Unicorn Variation Page 2

  "Well, it matches my sleek and glossy hide," the unicorn announced.

  Martin smiled, setting up the white for himself, the black pieces for his opponent. As soon as he had finished, he pushed his Pawn to K4.

  Tlingel's delicate, ebon hoof moved to advance the Black King's Pawn to K4.

  "I take it that you want a month now, to consider your next move?"

  Martin did not reply but moved his Knight to KB3. Tlingel immediately moved a Knight to QB3.

  Martin took a swallow of beer and then moved his Bishop to N5. The unicorn moved the other Knight to B3. Martin immediately castled and Tlingel moved the Knight to take his Pawn.

  "I think we'll make it," Martin said suddenly, "if you'll just let us alone. We do learn from our mistakes, in time."

  "Mythical beings do not exactly exist in time. Your world is a special case."

  "Don't you people ever make mistakes?"

  "Whenever we do they're sort of poetic."

  Martin snarled and advanced his Pawn to Q4. Tlingel immediately countered by moving the Knight to Q3.

  "I've got to stop," Martin said, standing. "I'm getting mad, and it will affect my game."

  "You will be going, then?"

  "yes."

  He moved to fetch his pack.

  "I will see you here in one month's time?"

  "Yes."

  "Very well."

  The unicorn rose and stamped upon the floor and lights began to play across its dark coat. Suddenly, they blazed and shot outward in all directions like a silent explosion. A wave of blackness followed.

  Martin found himself leaning against the wall, shaking. When he lowered his hand from his eyes, he saw that he was alone, save for the knights, the bishops, the kings, the queens, their castles and both the kings' men.

  He went away.

  Three days later Martin returned in a small truck, with a generator, lumber, windows, power tools, paint, stain, cleaning compounds, wax. He dusted and vacuumed and replaced the rotten wood. He installed the windows. He polished the old brass until it shone. He stained and rubbed. He waxed the floors and buffed them. He plugged holes and washed glasses. He hauled all the trash away.

  It took him the better part of a week to turn the old place from a wreck back into a saloon in appearance. Then he drove off, returned all of the equipment he had rented and bought a ticket for the Northwest.

  The big, damp forest was another of his favorite places for hiking, for thinking. And he was seeking a complete change of scene, a total revision of outlook. Not that his next move did not seem obvious, standard even. Yet, something nagged... .

  He knew that it was more than just the game. Before that he had been ready to get away again, to walk drowsing among shadows, breathing clean air.

  Resting, his back against the bulging root of a giant tree, he withdrew a small chess set from his pack, set it up on a rock he'd moved into position nearby. A fine, mistlike rain was settling, but the tree sheltered him, so far. He reconstructed the opening through Tlingel's withdrawal of the Knight to Q3. The simplest thing would be to take the Knight with the Bishop. But he did not move to do it.

  He watched the board for a time, felt his eyelids drooping, close them and drowsed. It may only have been for a few minutes. He was never certain afterward.

  Something aroused him. He did not know what. He blinked several times and closed his eyes again. Then he reopened them hurriedly.

  In his nodded position, eyes directed downward, his gaze was fixed upon an enormous pair of hairy, unshod feet—the largest pair of feet that he had ever beheld. They stood unmoving before him, pointed toward his right.

  Slowly—very slowly—he raised his eyes. Not very far, as it turned out. The creature was only about four and a half feet in height. As it was looking at the chessboard rather than at him, he took the opportunity to study it.

  It was unclothed but very hairy, with a dark brown pelt, obviously masculine, possessed of a low brow ridges, deep-set eyes that matched its hair, heavy shoulders, five-fingered hands that sported opposing thumbs.

  It turned suddenly and regarded him, flashing a large number of shining teeth.

  "White's Pawn should take the Pawn," it said in a soft, nasal voice.

  "Huh? Come on," Martin said. "Bishop takes Knight."

  "You want to give me Black and play it that way? I'll walk all over you."

  "Martin glanced again at its feet.

  "... Or give me White and let me take that Pawn. I'll still do it."

  "Take White," Martin said, straightening. "Let's see if you know what you're talking about." He reached for his pack. "Have a beer?"

  "What's a beer?"

  "A recreational aid. Wait a minute."

  Before they had finished the six-pack, the sasquatch—whose name, he had learned, was Grend—had finished Martin. Grend had quickly entered a ferocious midgame, backed him into a position of dwindling security and pushed him to the point where he had seen the end and resigned.

  "That was one hell of a game," Martin declared, leaning back and considering the apelike countenance before him.

  "Yes, we bigfeet are pretty good, if I do say it. It's our one big recreation, and we're so damned primitive we don't have much in the way of boards and chessmen. Most of the time, we just play it in our heads. There're not many can come close to us."

  "How about unicorns?" Martin asked.

  Grend nodded slowly.

  "They're about the only ones can really give us a good game. A little dainty, but they're subtle. Awfully sure of themselves, though, I must say. Even when they're wrong. Haven't seen any since we left the morning land, of course. Too bad. Got any more of that beer left?"

  "I'm afraid not. But listen, I'll be back this way in a month. I'll bring some more then if you'll meet me here and play again."

  "Martin, you've got a deal. Sorry. Didn't mean to step on your toes."

  He cleaned the saloon again and brought in a keg of beer which he installed under the bar and packed with ice. He moved in some bar stools, chairs and tables which he had obtained at a Goodwill store. He hung red curtains. By then it was evening. He set up the board, ate a light meal, unrolled his sleeping bag behind the bar and camped there than night.

  The following day passed quickly. Since Tlingel might show up at any time, he did not leave the vicinity but took his meals there and sat about working chess problems. When it began to grow dark, he lit a number of oil lamps and candles.

  He looked at his watch with increasing frequency. He began to pace. He couldn't have made a mistake. This was the proper day. He—

  He heard a chuckle.

  Turning about, he saw a black unicorn head floating in the air above the chessboard. As he watched, the rest of Tlingel's body materialized.

  "Good evening, Martin." Tlingel turned away from the board. "The place looks a little better. Could use some music... ."

  Martin stepped behind the bar and switched on the transistor radio he had brought along. The sounds of a string quartet filled the air. Tlingel winced.

  "Hardly in keeping with the atmosphere of the place."

  He changed stations, locating a country and western show.

  "I think not," Tlingel said. "It loses something in transmission."

  He turned it off.

  "Have we a good supply of beverage?"

  Martin drew a gallon stein of beer—the largest mug that he could locate, from a novelty store—and set it upon the bar. He filled a much smaller one for himself. He was determined to get the beast drunk if it were at all possible.

  "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?"

  "Yes."

  "Then let's get on wi
th 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 supposed 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 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 good place to visit, though."

  "Yes. If you will hold the umbrella over the board, I'll set up the best equivalent we can have here."

  "All right. Say, this look like a version of the game we played last time."

  "It is. I got to wondering what would have happened if it had gone this way rather than the way it went 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 just take this one over to B3. My 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... .

  "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?"

  "Yes."

  "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 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 Knight 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 anyway.

  Finally, "Bishop takes Bishop," he said.

  "Of course."

  "How's the warm glow?"

  Tlingel chuckled.

  "You'll see."