Ted Banks suddenly slammed his fist on the table, making the pieces jump. Several pawns toppled over, and his king fell with a hollow wooden sound that echoed through the room. "This is preposterous! I demand a rematch! She got lucky, that's all! Beginner's luck!"
"Beginner's luck?" Harrison laughed, a dry sound. "Ted, she played the Alekhine Defense into a queenside castle attack. She calculated at least five moves ahead for that mating sequence. That's not luck; that's mastery."
"Then she must have had help!" Ted stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Someone must have coached her! Fed her moves somehow!"
"Who, Ted?" Richard asked with raised eyebrows. "The pigeons outside? The ghost of Bobby Fischer? Accept it: you've been beaten by a 12-year-old girl."
The humiliation on Ted Banks's face was complete. He looked around the room seeking support, but found only expressions ranging from shock to barely concealed amusement. Even his usual allies seemed to be distancing themselves from him.
"This is insane," he muttered, grabbing his coat from a nearby rack. "Absolutely insane. I'm not staying here to be humiliated by some—some nobody."
He stormed toward the exit, but Maya's voice stopped him. "Mr. Banks."
He turned, his face twisted with rage and embarrassment.
"Thank you for the game," she said simply. "You played well. Your Scotch Game opening was sound; you just got too aggressive with your bishop."
The sincerity in her voice, the complete lack of mockery or superiority, seemed to deflate him entirely. Without another word, he pushed through the door and disappeared into the night.
"Well," Richard Whitmore said after a moment, "that was unexpected." He gestured to one of the staff members hovering nervously at the edge of the crowd. "Have the kitchen prepare a meal for Miss Thompson. The full dinner service, not leftovers."
"Richard," Margaret protested, "you can't be serious! We don't even know who this child really is. She could be anybody!"
"She's someone who just played one of the most beautiful attacking games I've seen in years," Harrison Vale interjected. "I'd like to play her myself, if she's willing."
The crowd stirred with renewed interest. Harrison Vale was a different caliber of player entirely—a former state champion who'd competed nationally in his younger days. If the girl had gotten lucky against Ted, Harrison would expose her.