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‘What?’ Haagensen shouts. ‘Why’re we even discussing this? The latter, of course the latter. Why aren’t youlistening?’ He thrusts out the paper. ‘Read it. Read that and tell me I’m wrong.’
Snatching it off him, Mairéad scans the handwriting.
To Whom It May Concern,
I am writing in the hope that you’ll please send me a free introductory chess set. Even though I’ve learned the full rules, I currently have no board or pieces, and therefore no way of actually playing.
Dietmar Pfister is currently my favourite player. Caspian Alexandr is also very good. Often, they manage to turn the tables on what seem like hopeless situations. There’s something particularly exciting about Pfister’s game. The way he defeated Jacob Nyback in Tblisi last year was truly astonishing.
Although I’m a late starter, I hope that with a board and pieces of my own I’ll develop into a competent player. Grateful if you could send my set to the address at the top of this letter.
Ever your servant,
Kyle North
Frowning, she glances up. ‘What exactly do you think this is?’
‘It’s a message. A coded message, from Elissa.’
‘It looks like some kind of application letter.’
‘Yes,’ Haagensen says. ‘To FIDE.’
‘Which is?’
He rolls his eyes, frustrated. ‘The Fédération Internationale des Échecs. In other words, the World Chess Federation. I’m a member, but not a representative.’
‘So?’
‘So why address this to me? Even if I did have something to do with FIDE, they don’t give out chessboards to kids. They never have – although Elissa and I once had a conversation about exactly that, where she argued quite forcibly that they should.’ He taps the address at the top of the letter. ‘Go there and you’ll find her. Guaranteed.’
When she doesn’t immediately react, Haagensen turns to Lena Mirzoyan. ‘Fuck it. Iftheywon’t, I’ll drive you myself.’
‘Slow down,’ Mairéad snaps. ‘You’re going nowhere. You said there was a code.’
‘Get on the phone, summon the cavalry and you might just save her. Elissa, she loves chess, but she also loves codes. It’s been a game of ours since I started coaching her – a little puzzle each week, for one of us to deconstruct. Read that message again. Look at the first letter of each sentence. Put them all together and what do you get?T.I.E.D.C.O.T.T.A.G.E.Tied cottage. Look at the address at the top of that letter: Meunierfields. I checked it out on Google. It’s an estate up in Shropshire, owned by the lord of Famerhythe: some guy called Leon Meunier.’
Mairéad stares at Judy Pauletto. ‘Leon.’
Judy nods. ‘The Luc Besson film.’
Swearing, Mairéad digs out her phone.
Oh Elissa, you brave and clever girl. You just hold on. We’re coming. We’re coming right now.
Elijah
Day 7
I
Lashed by rain, I stand beside my older brother and watch the Memory Wood burn. The black smoke, gushing into a storm-darkened sky, freezes my blood in my veins. I cannot believe what I’m seeing and yet this, of everything, I know to be true.
At the heart of that inferno stands the Gingerbread House. I imagine the ash tree in its living room haloed by fire, the roof above it collapsing into flames. I think of the cellar, transformed into a witch’s oven. I see the iron ring, the loop of chain, the manacle … and suddenly I can’t see anything at all.
‘It wasn’t me,’ I whisper. ‘It wasn’t me.’
As I stare at that calamity raging in the woods, that filthy column of smoke, my brother lifts his arm and points east across Fallow Field, all the way to Rufus Hall. A sycamore-lined avenue connects it to the public road. Along the avenue, emergency lights flashing, races a convoy of police cars.