The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [47]
"Bishop to D4." The Turk's head bobbed up and down. "Officially, in the books of history, Vaucanson never completed his project. His artificial man never existed. The project was abandoned, and Vaucanson himself died in 1782, an old and wealthy man."
"King to E2," Orphan said. He knew he was losing. Then: "The revolution. In France."
The Turk looked up. "Yes?"
"It took place in 1789."
"Yes?"
"Seven years after Vaucanson's death."
"Yes… Queen to G2. Check."
"Why the Bookman? You implied he led Vaucanson to build his simulacrum. Why?"
The Turk nodded. "What do you think?"
"To counter-balance the Everlasting Empire. To check the growing power of Les Lézards." He looked at the Turk. "What exactly did happen in the Quiet Revolution?"
"Perhaps," the Turk said enigmatically, "you will soon have occasion to find out for yourself. Play."
"King to D1," Orphan said, retreating further.
"Queen takes H1," the Turk said, removing Orphan's rook. "Check."
"Do you know where the Bookman is hiding?"
"Do you?"
"No. I…"
A horrible thought rose unbidden in his mind.
The Turk's head bobbed up and down. The lights flickered, on and off and on. "The Bookman wants you to find him," the Turk said. "He has kept his eyes on you for a long time now. Have you thought to ask yourself why?"
"Tell me," Orphan whispered. And then, "Tell me!"
"Play."
"King to D2."
"Queen to G2. Check."
"King to E1!"
"Knight to G1."
"Tell me."
"I sit here," the Turk said, "every hour of every day, alone in the darkness. I have a lot of time to think. To look at the strands of the past weave themselves into the knot of the present, and to imagine how the future might unfold from them. So many possibilities. Like a game of chess. And you, my little pawn, you are the catalyst, walking through the board one small step at a time, towards… what? What sort of endgame will you bring us all, Orphan?"
"I don't know. Tell me."
"Play."
"Knight to C3."
"Bishop takes C3. Do you know, I have played an identical game to this, once. He was a young soldier in the revolution… a short, angry, quite brilliant man, Bonaparte. In another history, another life, he may have been great. In this one, I think he was happier, growing grapes and pressing wine on his farm. Happiness must count for something, don't you think?"
"I don't want destiny," Orphan said. "I want…"
"Happiness? To get the girl and live happily ever after, raising fat babies, writing mediocre poetry? Perhaps in another life, Orphan. Play."
"I can't win, can I?" Orphan said.
"No."
"Pawn takes C3," Orphan said, removing the Turk's bishop. He felt as though something heavy and painful now rested on his chest, pressing against him until he couldn't breathe. "How many?" he asked. "How many sides does this game have?"
"Queen to E2," the Turk said, almost sadly. "Checkmate."
"How many sides?"
"Two," the Turk said. "There are only ever two."
"Les Lézards," Orphan said. Then, slowly, "And the Bookman."
"And we are all their pawns," the Turk said.
Then the lights behind the automaton dimmed for the last time, and died. Orphan was left in darkness.
"Wait," Orphan said.
There was merely silence.
"I don't believe that. Byron mentioned something… the Translation."
A lone bulb flickered into half-light above the Turk's head.
"The Binder story," the Turk said. "Yes… The probabilities are small."
"The Binder?"
"A being like the Bookman, if he exists at all," the Turk said. "It is a belief of – of my kind. A myth for a time of myths. The Translation… somewhere, they say, the Binder lives, and where the Bookman kills the Binder restores."
"What is the Translation?"
"Who knows? A device, perhaps. Or a way of thinking, a way of being… There is a story of a time when human and machine will be as one, life biological and life mechanical and all life animate and inanimate will be joined, will be made one. The Translation…" The dim bulb faded. Darkness settled, again and finally.