The Move That Kept Four Friends
Story
THE MOVE THAT KEPT FOUR FRIENDS
At the eastern stairs of Verdin's Collegium, the city always sounded as though it had three conversations at once. Carriers called to porters beneath the upper galleries. The bells of the public clocks reached the plaza a few heartbeats apart. Under the arches, citizens from every district climbed, argued, hurried to work, and sometimes stopped for no reason except to watch the day go by.
At the edge of that movement, four friends had taken a table in the afternoon sun.
A board of little brass figures stood between them. A book and a heavy metal cup occupied the near edge of the stone; neither had been moved for an hour. The pieces were arranged along engraved avenues, their thin posts catching the light whenever someone leaned forward.
Eryn, whose red hair was pinned with tiny golden leaves, held one finger above a narrow figure at the center of the board. Across from her, Daven, dark and blue-grey of skin, rested his chin on his hand. His curved horns nearly touched the shadow of a hanging banner. To the right, pale-haired Leth was smiling already. Osha, seated closest to the outer edge, leaned over the table so that the others could see only part of her face.
They were playing Crossways, a game the Collegium children learned before they were allowed to carry messages between districts. It had kings, but winning with a king was considered embarrassingly simple. The harder victory was to deliver a caravan of ordinary travelers through a city whose bridges kept changing hands.
Daven had been winning since the second bell.
He knew the old routes too well. His father maintained pedestrian joints beneath the north viaduct, and Daven had spent half his childhood memorizing which load-bearing arches were sound and which were only ornamental. Eryn had accused him of counting the board as a real city. He had replied that real cities rarely forgave mistakes.
Now she was about to make one.
"That crossing is unguarded," Leth told her.
"Exactly," said Eryn.
"That is why it's a terrible idea."
He was laughing, but he moved his own pieces nearer to the middle, as though ready to catch whatever she broke.
The four had been meeting at this table for seven years. First they came after lessons, then after apprenticeships, and lately whenever their hours allowed it. They did not agree on much. Eryn repaired old records and thought every decision deserved a second reading. Daven supervised the distribution of tram loads and trusted calculations more than testimony. Leth was a courier who had crossed half the mountain settlements and could tell a stranger's mood from the way they carried a bag. Osha studied public songs, collecting the melodies people sang when work was too monotonous to endure in silence.
This afternoon was different because it might be their last for some time.
Osha's appointment to the far western district had arrived in the morning. She had not opened the letter until the others came. Its paper now lay folded inside the book at the near edge of the table.
Eryn slid her little brass traveler across the center line.
Daven looked up. "You've left the east bridge."
"I know."
"My next move closes it."
"I know that too."
Leth watched the board. Osha watched Eryn.
The obvious path had been to defend the bridge and keep all four of her travelers safe. But the board's center crossing was narrow, and anyone who held it too long prevented another player from passing. Eryn had opened the route at the cost of her own position.
Daven considered the pieces for a long time. Beyond them, a group of students ran down the steps, nearly colliding with an elder who had paused to catch his breath. A vendor called out the price of sugared fruit. Somewhere behind the Gothic windows, a machine chimed the hour incorrectly.
At last Daven moved a guard aside.
"You don't have to," Eryn said.
"I know."
The freed crossing gave Leth a safe route. He used it to escort two small figures toward Osha's side of the board, where her last traveler had been waiting behind a locked gate.
For the first time all afternoon, there was no clear winner.
"That isn't how our exams taught it," Daven said.
"Our exams taught us to finish before the bell," Osha replied.
Leth laughed, a bright sound that sent the pigeons under the next arcade shuffling away. The four of them leaned closer. One by one they began to abandon the simplest winning moves, not out of courtesy, but because they wanted to see whether everyone could make it home.
They nearly succeeded. The final bridge failed just before Osha's last traveler crossed, and the whole table erupted in accusations, objections, and advice. A small brass guard rolled onto the stone. Leth caught it before it disappeared between the steps.
No one declared a victor.
When the next bell rang, Osha unfolded her appointment. The western district was farther than she had expected, beyond the high grain terraces and the old skyway where the service machines carried slate up the cliffs. She would leave in four days.
Daven asked for the route map. Leth began calculating which of his deliveries could take him west. Eryn said nothing, but turned the unfinished board around so that Osha could see the crossing from the other side.
"Same table next season?" Osha asked.
"Of course," Leth said, much too quickly.
Eryn moved one last piece.
She placed it beside Osha's stranded traveler, not because the rules allowed it, but because the rules could wait until the next game.
Around them, Verdin kept moving. Bells rang, stairs filled, the great arches took the weight of the city without complaint. Four friends stayed a little longer at a stone table in the sun, arguing about how a bridge ought to work.
