Tragically the air today was of a cooler substance, especially so at dusk. The wind, having fallen to a lull for the past few months, whipped back into a frenzy that even threw the sand into the air. The yellow grains quickly dissipated into thin and tiny granules —no, tiny atoms— that one couldn’t see no matter how hard they tried. This atom was an odd magical concept Bhagat had explained to Vishar a few weeks back in his presence. And it was the sight of this spectacle unfolding in the wind that Bhagat feared the most, for the monsoon was coming and it’d be arriving within a few days time.

“There it is.”

Meethi, flanked by his 12 guards, marched down the wide streets of Karkaatpur. In the distance was a large and spectacular yellow sandstone and marble manor, complete with Haraan-styled windows and Kashaari domes. The walls itself gave off a noble entitlement, being erected in yellow sandstone. But this wasn’t a noble home. Instead it belonged to one of the three richest families in Lohaan, who all happened to be dishonorable merchants. Meethi noticed the representative standing at the entrance, wearing vibrant colors that paled in comparison to the gray clothed Taal servants picking up inconveniences around the walls.

“This humble representative Meethi ka Gahkhar greets servant Budhaan ka Jattwalia,” spoke Meethi in a calm tone, clasping his two hands together in accordance to courtly tradition. Though that one sentence was merely a hollow mask, the words themselves stabbing him repeatedly.

Since when did these merchant families, a shady people engaged in a shady profession, decide that they were of an equal status as a lord? It was ridiculous. Instead of Aanik Jattwalia presenting himself as was tradition, he sent his own representative to greet him. Normally Meethi would scoff at their arrogance but alas he’d come to their den, instead hiding his belligerence for a more tactful method. And then there was this way of speech among the Kashaari merchants here that infuriated him beyond comprehension. Where in all of Azaad would a warrior of a lord have to speak like they were trying to flatter their guests with each sentence? Of course, it was to the two-faced merchants, who exchanged the lax Lohaani way of speech for more stiff and suffocating mannerisms.

“This humble servant Budhaan ka Jattwalia greets representative Meethi ka Gahkhar.” The man himself didn’t seem all too humble, donning a vibrant indigo and saffron dress made of the finest silks. Even his turban held an extravagance few could contend with, being a central Azaadi pheta of indigo design with a golden chain strapped along the right side for extra status. He revealed a long smile. “Please, this way.” and gestured along the trail going around the Jattwalia mansion. Meethi motioned his warriors to accompany him.

Indigo is for military service, not for licking coins. Meethi wanted to curse the man, but kept it within him. There was no other explanation for the elaborate and out-of-touch outfit that exceeded even his indigo but cloth dress. This man must be close to the family, to be wearing a gold chain...

“Representative Meethi,” he began. His voice was warm yet fake and his eyes calculating, as if probing his posture and expression. “This humble servant heard tales regarding Lord Gahkhar and the other lords capture. May the Creator be with them.”

“This humble representative agrees. We pray the Creator for their safe and swift return.”

A gust of wind rushed through the sides of their residence, whipping Budhaan’s loose clothing with it.

“This humble servant apologizes for the delay in the invitation, the family courier had troubles locating the residence you resided.”

“This humble representative accepts the apology with grace,” said Meethi, trying to hide his twitching smile. To hell with these fools, they intentionally didn’t send it until this afternoon! They’re playing with us!

“If this humble servant may ask, are you perchance famished?”

Meethi folded his hands behind his chest. “No no. This humble representative had a meal with his guard a few hours ago.”

“Truly?” The man sighed, though his expression seemed indifferent. “This humble servant wished to discuss news from the east.”

Meethi smiled. “Perchance another time.”

Budhaan turned away, glancing at the flowers resting to his left. “Yes, perhaps another time.” Those words churned out of the man’s mouth slowly, as if to maximize his dissatisfaction. “This servant believes Lord Gahkhar sent you here with the express intention of finalizing the deal my older brother and his partners proposed. Is this servant correct?” he asked, snapping his head back to Meethi.

Meethi nodded. “Yes,” making sure it appeared he didn’t know the contents of that deal.

“This servant is sad to say that Merchant Jattwalia was preoccupied at a reception in Surajpur; however, he’ll return before evening tomorrow.”

“That’s a shame.” Meethi took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

They’re stalling us, huh? To make us feel like we’re a hostage to their whims. Meethi glanced at their garden, hiding his increasingly angered expression. The scene looked beautiful. None of the bushes were cut improperly and the scene was lush with grass, the blades turning and curling with the wind breeze. Grey-clothed Taal servants marched around, making sure the scene kept its feelings of extravagance and prestige. Though that made Meethi angrier. These Taal servants were probably being paid close to nothing for tending to this grand garden. It was even more tragic still, since the coming monsoon would end up murdering the sight within the first night and, with it, all the hard work these young men had done.

Now should be the moment Bhagat was talking about. He turned back to the suspicious Budhaan. “This humble representative has heard your Jattwalia family is very fond of the ‘chess’ from the west. The previous Lord Gurman ka Gahkhar spoke about it at length.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the sly fox, folding his hands. “Yes! This humble servant is proud to say that this family is indeed interested in the game, having imported it from the Horidnozai.”

Meethi raised a brow. “If this representative dare ask, more interesting than chaturanga?”

“Of course, the game is much simpler and more decisive,” replied Budhaan, still giving his fake smile. “It’s perhaps one of the greatest innovations in this World. A magnificent invention!”

Meethi frowned. “Truly?”

Budhaan kept his smiling mask. “Of course.”

Just how arrogant can this man be? Rejecting even our ancient strategy games that the Great Mahabsas’ used in their war against the Vatasras? Pathetic. Meethi shook his head, making sure Budhaan caught his grimace. “This humble representative believes our chaturanga isn’t something that should be sidelined. It’s been a part of our traditions for millennium.”

The merchant narrowed his eyes. “This humble servant believes, as does this family, that sometimes one must forgo the old for the new,” he replied. He stopped at a fork along the path, turning to reveal his shady smile. “This servant has an idea,” he gestured towards a side entrance to their residence. “Since your business won’t be finished for another day, perhaps we could try a few rounds and then retire for the night?”

Meethi scoffed. “If you wish.” He gave the man his confident smile as another forceful wind blew past the two men. “Let us see how much better this chess is to our chaturanga.”

 

AFTER SETTLING INTO ELABORATE CHAIRS IN THE RECREATION ROOM OF THE JATTWALIA RESIDENCE, BUDHAAN EXPLAINED THE RULES OF CHESS AND MEETHI FOLLOWED ALONG.

“This humble servant believes that is all.”

Meethi nodded, glancing at the red and blue chessboard. On it were kings and queens and odd figures called rooks and bishops. There weren’t any of the elephants, a hallmark of Azaadi influence that had apparently evolved from chaturanga. He picked up his queen, colored in pure black. Why was this piece the strongest? What the hell happened for westerners to make this piece the greatest, when it was actually supposed to be the worst? And these bishops and rooks… why did they seem so excessive in their moves? And why was there a strategy called castling? Meethi placed his queen back down. There was no point in complaining, those westerners were simply an absurd bunch.

Budhaan rubbed his two hands together, his posture enthusiastic. “Let us begin.” he said, picking up the pawn and placing it on the board.

.

.

.

Meethi bit into his finger, mumbling some curses. Slowly, the tragedy that was his chessboard crept into his conscious. He only had his king, a rook and a few pawns left. Glancing over to white, Budhaan still had half of his pieces, including his queen.

And they all circled around his king like vultures.

“Checkmate,” said Budhaan, placing his rook right in front of Meethi’s king. “This humble servant is surprised, for this game ended rather quickly.” He glanced over to Meethi. “Though this servant admires your resilience,” he added, smiling.

Meethi glanced at his hand.

Flushed.

He grumbled, scratching at his chest and then the lining around his turban to subdue the itches that had plagued his thoughts. “Another round,” he replied, tapping his finger nail on the board. “This humble representative asks for another game.”

“Of course.” Budhaan kept his smile. “If honorable representative asks.”

.

.

.

The sweat accumulating along his forehead felt like a massive surrender of his pride. Meethi closed his eyes shut, hearing the final piece land on the board.

“Checkmate,” said Budhaan, his voice like a damned tiger leaping for its food.

Sweat flowed down Meethi’s cheek. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and, using his shaking hand, gently dabbed it along his face.

“This servant wonders if honorable representative is satisfied for the night? That was the 13th game.”

Meethi gave a nervous glance towards the smiling man. He turned his eyes away, glancing back at the disaster that was his second loss. “No,” he said, shaking his head resolutely. “This representative asks for another game.”

.

.

.

Meethi’s eyes couldn’t look on for any longer, the nerves around them struggling to keep open as the last move sealed his fate for the umpteenth time.

“Checkmate.” The Queen hit the board, the noise booming into his ears and locking his king in place. Surrounding his liege were a knight and a rook and a bishop. “This servant thinks this game is complete,” he spoke, his voice the same tone has it had been since they met. Meethi stared at the tragedy, finding his heart ache from the racing and his breaths a little shallow from the losses.

Sweat dripped down to his dress. Glancing down, he could see the fluid form islands of darker shades of blue on his indigo clothing.

“This humble servant thins that the game was very fun.” Budhaan swept all the pieces towards his side and, in the process, swallowed his liege up in his hands.

“Wouldn’t representative agree that chess is much more intriguing than chaturanga?”

Meethi bit his tongue, taking his spare cloth out again to clean the sweat off his face for the umpteenth time.

“Yes… I suppose so…” he mumbled.

Budhaan leaned in. “Pardon me representative Meethi, but I didn’t quite catch that.”

His words were pronounced, like each letter was a sharpened weapon ready to stab him through the gut. Meethi swallowed down his parched throat, looking Budhaan in the eye. “This representative agrees with humble servant.”

“This servant understands…” The bastard recoiled, rising from his seat. “Perhaps humble representative should retire for the night, it’s already quite late.”

Meethi rose from his chair, feeling the sweat that had at one point latched to his seat unravel. In a mere second the cold sweat made the skin on his back crawl, retreating from the cold and damp sensation. Normally that feeling was reserved for after a battle, but now it had manifested in a few games of this chess.

Meethi took a few staggered steps, his legs stiffened from the violent slaughter he had endured for a good couple hours.

“Humble representative.”

Meethi turned.

Budhaan rested his palm on the table. “Perhaps you should go take a shower before you sleep,” he began, giving the same damned smile. “It helps for a good night’s rest.”

 

THE LOSSES THAT NIGHT MADE HIS SLEEP A NIGHTMARE BUT BY MIDDAY IT HAD ALL BECOME BUT A DREAM AS FLASHES OF LIGHT BOLTED ONE SECOND AND RETREATED THE NEXT, FOLLOWED BY A BOOM OF THUNDER.

Meethi gripped the documents in his hand, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves.

He humiliated himself and his lord for this one moment.

This one moment, where one simple move could spell either life or death.

I’ve done all I could. He tried swallowing down the mucus accumulating in his throat, though it didn’t seem to budge. It seemed he’d already expended too much capital to let the plan go to failure.

Aanik Jattwalia arrived this morning, yet he’s been cooped in that bloody study room of his for a good few hours with that sly fool.

He closed his eyes and took in one final breath, chilling his nerves to an unordinary calm.

They probably discussed what had happened upon Meethi’s arrival yesterday and the nervousness that crept him in those 27 games of chess he played with Budhaan, each one crushing his pride and churning his stomach. Even thinking about it made him cringe so hard he’d rather kill himself than see Bhagat again.

The door beside him creaked open suddenly, the eeriness making Meethi jump a little as Budhaan’s head poked out through the door.

“Representative Meethi,” he began, wearing his cursed smile. “This servant didn’t mean to scare you. Please, come in.”

Meethi again took a deep breath, burying the losses in his head. Going through the door he entered the magnificent study room. All around were books lining the walls and several other tables that had piles of documents laying around.

And sitting at the far back was Aanik Jattwalia who clasped his hands together, but remained in his seat.

“Greetings representative Meethi ka Gahkhar,” he boomed, his fat figure projecting a peculiar confidence.

How rude. Meethi hid his disgust, instead straightening his figure and reciprocating the greeting.

“Representative Meethi ka Gahkhar greets Merchant Aanik ka Jattwalia.”

Both their hands retreated, Meethi’s hands settling on the sides while Aanik leaned in on the table, the light revealing the whisks of gray hair in his beard as another flash and a boom echoed from outside.

“How was your journey here? This mere merchant imagines the trip was quite difficult considering the circumstances.”

Meethi smiled. “The journey was very difficult for this humble representative, especially upon receiving news of an Afraari raid on some of the villages along the frontier to the south.”

“I see…” Aanik smiled. “This humble merchant shall be quick and sign the little agreement proposed to Lord Bhagat ka Gahkhar.”

Meethi handed the documents to Budhaan, who settled each document —one for Bhagat and the other for the merchant association— across the desk for Aanik to view.

Thunder crackled with a flash of lightning, the sound even throwing the flames from the torches around as the rain poured like a mantra, twisting Meethi’s heart to it’s rhythm as each layer lashed the ground.

Aanik leaned in, giving the documents a closer look. It was as if he merely skimming the documents laid in front of him, since he merely brushed through the pages with his finger. He picked the small iron cast beside the jar of wax, pressed it in and, bringing it towards the document, he pressed again.

The deed had been done.

He then did it a second time and Meethi took in a small breath.

Aanik placed the iron cast back on the wooden desk. Budhaan picked both documents up.

“The deed is done,” said Aanik, his voice ecstatic. He rose from his chair and gave Meethi a frightening smile.

“This mere merchant bids farewell to representative.”

“As does this representative to the humble merchant.”

Aanik laughed. “Please, do send Lord Gahkhar this mere merchant’s regards, for he hopes for our relationship to reach new levels of glory and fortune for the future.”

My ass. Meethi clasped his two hands together, giving the over-sized man a smile. “This servant shall send Lord Bhagat ka Gahkhar regards from Merchant Aanik ka Jattwalia with exceptional expediency.” He then accepted the agreement from Budhaan, who gestured to the study’s exit.

“This humble servant shall guide representative Meethi to wherever he likes.”

“This representative humbly accepts Budhaan ka Jattwalia’s assistance. Due to the urgent expediency of this matter, this humble representative asks to be escorted out of this most handsome residence.”

“This humble servant understands. Please, follow me.”

They both began retreating from the lion’s den, the noise of their footsteps dwarfed by the mad thunder outside. He glanced down at the document in his hands, feeling the warmth of the paper underneath the hot wax seal of the merchants association. Curling it, he slid it into his pocket bag.

It was as you said Lord Gahkhar. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the halls and, a split second later, the thunder shook the torchlights, the little crackles of fire searing the marble floor with minuscule black stains. To get one to eat the bait, one must play four-dimensional chess.