"Almost ready," he said. "You hold your beer awfully well."

Tlingel laughed.

"A unicorn's horn is a detoxicant. Its possession is a universalremedy. I wait until I reach the warm glow stage, then I use my hornto 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 andI'll put you back in business."

"No, thanks. That's all right. I'll just push this little Pawnin front of the Queen's Rook two steps ahead."

"Really ..." said Tlingel. "That's interesting. You know, whatthis place really needs is a piano—rinkytink, funky... . Think youcould 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 figuresomething out by next time."

Martin nodded.

"Also, didn't these old places used to have sawdust all over thefloors?"

"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 thinkof Grend as a coach up until this point. He had forced away thenotion 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.