Chapter 4
The Steed's powerful muscles had managed the ascent up the promontory, though several times Miss Ryder had to hug his neck tightly to avoid being thrown due to steepness. They were now on level ground, facing two parallel rows of suits of armor with brightly-colored plumes decorating the helmets. At the end of this gauntlet stood the Castle of the White King.
"Elegant," the Steed commented.
Miss Ryder guided the horse between the rows toward the front entrance. She plucked a flower from a towering bush as they went past and tucked it behind the Steed's ear.
"We need you to be presentable for royalty," she explained.
The majestic columns on the portico gave way to a massive semicircular vault surrounded by a colonnade of archways. Miss Ryder half-expected to see a centurion guarding the palace.
"The grandeur that was Rome," the Steed mused. "The White King must be very well-to-do."
Once the travelers were past the main hall, however, the decor changed abruptly, becoming far more eclectic. Antlered bucks dotted the walls, along with the unexplained letters O and P carved from wood; there was an incongruous firepole and porcelain heads with wigs. An immense stone balcony ran the width of the room on the far end. Miss Ryder could just make out a figure standing by the railing.
As they pulled near, they could see that it was a shapely woman, clad in a diaphanous white gown with her dark hair immaculately coiffed. The Steed bowed down on one knee, nearly pitching Miss Ryder up over his neck.
"Your Highness," he said in a deep voice, with an audible flourish.
Miss Ryder tried to hold her irritation in check as she snagged the bowler before it could fall off the horse's head. Could that be a twinge of jealousy she was feeling?
"Call me Miss King," the woman said graciously.
"You're the King?" Miss Ryder asked, confused. "Then who's the Queen?"
The woman smiled. "Elizabeth the Second, of course."
Miss Ryder replaced the bowler as Miss King stepped close enough to stroke the horse's pure white neck. "What a magnificent Steed," she announced breathlessly.
"At your service, Madam," he answered.
Miss Ryder unconsciously pressed her thighs tightly into the horse's sides as if to assert her claim. The Steed belongs to me, she thought. Whether the horse noticed her squeezing, or the affection behind it, he gave no sign; although he had said earlier that he enjoyed the feel of her bare thighs...
The White King returned to the railing and allowed a bird to settle on her hand. The Steed moved a few hoofsteps closer, but the bird still remained calm.
She can charm the very robins from the sky, Miss Ryder thought. She dismounted and joined the woman at the balcony. "We were told you could tell us how to find the Black Rook."
"Ah, that man," the White King answered. "Now there's a thorn in our side. Struts around the Board like he owns the place."
"Does he have a plan for victory?"
"It's all part of his game. He's trying to split the White forces down the middle so he can take over."
"Will he succeed?" the Steed ventured.
"Not in his wildest dreams. By trifling with us, he'll find he's opened himself a Pandora's box of troubles. When our White agents close in on him, he won't be able to make a getaway."
"Why haven't they apprehended him yet?"
"He controls a bizarre contraption, a weapon which makes approaching his stronghold nearly impossible."
"A doomsday apparatus?" Miss Ryder asked.
"The details are in a bit of a fog. We sacrificed a white pawn in an attempt to gather intelligence, but we had nothing to show for it the morning after."
The Steed asked, "Exactly where in his stronghold is this device, this... thingamajig located?"
"We're not really sure." The White King waited patiently until the bird flew off. "We captured two black pawns, but our interrogators couldn't get much information out of them. They probably would have been false witnesses anyway, trying to lead us astray." She returned to pet the Steed's nose lovingly.
"I've positioned the White Bishop on the fifth rank, right outside the Black Rook's stronghold, in order to surveil him," she explained. "The Bishop has been gathering intelligence for us these past several turns. They won't touch her, since she's a member of the clergy."
"The White Bishop is a she?" Miss Ryder asked.
The Steed winked. "The gender is always the opposite of what you expect."
The White King nodded. She seemed to notice Miss Ryder's outfit for the first time.
"Where did you get the black leather?"
"A Tanner in the village."
The White King's eyes panned down. "It... leaves very little to the imagination," she commented.
Miss Ryder reflexively tugged the hem of the skirt. "He claimed it was all the leather he had. Could you reimburse him?"
The woman sniffed, "I'll take it out of his unpaid poaching fines." She got a distant look on her face as she contemplated strategy, then turned to make her pronouncement.
"I'm dispatching you. Sending you out en prise, exposed to capture. Dressed as you are, you can pass for the Black Knight. Move through the enemy lines and make contact with the White Bishop. You can get directions to the fifth rank from my royal dogs."
"Dogs?"
"They live in the forest over there. They're called the Twin Terriers."
Miss Ryder didn't bother asking how they could give directions; she was sure they must have the power of speech, like every animal she had met today.
"They're generally honest," the White King warned. "But one of them tells lies on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday; and the other lies on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday."
"What day is today?" the Steed asked.
"I'm sure I can't remember, but I think the one telling the truth today is named Piedmont."
"And these terriers live in the forest?" Miss Ryder prompted.
"They like a lot of tall trees around." When she saw Miss Ryder's knowing smirk, she added, "It's not what you think. It's because they're afraid of being struck by lightning."
"Not much danger of that today," remarked the Steed as he looked at the yellow sky.
"Take the right hand path that circles the lake," the White King instructed, slowly turning her finger. "Anti-clockwise."
-oOo-
Miss Ryder guided the horse around the body of water towards a thick stand of trees. "I didn't expect the White King to be a woman."
"I've met her Mother," the Steed declared. "A really nice chap."
"Her Mother is a man? And I suppose her Father is a woman?"
"Inevitably," the horse agreed.
Scarcely had they penetrated the edge of the forest before two small dogs with finely clipped coats accosted them. The terriers ran back and forth across the trail defiantly, as if trying to create an impassable barrier, in spite of the fact that they were only ten inches tall at the shoulder. When the Steed showed no sign of slowing, the dogs resorted to standing motionless directly in the path of the travelers.
"Halt!" cried one. "Who goes there?" challenged the other. They both stared up at what must have appeared to them to be an impossibly large horse.
"You plan to bar our way?" the Steed asked.
"We've taken down larger foes than you," one of the terriers bragged haughtily.
"Really?" the Steed replied, looming over them. He moved a step closer. The dogs backed up in tandem, looking flustered.
A smile tugged at the corner of Miss Ryder's mouth. "Remember, one of them may be lying."
"I told lies yesterday," said one of the terriers candidly.
"So did I," admitted the other.
"Then today must be Thursday," Miss Ryder announced.
"Not necessarily," said one. "Maybe it's Maundy."
"She said it was Thursday," chimed in the other.
"Right, Maundy Thursday."
"I suppose that's better than Thirsty Friday."
"Thirsty Friday?"
"The day after Maundy Thursday."
"I think you're making that up."
Miss Ryder tried to interrupt the rapid-fire aside between the dogs, but it was too late; they took off chasing each other in a rapidly contracting circle until they were locked in combat. Even if she had deduced something, there was no way to tell the two terriers apart.
"Each of you lies only half a week?" Miss Ryder interposed. "That's a crazy scheme."
The terriers separated. "Don't forget Sunday," one declared. "We always tell the truth on Sunday."
"No, we don't," said the second.
The first one continued, "Think of how many times a day you get asked a question, and you wonder 'should I lie, or tell the truth?' With us, there's no hesitation, because we have a schedule."
"But we don't have a schedule," said the other.
This led to another tussle. Miss Ryder dismounted the Steed to act as peacekeeper.
"You two quarrel too much," she scolded.
"Perhaps you're right."
"No she isn't!" the other protested.
"So we agree," the first said.
"Miss Ryder?" the Steed offered diplomatically. "My hat."
She hesitated for a second until she realized the Steed's plan. Then she removed his bowler and placed it on one of the terriers. It was so large it covered the dog's entire head except for the tip of his nose.
"This way I can tell you apart," she explained. "What's your name?" she asked the one without the hat.
"Either I'm lying today, or my name is Piedmont," said the terrier without the bowler.
"But my name is Piedmont!" said the other, muffled from under the hat.
"Aha!" Miss Ryder said, tossing her auburn hair. She addressed the dog without the hat. "If you were lying today, you could never make the statement that you were lying, because then you would be telling the truth. So you must be telling the truth today; and since you're not lying, your name must be Piedmont! Now, Piedmont—"
"Yes?" they both answered, the one answer still muffled by the hat.
"Er—you, the one named Piedmont without the hat."
"Yes?" they both answered again.
She playfully tapped the bowler. "Hey, I said the one without the hat!"
"My name is Piedmont, and I'm not wearing a hat!" insisted the muffled voice.
"You're lying!" Piedmont said.
Miss Ryder tried to pick up the dog without the hat, but before she could get a grip, both animals went racing off in a cloud of dust. When she finally emerged covered with dirt, she was holding a hatless terrier.
"Got you, Piedmont!" she smirked. "Wait—did the hat just get switched?"
"Yes! He put the hat on me," said the dog with the bowler.
"No, I didn't. He's been wearing that hat all along," said the one in her arms.
Miss Ryder thought for a moment, then sighed. "Dear. That doesn't tell me anything." A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Wait. Are you wearing a hat?" she said to both animals.
"No," said the one in her arms.
"No," said the one with the hat.
"Excellent," Miss Ryder smiled. "Now, we can get somewhere. I'm looking to defeat the Black Rook, and to do that, I need to talk to the White Bishop. How do we find our way to the fifth rank?"
The dog named Piedmont answered from her arms. "A pawn came through the other day, hoping to catch the White Bishop off guard. I remember him saying he was looking for a moor."
The untruthful terrier had worked the bowler up so that his entire muzzle was uncovered, though his eyes were still hidden. "Ah, yes; a Moor like Othello," he announced.
"No, a moor like a landscape," the other retorted. "Or maybe he meant a moor for a boat."
The Steed looked confused. "So the fifth rank is either a barren field or a harbor?"
"Absolutely," Piedmont agreed.
"Not at all," said the other.
Miss Ryder frowned. "I'm afraid that's not much help."
"What else could possibly have 'moor' meaning?" said the terrier under the bowler.
"What could possibly have less?" countered the Steed.
"Weight," said Piedmont.
"Wait?" Miss Ryder said. "For what?"
"A heavy weight."
"A heavy wait," echoed the Steed. "Is that anything like a pregnant pause?"
"I once knew a dog with pregnant paws," the hatted terrier said.
"You lie!" said Piedmont. "No, the pawn said something about a moor, and a heavy weight."
"Anything else?" Miss Ryder asked.
"I'm afraid that's all I have."
"Well, it's something, at least," the Steed sighed.
"Good luck finding the White Bishop," Piedmont advised. "Watch out for lightning bolts!"
Miss Ryder walked over to the other terrier and took the hat. The dog underneath looked up at her with guileless eyes.
"I have every confidence you can defeat the Black Rook," he declared.
"Thank you," Miss Ryder said graciously as she put the bowler back on the Steed's head. "Hey, wait a minute..."
-oOo-
The travelers headed off in the general direction indicated by the Twin Terriers, in search of a moor. The forest was becoming sparser, with occasional clearings, but nothing to indicate what rank of the chessboard it represented. Presently they arrived at a knee-deep stream, and Miss Ryder guided the Steed straight into the middle of it.
"Scrapping around with those terriers wore me out," she announced cheerily as she slapped the dust from her leathers. She pulled the glowing green vial from her cleavage and tied it to the end of the whip. Then she slid off the horse's back into the water.
The Steed watched in amazement as she wantonly unlaced her bodice and stripped it off so that her breasts bounced free. Then she tugged off the tiny G-string and miniskirt and let them slip down to her ankles.
"What are you doing?" the Steed asked incredulously.
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"You don't have any clothes on!"
"Nor do you," she answered reasonably.
"I have a hat."
"I thought I could use a bath. There's no one else around, and you're of a different species. Besides, I trust you."
Miss Ryder rinsed her leathers in the stream and slung them over the horse's back. Then she stood before him, completely naked.
"You can use my hat," the Steed offered.
She removed the bowler from between the horse's ears and put it on her own head.
"Like this?" she teased. "It doesn't seem to cover much."
The Steed winked. "The crown is steel-lined. You can use it to scoop up water."
"I see."
She ventured out into water that came up to her shins. Tossing her mane of auburn hair, she turned to face away from the Steed and bent over to fill the bowler. The horse watched intently and admired her conformation; the muscles on the backs of her legs, her firm buttocks, the delicate petals between her thighs.
"You would make a fine filly, Miss Ryder."
"I know you mean that as a compliment."
The Steed stepped up beside her.
"You realize that if you kiss me, I'll turn into a handsome prince," he teased. "Then you'll be embarrassed that I saw you naked."
She leaned over and kissed the Steed on the side of his nose.
Nothing happened.
She ruffled his mane. The Steed turned his head to show her an eye that sparkled with humor.
"Can't blame a horse for trying," he said. "Imagine if I'd turned into a man wearing a suit and a bowler."
"For some reason, I don't think it would surprise me."
"So what is the conflict between you and the Black Rook?" the horse asked.
"A long-standing struggle," Miss Ryder said. "One that usually ends in hand-to-hand combat."
"You fought him physically?"
"On several occasions."
"But you're still alive."
"So is he."
"Then who won?"
"I guess it was a draw." Miss Ryder stood on tiptoe and stretched the full length of her nude body as she used the bowler to ladle water over the horse. "He's my greatest enemy," she declared.
"You won't face him alone," the Steed said resolutely. "You'll have me along."
Miss Ryder shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I won't be able to take you with me when I go undercover. Your white coat will give me away."
"But I'm a chamelequine," he replied simply. Even as she watched, the horse shimmered for a moment, his coat changing to deepest black. Miss Ryder dropped the bowler in shock.
"Still want to leave me behind?" the Steed asked wryly.
Miss Ryder quickly regained her poise. "Certainly not," she said. "That's a horse of a different color." She grabbed the bowler before it had a chance to drift downstream. As she put the hat back on the horse's head, she watched again in amazement as he changed back to purest white.
"Quite a neat trick," she said. The horse knelt slightly so she could climb naked onto his back. "Now I really do feel like Lady Godiva," she added.
"Who?" the Steed asked.
"Find a sunny spot where we can dry out."
"Are you sure you don't want me to gallop around?" the Steed asked. "You'll dry off faster that way."
Before she could answer, the horse took off at a spirited pace. Miss Ryder felt the surging muscles between her thighs as a pleasant sensation tickled upwards into her belly.
"S-slow down!" she stammered. The pressure on her lower body caused her voice to come out in a most undignified register. "The motion is... right there—"
The rhythm of his stride intensified and she was barely able to grab two handfuls of mane to hang on. It was as if the Steed knew about the stimulation he caused and was teasing her.
"Better?" he asked.
She couldn't answer; her mind had gone blank. The twitching in her abdomen had now become an irresistible wave, sweeping through her insides and slamming straight into the pleasure centers of her brain. Her body spasmed once, twice; she curved her back into an arch, bare breasts straining skyward. A primitive cry sounded from deep within her throat as she tightly clenched her toes.
"Stee-e-ed!"
Then she slumped forward, panting. Naive, oblivious horse. Completely unaware of the effect he had on her. The Steed slowed to a high-stepping, almost celebratory trot. Perhaps he wasn't so unaware, after all.
"Dry yet?" the Steed asked playfully.
"Just find a sunny patch," Miss Ryder managed to gasp out. She steadied herself and regained her breath.
"We can look at the clouds," she added wistfully. And try to think of a way to turn you into a human...
-oOo-