘I still can’t believe you were taught by Bogdan Petrov,’ whispered Jenny in Barry’s ear. ‘That’s an incredible story. What was he like?’ ‘Frightening, nobody messed with him in there anyway.’ Somewhat out of modesty, but mostly out of fear that Jenny would think him a liar, he decided not to mention that he’d never lost a single game of chess to old Bogdan: it just sounded so unbelievable now that he knew the crazy, axe-wielding murderer had once been a world champion. ‘Maybe he was out of practice when I played him…’ he thought. ‘Maybe he’d gone senile and his skills had rusted…’ Barry knew he was good at chess, although he didn’t feel he’d earned it with years of hard work, and it was likely he felt this way because he hadn’t. It was clear to him the frozen leg of lamb that’d hit his head had given him extraordinary mental abilities, but he was still blissfully unaware of the level of genius now at his command. Elijah Bird was like a giant stick insect. He was even thinner than Barry and he was tall, skyscraper tall. Barry didn’t want to so much as hazard a guess at his height, being too intimidated to look up at him. Sitting down at the desk where he’d be playing Barry, Elijah towered over his opponent, his limbs extending out well beyond the confines of the comparatively
187 small chair and table. This had the effect of making Barry feel yet more intimidated. What became laughable though was how Barry’s habit of hunching over the board during play made the size difference appear even greater. Keeping his head close to the game, his eyes rapidly flicking over the position of the pieces, Barry never once looked up. He employed this tactic always; however, it proved particularly useful on this occasion because he knew he’d be terrified if he gazed up at the immense, albeit slender physique of his challenger, who he imagined would be staring mordantly over him. For Barry the games against Bird flew by and he actually began to enjoy himself, although he was sensible enough to not outwardly express this pleasure: he did not wish Mr Bird to turn nasty. Barry had won the first two games by playing some quite remarkable chess and a small crowd had gathered round to see who this wildcard was. Unhampered by a nutrient deficiency, the vast room service meal the night before and the morning’s huge breakfast had worked wonders, enhancing his game to new heights. Unknown to Barry, as he was keeping his attention keenly focused upon the game, he did not see that Elijah Bird was sweating profusely and seemed highly embarrassed by his poor showing. He was not one of the tournament favourites, but Bird was regarded as a solid practitioner, yet here he was getting dismantled by this newcomer who nobody had heard of before and looked like he was fresh from being paraded in the tramp’s hall of shame. ‘Checkmate,’ said Barry blankly, attempting to not show any sense of triumph in his voice. ‘Good game pal.’ It hadn’t been a good game at all since Barry had won 3-0 and had, with apparent ease, absolutely trounced the highly-respected Elijah Bird.