"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.