Chemist v. Chess Master

It rains.

Pepple, dressed in a long overcoat, drags Grubb’s mangled body from the shack and buries him feet from the well. The hideous woman staggers from the cabin and looks in the pit before Pepple starts filling it with dirt. Soon after, they both return to the shack.

Using the umbrella given to the Chamberlain by Pepple, the Chemist keeps semi-dry.

It stops raining.

The Chess Master arrives, places a wooden case on the table, pushes aside the pistols, and opens the case. It’s a chess board. What do you do for a living? the Chess Master asks the Chemist.

The Chemist answers. The Chess Master nods. He tells the Chemist he thought as much. When I first walked up, says the Chess Master, I thought to myself: here’s a guy with a little sophistication. Like me. Someone that isn’t necessarily good with his hands.

Oh, says the Chemist, I wouldn’t go that far.

The Chess Master proposes that instead of dueling each other with pistols, they agree to use a game of chess as a proxy duel, wherein the loser metes the penalty of defeat upon himself.

Of course I won’t agree to that, says the Chemist. Because you’re a Chess Master.

Who said I was a Chess Master?

It follows alphabetically. Come on—I’ve been reading Totentanzes since grade school. And this is as typical a scam as in any of them. If it’s not a Knight that convinces Death to play chess for his life, then it’s a Chemist being suckered into play by a Chess Master. Every time it ends the same way: the Chess Master wins. Well, not this time.

The Chess Master’s crestfallen.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.