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 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 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.