“Why don’t you just read about him,” Jia said, handing him Pike’s book. “Maybe something will spark your memory. Or your forememory.”
So Matt read, more to appease Jia than anything else. Nobel was a brilliant student, quiet and serious. He spoke five languages. In his younger years he’d wanted to be a writer, a poet, but his father had demanded that he be practical and focus on academics. After many years of hard study and work, he had success in creating an explosive with nitroglycerin, a substance ten times the power of gunpowder. Unfortunately, in the fall of 1864 an accident with the nitroglycerin in his lab resulted in five deaths, including his younger brother, Emil Nobel. Devastated by his brother’s death, Alfred Nobel became a recluse. Few people saw or heard from him for several years, but in 1867, Alfred succeeded in the invention of a very powerful and more stable explosive, dynamite, which would make him very rich, but also heavily criticized. A French newspaper, mistakenly reporting Nobel’s death, printed “Le marchand de la mort est mort.” The merchant of death is dead. Nobel was reportedly horrified that this was how he would be memorialized. Most believe this is the reason why he left most of his large fortune to create the Nobel Prizes that would honor those who made significant advancements and contributions in physics, chemistry, medicine, literature, and peace.
Matt had to admit, after reading about Nobel, he felt a certain kinship to him and saw many similarities between them. They both spoke five languages, they were both scientists and inventors, and they both had invented something incredibly powerful that had changed the world—sometimes in tragic ways. Nobel had lost his brother. Matt couldn’t fully remember but he had the dim sense that he’d also lost a brother at some time or another. Had he been responsible for his death too? Did he really die?
That evening, after Jia and Matt had eaten dinner, Jia challenged Matt to a game of chess. Jia said it might help if they tried to take their minds off of things. Matt was thinking that was the exact opposite of what he needed, seeing as he couldn’t seem to keep his mind on anything, but he didn’t want to say no. He felt he’d done nothing but disappoint Jia ever since they’d come to China, and he hated the look she gave him every time he said something wrong, like that time he said something about Captain Vincent being his father. She reacted as though he’d just declared the devil himself was his father. It seemed a bit of an overreaction in Matt’s mind. Vincent wasn’t so terrible, was he? He’d always been nice to him, hadn’t he? And one day he would inherit the Vermillion and the compass from him. He was his heir. But he certainly wasn’t going to say any of that to Jia.
So here they were, playing chess. It was the Chinese version, which was much like American chess but with different pieces and slightly different rules. Jia explained it all and said he’d get the hang of it after a few games. Matt beat her on the first round in six moves.
“Okay,” frowning a little. “Good job. Beginner’s luck. Go again?”
The next game Matt went a little easier on her and won in eight moves, but she still seemed annoyed. He had a feeling she was used to winning this game. On the next round he let her win, but then Jia guessed he’d let her win, and she was even more annoyed. She said it was an insult to let her win. She insisted they play again and commanded Matt in her most princessy voice to do his very best. So he did, and he beat her in four moves.
Jia just laughed in disbelief. “How are you doing that? Are you cheating now? Did you cheat?”
Matt put up his hands. “No! I promise. The only time I cheated was when I lost on purpose.”
“Okay, what am I missing?” Jia said. “Teach me, genius. What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing wrong. You’re just thinking a little too straightforward. You’re only considering the present play, but chess requires you to think in terms of the whole—not just the present move, but forward and backward and sideways and even sometimes in a circular fashion.”
“Okay, that makes sense, I guess,” Jia said. “Like time travel.”
“What?”
“Time travel. You know, when you can time-travel you don’t just go forward, you can go backward, too, and sometimes sideways. Always when planning a mission, we had to think about that.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Matt leaned over, looking a little closer at the game board and the various pieces. Something about the way Jia compared this to time travel sparked something in him.
“Anything else I’m missing?” Jia asked.
“You need to make sacrifices,” he said, still focused on the board. “You’re too concerned with protecting all your pieces. You have to be willing to make sacrifices in order to win.”
A sacrifice must be made to win this game . . .
“Matt?” Jia asked. “Are you okay?”
Matt felt something shift inside of him and click into place.
“I’ve been thinking about everything all wrong,” he muttered. He’d only been thinking about going forward, how to move in a chronological way. But he was not in a forward-thinking, chronological game. This was an every-direction, all-time game! Forward, backward, sideways, up and down, all around and everything in between. This was time travel. This was eternity.
“Matt?” Jia repeated. “Are you feeling all right? You look a bit . . . fuzzy.”
He looked down at his hands. Indeed, they looked blurry, out of focus.
The front door opened. A servant hurried into the room, bowed to Jia, and handed her a message.
Jia opened it and frowned as she read.
“What’s wrong?” Matt asked.
“The emperor has asked to see both of us,” Jia said. “Immediately.”
23The Emperor’s Will
Jia’s heart raced as they moved swiftly to the Hall of Supreme Harmony. There was something about her father’s message that felt off. She
