The Necromancer's Gambit: Arbiter
Nicolas Wilson
Queen steps out of the doorway, and in his place is a shriveled older man. “No one’s ever happy to see me,” he says.
“Well, you are kind of a grim reaper- or at least a bad omen,” the King says. “Gentleman, this is Rupert Essex of the National Gambit.”
“Grim? I’m actually quite a happy person.” He smiles, but he’s missing half his teeth, and he’s more wrinkle than man, so the effect is far more gruesome than intended. “But I do have to inform you that there’s been a formal challenge to the Gambit’s authority. According to the rules of the charter, that places your legitimacy in doubt, and until that doubt can be resolved, you’re on your own. The National Gambit will remain neutral during the coming conflict.”
“Okay,” I say. “So there’s a conflict coming. What else can you tell us?”
“Not very much, I’m afraid. See, that would fall under aid and comfort, which are strictly forbidden. But what I can say is the other Gambit’s head, and the formal challenger, is a necromancer who has taken to calling himself the Black King.”
“We always knew we were dealing with a necro,” I say.
“Yes, well, know you know you know it, don’t you?,” the Arbiter says with a grin. “But, as it’s an esoteric bit of minutiae, I can articulate for you the rules of a challenge. Largely, they’re fluid. This isn’t a boxing match, after all, there’s no such thing as a technical knock out. It’s a conflict, that can take any shape the combatants see fit to sculpt. They can undermine you or simply annihilate you. The last gambit standing, in the public’s view or in reality, will be declared victorious, and to the victor the spoils.”
“So the rules are there are no rules?”
“You’re not allowed to kill me. Or bribe me. Or bribe me with death.”
“I think that’s called threatening.”
“I liked my formulation,” he says, folding his boney fingers.
“So the one rule is we can’t interfere with the Arbiter- who gets to decide when the fighting is done.”
“In a nutshell. It’s all very exciting. I don’t get to do these much anymore. Everyone’s always so damnably civilized; dreadfully boring. Give me the old days, skin melting off faces, genitals exploding into murderous shrapnel.”
“Rupert, I believe you’re disturbing my Gambit,” the King says.
“Well perhaps they should be disturbed. This isn’t teddy bears and lollipop magic anymore, unless the teddy bears are enchanted to have razor claws to carve a tiny teddy den in your bellies, and the lollipops are Chlamydia flavored, and infested with eggs that hatch into spiders that eat flesh and defecate acid.”
“Rupert. At this point you’re molesting my morale.”
“Molesting?” The Arbiter’s face somehow wrinkles even more with indignation. “I was cleared of all those charges. I happen to think an apprentice looks smart in his under things; there’s no impropriety in that.”
King rubs his brow. “When your rationale was because it was a warm summer’s day, and your casting gave off heat, the Gambits supported you; when it was raining and your reasoning was to keep the boys’ clothes dry, that’s when you ran yourself into trouble. But I wasn’t referring to that, Rupert.”
“Yes, I suppose you weren’t a part of the tribunal, were you? The mind wanders, at times, at my advanced maturity. But here I go, talking about myself, when you’re supposed to be ignoring me, and any snoring or flatulence that might emanate from my cloak.” He says, and puts a large hood over his head as he sits down noisily in a chair by the door. “That noise was the chair… I think.”
“Looks like death, doesn’t he?” Queen whispers.
“Yet strangely vital,” Harry said.
“You can sense that?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking. The closer to death someone is, the more connected they are to the necromantic arts. It’s not a science - I can’t predict death- particularly not violent or accidental ones. But for his age, internally, he’s well preserved.”
“As a young man I liked candy corn and sun tanning; we didn’t know at the time this is what that does to a human body.”
“But what about the” Pawn starts to ask, motioning to his own back.
“My hunch? When my mother told me to stand up straight I thought she was being silly. If it’s uncomfortable to do, why would it be healthy? So that is a mound of hubris- but the fascinating bit is it actually shrinks when I achieve erection, something about starving it of bloodflow, one would think.”
“So it’s a campaign, then,” Queen said, trying to ignore the Arbiter. “Not only militarily, but politically. Most of you haven’t dealt with this, nobody argues over the street level positions, and King, long as anybody living can recall, has always been King. But back when I became Queen, there was intense rivalry for the posting. I waged a rigorous PR campaign to get the job; we need to do the same, to shore up our support. But where should we start?”
“I have a hunch,” the Arbiter says, then starts to giggle madly.
“Are you high or something?” I ask.
“No, you see, I have a notion and a hunch.” He cackles again, so forcefully I expect his ribs to snap. “Oh, but what were we talking about?”
“We might be more productive if we simply ignore him,” the King says.
“That’s what I keep instructing you to do,” the Arbiter says, huffy, “but the only thing you’ve ignored so far was my suggestion that you ignore me.”
“We live or die based on people’s approval of our work,” the King says grimly. “And given the stakes our competition have been playing for, that could be quite literally.”
“We’ll schedule an event,” Queen starts, “a fundraiser. A ball of Cinderellic proportions. It’ll empty our coffers. But we have to be boisterous. We can’t be intimidated. We can’t be cowed. If people think a handful of thugs can push us around, then what’s the point of paying taxes? If we can’t protect ourselves, we can’t protect them. So we have to show them we’re not afraid.”
“Okay,” Rook says from the doorway, and I wonder how long she’s been there. “But I’m afraid. Am I the only one? Not that it matters. I’m the noobie. I can say I’m scared without anybody thinking anything about it. But if you’re not scared, you’re stupid. And I don’t think any of you are stupid- not even Pawn.”
“We’re all scared,” Queen says. “Bt the important thing is what we do with that fear. And I intend to cram it right back down the black gambit’s throats. And this is how we start doing that.”