𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐭 ♕From Beth the Eyes of Beth Harmon

XXVII - Brilliant Recovery

Episode 7

Endgame

Part 3

Moscow, 1968

Brilliant Recovery

♕♛♕♛♕♛

The pouring rain that greeted us as the plane landed in Moscow's airport had ceased by the time we arrived at the Mockba hotel. My guard retrieved my suitcases from the trunk as I stepped out of the cab. Long shallow steps blanketed with a red carpet led to the grand entrance of the dark and caliginous hotel. It looked very Russian to me: mysterious, obscure, and deeply sophisticated.

"This is definitely better than mine." My guard said as we entered my room. He was probably right. I'm not sure if it is possible that any hotel room could be better than mine. It was spacious, with a very tall ceiling. Shades of coffee seemed to be the color palette, with dark mocha toned woods and creamy café colored walls and curtains. Awaiting me against a wall was a lovely queen bed, while on the far side of the room opposite it was a desk and a seating area with a small couch and side table. A clean bathroom was adjoined to the room. Lamps on either side of the bed lit the room rather ominously, while a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.

"Remember, stay in the hotel at all times, do not leave the hotel unless you're with me. I'll come get you in the morning."

"Will you knock two times fast and one time slow?"

His face turned sour and sarcastic. "Good one. Welcome to Russia," he said as he left.

I sat on the bed, plopping my suitcase down next to me and crossing my legs, admiring the delicate angular line pattern on the wallpaper.

I haven't appreciated hotels as much since Alma passed. I remember when we used to squeal like guinea pigs at first glance of our new room. But this room was certainly one to appreciate.

"Yes. This will do nicely," I said, just like she used to.

♕♛♕♛♕♛

The room the matches were held in was as close to terrifying as possible. It was a long narrow room, with spectators seated in raised benches on either side, and the tables lined up in the middle, as if in the bottom of a trench. Singular lamps dangled threateningly overhead, casting eerie shadows over our faces.

The announcer introduced each competitor, and the audience applauded us as we walked one by one into the light to our seat at the table. I was first and playing black, meaning I currently lived at the bottom of the hierarchy. The underdog. I knew I would rise to the top eventually, but for now, I had to start here. Borgov, holding the top spot at the pyramid, was last, and he got the most applause. Even the announcer introduced him with twice as much gusto than everyone else.

Between the aggressively bright lamp and the dim room, I couldn't see much beyond my opponent's face. It was just us and the board, no distractions. I liked it that way. Ever since I stepped into these doors, I felt like a new woman, a woman I have never felt like before. A woman with only herself to distract her. A winning woman.

I knew my opponent didn't spend much time preparing for our game. He definitely didn't deem me an important player, and I certainly was not worthy of being here, according to him. He was definitely expecting an easy win, not the 27-move slap in the face I just gave him.