Excerpt from The Chess Machine by Robert Lohr, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

It had started to rain again: a fine, cold, persistent November rain. Tibor went back down the deserted alleys to the tavern on the Rio San Canciano, where the landlord and his two barmaids were still busy clearing up. The landlord was not pleased to see the troublemaker back. He told Tibor that the merchant had taken Tibor's stake and his chess set away as souvenirs. When Tibor asked for the Venetian's name and address, the landlord sent him packing.

Outside the tavern Tibor stood in the rain, undecided, until the two barmaids put their heads around the door. They'd tell Tibor the man's name and address, said one of them, but in return they wanted a look at his prick, because yesterday evening they'd been wondering if it was really true that dwarves have bigger cocks than ordinary men. Tibor was left speechless, but he had no choice. Without his chess set, he was finished. He made sure they were alone, then briefly exposed himself. The delighted barmaids giggled and gave Tibor the address.

 

 

Tibor spent the rest of the day keeping watch outside the Venetian's palazzo. He was soon drenched by the rain, but the advantage of the weather was that the citizens—and most important of all, the carabinieri—hurried past and took no notice of him. With his hood over his head, he looked like a lost child.

Tibor had to possess his soul in patience until evening. Then the merchant came out of his house. He was wearing a black cape over a showy frock coat, with a plumed hat to keep the rain off. Tibor followed him at a suitable distance. In spite of the rain, the Venetian's sweet perfume was so strong that Tibor wouldn't have lost track of him even blindfolded. When they had walked down several streets, Tibor caught up with him. The merchant was surprised to see the dwarf again and put one hand to the hilt of his rapier to make sure it was at the ready. He did not stop, and Tibor had difficulty in keeping up.

"Go away, you little monster."

"I want my stake and my chess set back."

"How you managed to get out of the piombi I don't know, but I can make sure you go back there in no time at all."

"You should be shut up there! Give me my chess set!"

The merchant put a hand inside his cape and brought out Tibor's set. "This one?"

Tibor lunged for it, but the Venetian held it out of reach. "I'm off to play a few games with my lady friend. We have our own chess sets, of course, one pewter, one very valuable with marble chessmen, but this one"—and he shook Tibor's shabby chess set so that the chessmen inside rattled—"this one will give the whole thing a rustic touch. More personal."

"I can't live without my chess set!"

The merchant put the set away again. "All the better."

Tibor tugged at the man's cape. With one swift movement the Venetian had freed himself, drawn his sword, and held the blade to Tibor's throat. "Any aesthete would be grateful to me for slitting your throat, so don't give me an excuse."

Tibor raised his hands in a placatory gesture. The Venetian pushed the sword back into its sheath and walked away, laughing.

 

 

By the time the Venetian left his mistress's house just before morning to retrace his steps home, Tibor had spent eight hours imagining the two of them in the warm, surrounded by delicious food and wines and silken cushions, playing amateurish chess and then making love, laughing all the time at the thought of the inebriated, well-thrashed dwarf who now, in wet clothes and without a roof over his head, was longing to have his pathetic chessboard back. Tibor was prepared: he was ensconced in a narrow alley beside the canal on the Venetian's way home, hidden among the construction materials on a building site. He had found a rope and tied one end to a basket full of bricks standing at the side of the canal.

Excerpted from The Chess Machine by Robert Loer. Copyright © 2007 by Robert Loer. Excerpted by permission of Penguin Group. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.