Chapter 19 Eng
ENG
Ihad time to swing by my apartment to shower and change, grabbing both the Hnefatafl board and pieces as well as a box of muffins from the bakery down the street before heading over to the park.
Benny and Edna were already deep into a game of checkers while Dave and Frank played chess.
I set up the Hnefatafl board, placing the pieces in their appropriate squares before asking if Piotr or Helen wanted to play first.
“I’ll go.” Helen sat down across from me. “That way Piotr can learn from my inevitable loss and put up a better fight when it’s his turn.”
Grunting in agreement, Piotr pulled a chair up to watch. “How is the girlfriend situation going, Enzo? Did she like the dinner and dancing spots?”
Benny, Frank, Dave, and Edna turned, their games on pause as they waited for my response.
“She did, and I appreciate the suggestions everyone made. We seem to have…” I hesitated, not sure how to voice this, not because I lacked the English words, but because I wasn’t used to describing these strange emotions.
“I am attracted to more than her body. She is smart. She makes me laugh. I care about her life, and I find myself sharing my thoughts and things I would not normally share with anyone. I want to be with her, to know what she will say and do next. Or just to be next to her whether we have clothes on or not.”
Piotr grinned. “Enzo is in love!”
Was I? I thought back on my life and the very few individuals I’d ever felt a truly deep affection for. My siblings, mostly. In some ways my parents, although how I felt about the shrew was a wild and unfettered thing compared to my emotions toward my family.
“Tell me how to play this game,” Helen said, saving me from having to either agree or disagree with Piotr’s statement.
“Hnefatafl is a strategy game where one player takes the role of defender, and the other takes the role of the attacker.”
The others abandoned the chess and checkers set to gather around, and I noticed a few other humans coming close, including Hassan and his nephew, Jerome, from Al-Sayyed Hardware.
“There was a time many centuries ago when this was a popular game among humans who also call it Hnefatafl or King’s Table,” I told my audience. “We orcs claim to have invented it, while other human cultures claim they were the ones who taught it to us.”
Helen picked up one of the flat, round pieces. “They look like checkers.”
“I would have preferred to carve them, but did not have the time. At home, they look more like the bishop pieces of your chess set,” I told her, setting the unstained pieces in the center of the board, and the walnut-stained ones along the outside edges.
“And that’s the king?” Ethel pointed to the tan column-shaped piece.
“It is.”
“So the game is a siege?” Dave asked. “The brown pieces are trying to get inside the circle to the tan ones? Or is it more like chess where both sides are trying to take the king?”
“It’s not exactly like chess. The attackers, the brown pieces, are trying to take the tan king,” I told him. “The tan pieces are trying to help their king escape to the safety of one of these corners.”
They all leaned closer, eyeing the pieces.
“Doesn’t seem quite fair,” Piotr muttered. “There are a whole lot more attackers than defenders.”
“Double the number.” I stated. “Because war is seldom fair, and attackers often have the advantage.”
“Do the pieces move differently?” Edna asked.
I shook my head. “They all move like your rook in the chess game. Straight lines but no diagonals, as many open spaces as you wish. You capture an opponent’s piece by trapping it between two of your pieces. Either side can capture pieces, but the king cannot be used to capture.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Benny commented.
“There are more rules. Only the king can occupy a corner square. To capture the king, the attackers must surround him on all sides.” I outlined the other rules for movements and capture, then asked if Helen wanted to be the attacker or the defender.
“Attacker,” she decided.
I turned the board, and she moved her piece.
She was surprisingly good at strategizing her moves, and it took me longer than I would have thought to win.
Each of the elderly humans took a turn playing against me, some choosing to attack and others choosing to defend.
The other humans watched, commenting on the game.
One took pictures and spoke with Jerome and Hassan, then went on to talk with my elderly friends, recording their conversations.
After I’d managed to capture Piotr’s king, I gave my seat to Frank and let the humans play each other. As soon as I stood, the male who had been taking pictures and speaking with the others approached me.
“You’re one of the Tusks, right?” He put out his hand. “I’m with the Baltimore Sun. We got a call that you were going to be here showing these seniors how to play a traditional orc game.”
I shook his hand. “I am Eng, son of King Mrong of Clan Waragur. I am a prince, the heir to the largest of the orc clans and the kingdom of Waragur.”
The man tilted his head. “But you play hockey for the Tusks, right? I thought the only orcs in Baltimore were the hockey players.”
“I am employed by the owner of the Tusks to be on the hockey team.” I didn’t actually play hockey, and suddenly I was embarrassed to tell this male that my only participation on the team was to stand against the wall during the game and avoid either getting hit by the puck or the other players.
The reporter-male nodded. “So tell me a bit about this game you’ve been teaching the others to play.”
Happy to be away from the subject of hockey, I explained the rules of Hnefatafl and recounted a few pleasant memories of playing the game in my childhood.
Then I stood for a picture with Hassan and Jerome, letting the reporter know that Jerome had been very helpful in assisting me with the supplies to make the game board and pieces, and that I highly recommended Al-Sayyed Hardware.
I’d done this sort of thing a million times back home.
Ribbon cutting for a public bathhouse, shaking hands and congratulating shopkeepers as they opened a new location, giving scripted speeches on how valuable the efforts of our local guilds were in erecting the new city tower.
This was nothing new, but the beaming smiles on Hassan and Jerome’s faces as I clasped their hands and smiled for the camera gave me a sense of pride that I could help their business—not because I was born into a royal family, but because I was a member of a local professional sports team—a team where my sole contribution was standing against the wall in protest as others played.
The guilt I felt over that confused me.
“Come join us for family dinner tonight.” Piotr’s hand patted my arm. “We always have plenty, and I’d love to introduce you to everyone.”
I hesitated. The invitation was flattering, and I would love to eat with Piotr and his family instead of alone in some restaurant.
But there was something else I needed to do.
I’d made a promise to the shrew to do three things in defiance of my father’s wishes.
The Fikmak pie boycott could wait. The declaration to have orclets on my own timeline would be best communicated in person.
But choosing how I spent my life as a prince with no authority would take planning and thought.
I knew the shrew meant for me to insist on attending a certain meeting for a topic I was interested in, or to decline a boring ceremony, but I took this task to mean something more.
If my father would not give me power in our kingdom, and if my rule would not begin for decades, then what did I want to do with those decades?
I had a few ideas, but I needed to explore them further, to weigh the value of each before I made a decision.
And that was something I needed to begin tonight.
So I politely declined Piotr’s invitation, letting him know that I would love to meet his family and break bread with them in the near future, but tonight I had other plans.