“Ah! Much better than those little cans,” said Tlingel, whose muzzle dipped for but a moment. “Very good.”
The mug was empty. Martin refilled it.
“Will you move it to the table for me?”
“Certainly.”
“Have an interesting month?”
“I suppose I did.”
“You’ve decided upon your next move?”
“Then let’s get on with it.”
Martin seated himself and captured the Pawn.
“Hm. Interesting.”
Tlingel stared at the board for a long while, then raised a cloven hoof which parted in reaching for the piece.
“I’ll just take that Bishop with this little Knight. Now I suppose you’ll be wanting another month to make up your mind what to do next.” Tlingel leaned to the side and drained the mug.
“Let me consider it,” Martin said, “while I get you a refill.”
Martin sat and stared at the board through three more refills. Actually, he was not planning. He was waiting. His response to Grend had been Knight takes Bishop, and he had Grend’s next move ready.
“Well?” Tlingel finally said. “What do you think?”
Martin took a small sip of beer.
“Almost ready,” he said. “You hold your beer awfully well.” Tlingel laughed.
“A unicorn’s horn is a detoxicant. Its possession is a universal remedy. I wait until I reach the warm glow stage, then I use my horn to burn off any excess and keep me right there.”
“Oh,” said Martin. “Neat trick, that.”
“… If you’ve had too much, just touch my horn for a moment and I’ll put you back in business.”
“No, thanks. That’s all right. I’ll just push this little Pawn in front of the Queen’s Rook two steps ahead.”
“Really …” said Tlingel. “That’s interesting. You know, what this place really needs is a piano—rinkytink, funky… . Think you could manage it?”
“I don’t play.”
“Too bad.”
“I suppose I could hire a piano player.”
“No. I do not care to be seen by other humans.”
“If he’s really good, I suppose he could play blindfolded.”
“Never mind.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You are also ingenious. I am certain that you will figure something out by next time.”
Martin nodded.
“Also, didn’t these old places used to have sawdust all over the floors?”
“I believe so.”
“That would be nice.”
“Check.”
Tlingel searched the board frantically for a moment.
“Yes. I meant ‘yes.’ I said ‘check.’ It means ‘yes’ sometimes, too.”
“Oh. Rather. Well, while we’re here …”
Tlingel advanced the Pawn to Q3.
Martin stared. That was not what Grend had done. For a moment, he considered continuing on his own from here. He had tried to think of Grend as a coach up until this point. He had forced away the notion of crudely and crassly pitting one of them against the other. Until P-Q3. Then he recalled the game he had lost to the sasquatch.
“I’ll draw the line here,” he said, “and take my month.”
“All right. Let’s have another drink before we say good night. Okay?”
“Sure. Why not?”
They sat for a time and Tlingel told him of the morning land, of primeval forests and rolling plains, of high craggy mountains and purple seas, of magic and mythic beasts.
Martin shook his head.
“I can’t quite see why you’re so anxious to come here,” he said, “with a place like that to call home.”
Tlingel sighed.
“I suppose you’d call it keeping up with the griffins. It’s the thing to do these days. Well. Till next month …”
Tlingel rose and turned away.
“I’ve got complete control now. Watch!”
The unicorn form faded, jerked out of shape, grew white, faded again, was gone, like an afterimage.
Martin moved to the bar and drew himself another mug. It was a shame to waste what was left. In the morning, he wished the unicorn were there again. Or at least the horn.
It was a gray day in the forest and he held an umbrella over the chessboard upon the rock. The droplets fell from the leaves and made dull, plopping noises as they struck the fabric. The board was set up again through Tlingel’s P-Q3. Martin wondered whether Grend had remembered, had kept proper track of the days… .
“Hello,” came the nasal voice from somewhere behind him and to the left.
He turned to see Grend moving about the tree, stepping over the massive roots with massive feet.
“You remembered,” Grend said. “How good! I trust you also remembered the beer?”
“I’ve lugged up a whole case. We can set up the bar right here.”
“What’s a bar?”
“Well, it’s a place where people go to drink—in out of the rain—a bit dark, for atmosphere—and they sit up on stools before a big counter, or else at little tables—and they talk to each other—and sometimes there’s music—and they drink.”
“We’re going to have all that here?”
“No. Just the dark and the drinks. Unless you count the rain as music. I was speaking figuratively.”
“Oh. It does sound like a very good place to visit, though.”
“Yes. If you will hold this umbrella over the board, I’ll set up the best equivalent we can have here.”
“All right. Say, this looks like a version of that game we played last time.”
“It is. I got to wondering what would happen if it had gone this way rather than the way that it went.”
“Hmm. Let me see… .”
Martin removed four six-packs from his pack and opened the first. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
Grend accepted the beer, squatted, passed the umbrella back to Martin. “I’m still White?”
“Yeah.”
“Pawn to King six.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“About the best thing for me to do would be to take this Pawn with this one.”
“I’d say. Then I’ll just knock off your Knight with this one.”
“I guess I’ll just pull this Knight back to K2.”
“… And I’ll take this one over to B3. May I have another beer?” An hour and a quarter later, Martin resigned. The rain had let up and he had folded the umbrella.
“Another game?” Grend asked.
“Yes.”
The afternoon wore on. The pressure was off. This one was just for fun. Martin tried wild combinations, seeing ahead with great clarity, as he had that one day… .
“Stalemate,” Grend announced much later. “That was a good one, though. You picked up considerably.”
“I was more relaxed. Want another?”
“Maybe in a little while. Tell me more about bars now.”
So he did. Finally, “How is all that beer affecting you?” he asked. “I’m a bit dizzy. But that’s all right. I’ll still cream you the third game.” And he did.
“Not bad for a human, though. Not bad at all. You coming back next month?”
“Good. You’ll bring more beer?”
“So long as my money holds out.”
“Oh. Bring some plaster of Paris then. I’ll make you some nice footprints and you can take casts of them. I understand they’re going for quite a bit.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Martin lurched to his feet and collected the chess set.
“Till then.”
“Ciao”
Martin dusted and polished again, moved in the player piano and scattered sawdust upon the floor. He installed a fresh keg. He hung some reproductions of period posters and some atrocious old paintings he had located in a junk shop. He placed cuspidors in strategic locations. When he was finished, he seated himself at the
bar and opened a bottle of mineral water. He listened to the New Mexico wind moaning as it passed, to grains of sand striking against the windowpanes. He wondered whether the whole world would have that dry, mournful sound to it if Tlingel found a means for doing away with humanity, or–disturbing thought—whether the successors to his own kind might turn things into something resembling the mythical morning land.
This troubled him for a time. Then he went and set up the board through Black’s P-Q3. When he turned back to clear the bar he saw a line of cloven hoofprints advancing across the sawdust.
“Good evening, Tlingel,” he said. “What is your pleasure?”
Suddenly, the unicorn was there, without preliminary pyrotechnics. It moved to the bar and placed one hoof upon the brass rail.
“The usual.”
As Martin drew the beer, Tlingel looked about.
“The place has improved, a bit.”
“Glad you think so. Would you care for some music?”
“Yes.”
Martin fumbled at the back of the piano, locating the switch for the small, battery-operated computer which controlled the pumping mechanism and substituted its own memory for rolls. The keyboard immediately came to life.
“Very good,” Tlingel stated. “Have you found your move?”
“I have.”
“Then let us be about it.”
He refilled the unicorn’s mug and moved it to the table, along with his own.
“Pawn to King six,” he said, executing it.
“What?”
“Just that.”
“Give me a minute. I want to study this.”
“Take your time.”.
“I’ll take the Pawn,” Tlingel said, after a long pause and another mug. “Then I’ll take this Knight.”
Later, “Knight to K2,” Tlingel said.
“Knight to B3.”
An extremely long pause ensued before Tlingel moved the Knight to N3.
The hell with asking Grend, Martin suddenly decided. He’d been through this part any number of times already. He moved his Knight to N5.
“Change the tune on that thing!” Tlingel snapped.
Martin rose and obliged.
“I don’t like that one either. Find a better one or shut it off!” After three more tries, Martin shut it off.
“And get me another beer!”
He refilled their mugs.
“All right.”
Tlingel moved the Bishop to K2.
Keeping the unicorn from castling had to be the most important thing at the moment. So Martin moved his Queen to R5. Tlingel made a tiny, strangling noise, and when Martin looked up smoke was curling from the unicorn’s nostrils.
“More beer?”
“If you please.”
As he returned with it, he saw Tlingel move the Bishop to capture the Knight. There seemed no choice for him at that moment, but he studied the position for a long while anyhow.
Finally, “Bishop takes Bishop,” he said.
“Of course.”
“How’s the warm glow?”
Tlingel chuckled.
“You’ll see.”
The wind rose again, began to howl. The building creaked.
“Okay,” Tlingel finally said, and moved the Queen to Q2.
Martin stared. What was he doing? So far, it had gone all right, but… He listened again to the wind and thought of the risk he was taking.
“That’s all, folks,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Continued next month.”
Tlingel sighed.
“Don’t run off. Fetch me another. Let me tell you of my wanderings in your world this past month.”
“Looking for weak links?”
“You’re lousy with them. How do you stand it?”
“They’re harder to strengthen than you might think. Any advice?”
“Get the beer.”
They talked until the sky paled in the east, and Martin found himself taking surreptitious notes. His admiration for the unicorn’s analytical abilities increased as the evening advanced.
When they finally rose, Tlingel staggered.
“You all right?”
“Forgot to detox, that’s all. Just a second. Then I’ll be fading.”
“Wait!”
“Whazzat?”
“I could use one, too.”
“Oh. Grab hold, then.”
Tlingel’s head descended and Martin took the tip of the horn between his fingertips. Immediately, a delicious, warm sensation flowed through him. He closed his eyes to enjoy it. His head cleared. An ache which had been growing within his frontal sinus vanished. The tiredness went out of his muscles. He opened his eyes again.
“Thank—”
Tlingel had vanished. He held but a handful of air.
“—you.”
“Rael here is my friend,” Grend stated. “He’s a griffin.”
“I’d noticed.”
Martin nodded at the beaked, golden-winged creature.
“Pleased to meet you, Rael.”
“The same,” cried the other in a high-pitched voice. “Have you got the beer?”
“Why—uh—yes.”
“I’ve been telling him about beer,” Grend explained, half-apologetically. “He can have some of mine. He won’t kibitz or anything like that.”
“Sure. All right. Any friend of yours …”
“The beer!” Rael cried. “Bars!”
“He’s not real bright,” Grend whispered. “But he’s good company. I’d appreciate your humoring him.”
Martin opened the first six-pack and passed the griffin and the sasquatch a beer apiece. Rael immediately punctured the can with his beak, chugged it, belched and held out his claw.
“Beer!” he shrieked. “More beer!”
Martin handed him another.
“Say, you’re still into that first game, aren’t you?” Grend observed, studying the board. “Now,that is an interesting position.”
Grend drank and studied the board.
“Good thing it’s not raining,” Martin commented.
“Oh, it will. Just wait a while.”
“More beer!” Rael screamed.
Martin passed him another without looking.
“I’ll move my Pawn to N6,” Grend said.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Then you’ll take that Pawn with your Bishop’s Pawn. Right?”
“Yes …”
Martin reached out and did it.
“Okay. Now I’ll just swing this Knight to Q5.”
Martin took it with the Pawn.
Grend moved his Rook to K1.
“Check,” he announced.
“Yes. That is the way to go,” Martin observed.
Grend chuckled.
“I’m going to win this game another time,” he said.
“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“More beer?” Rael said softly.
“Sure.”
As Martin passed him another, he noticed that the griffin was now leaning against the tree trunk.
After several minutes, Martin pushed his King to B1.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d do,” Grend said. “You know something?”
“What?”
“You play a lot like a unicorn.”
Grend moved his Rook to R3.
Later, as the rain descended gently about them and Grend beat him again, Martin realized that a prolonged period of silence had prevailed. He glanced over at the griffin. Rael had tucked his head beneath his left wing, balanced upon one leg, leaned heavily against the tree and gone to sleep.
“I told you he wouldn’t be much trouble,” Grend remarked.
Two games later, the beer was gone, the shadows were lengthening and Rael was stirring.
“See you next month?”
“yeah.”
“You bring any plaster of Paris?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Come on, then. I know a good place pretty far from
here. We don’t want people beating aboutthese bushes. Let’s go make you some money.”
“To buy beer?” Rael said, looking out from under his wing.
“Next month,” Grend said.
“You ride?”
“I don’t think you could carry both of us,” said Grend, “and I’m not sure I’d want to right now if you could.”
“Bye-bye then,” Rael shrieked, and he leaped into the air, crashing into branches and tree trunks, finally breaking through the overhead cover and vanishing.
“There goes a really decent guy,” said Grend. “He sees everything and he never forgets. Knows how everything works—in the woods, in the air—even in the water. Generous, too, whenever he has anything.”
“Hm,” Martin observed.
“Let’s make tracks,” Grend said.
“Pawn to N6? Really?” Tlingel said “All right. The Bishop’s Pawn will just knock off the Pawn.”
Tlingel’s eyes narrowed as Martin moved the Knight to Q5.
“At least this is an interesting game,” the unicorn remarked. “Pawn takes Knight.”
Martin moved the Rook.
“Check.”
“Yes, it is. This next one is going to be a three-flagon move. Kindly bring me the first.”
Martin thought back as he watched Tlingel drink and ponder. He almost felt guilty for hitting it with a powerhouse like the sasquatch behind its back. He was convinced now that the unicorn was going to lose. In every variation of this game that he’d played with Black against Grend, he’d been beaten. Tlingel was very good, but the sasquatch was a wizard with not much else to do but mental chess. It was unfair. But it was not a matter of personal honor, he kept telling himself He was playing to protect his species against a supernatural force which might well be able to precipitate World War III by some arcane mind manipulation or magically induced computer foul-up. He didn’t dare give the creature a break.
“Flagon number two, please.”
He brought it another. He studied it as it studied the board. It was beautiful, he realized for the first time. It was the loveliest living thing he had ever seen. Now that the pressure was on the verge of evaporating and he could regard it without the overlay of fear which had always been there in the past, he could pause to admire it. If something had to succeed the human race, he could think of worse choices… .
“Number three now.”
“Coming up.”
Smart Dragons, Foolish Elves Page 16