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

When the merchant came along, Tibor stretched the rope. His enemy fell to the ground, and Tibor was on him at once, tying his hands behind his back. Tibor had never stolen anything in his life; he just wanted to recover his own property. He would even forgo his stake. Once the merchant realized what was happening, he shouted for help. One of Tibor's hands closed over his mouth. With his other hand the dwarf tugged the chess set out from under the man's cape. But then the Venetian suddenly reared and threw Tibor off his back. The chess set dropped to the ground and fell open. The chessmen were scattered over the paving stones, and some of them fell into the water of the canal.

The Venetian was faster than Tibor. Since his arms were still pinioned, he gave Tibor a powerful kick. As the dwarf fell, his back hit the basket of bricks and sent it toppling over the edge into the canal. The rope stretched taut, hauling the merchant over the paving stones by his bonds. He screamed in horror as the weight of the bricks pulled him into the canal. Tibor, lying in his path, was dragged into the water with him.

No sooner was Tibor immersed than he started swimming, paddling vigorously like a dog. Under water a violent kick from the merchant connected with him. Tibor's clothes, which had been soaked immediately, dragged him down. His head hit a wall, and he felt his way up it. Back on the surface, he spat out the filthy-tasting canal water and clung to a projecting ledge.

Only after he had taken a couple of breaths did he realize that the merchant had not come up with him—and that the bricks and the rope were anchoring the man to the bottom. Motionless, Tibor watched as the ripples and rising air bubbles subsided. A last set of bubbles burst on the surface, and then all was still, except for Tibor's own gasping breath.

Tibor worked his way along the wall to the nearest ladder. As he moved along, he struck the drowned man's head with his foot. The contact filled him with sheer horror, and he expected the dead body to grasp him and pull him down any moment now. In panic, he grabbed the rungs of the ladder and hauled himself out of the water.

When Tibor had solid ground under his feet again, he stared at the black waters of the canal. He thought he saw a rat swimming on the surface, but it was only one of his chessmen. The Venetian's silly plumed hat was drifting past the opposite wall like a garishly colored duck. Nothing else was left of him. Tibor rapidly retrieved some of his chessmen, but the set was incomplete. In his haste, he threw the whole game into the water and realized too late that neither the board nor the pieces would sink. Then he ran for it.

 

 

The nearest church was San Giovanni Elemosinario, but its doors wouldn't open. San Polo and San Stae were locked too. Tibor saw the rosy sky of dawn through the gap between two palazzi. He felt as if the sun were the eye of God and he must hide from it at any price. He wasn't going to face the light of day again until he had confessed his dreadful deed before an altar.

Finally the oak door of Santa Maria Gloriosa gave way, and Tibor breathed a sigh of relief when he was alone in the church. The smell of candle wax and incense calmed him. He dipped his fingers in some holy water and anointed his wet forehead. Then he went along the side aisle straight to the altar of the Virgin Mary, for he couldn't bear the sight of Jesus on the cross just now. The Savior in his bonds reminded him too vividly of what the Venetian would now be looking like in the canal.
Tibor fell on his knees before the mourning Madonna, repented of his sin, and prayed. Occasionally he glanced up, and from time to time it seemed to him that Mary was smiling a little more understandingly. Now that the tension was ebbing away from his body, Tibor began to freeze with cold. The chill crept up from the stone slabs into his wet clothes, and soon he was shaking all over. He wished himself in the warm arms of the Mother of God, where the naked baby Jesus now lay. But it was right that he should suffer: he had just killed a man.

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.