Curiosity by Gary Blackwood

making? Jacques hadn’t bothered to explain this. As I got more adept at moving the chess pieces, though, the answer became obvious.
    Beneath each square of the main board was a little pin with a thin metal ring on it. Each chess piece had a magnet in the base; when I picked up a piece, the magnet let go of the metal ring, and it dropped; when I set the piece down again, the magnet lifted up the metal ring on that square.
    Von Kempelen, the Turk’s inventor, had clearly been a clever fellow. I wanted to know more about him, and about how the machine had come into Maelzel’s hands; I wanted to know who had operated it before me, and who I was to play against and when, and so many other things, but I didn’t care to risk Jacques’s wrath—especially after what occurred about a week into my apprenticeship.
    At some small hour of the night, my already fitful sleep was disturbed by the sounds of someone struggling and crying out. In my stuporous state I imagined that it was the Turk’s head, protesting the fact that I’d covered him up with a cloth. Then I realized the clamor was coming from Jacques’s bed. Thinking that he must be ill or in pain, I rose and shuffled across the room, banging into unseen objects on my way.
    Jacques was tangled up in his blanket and thrashing about as though assailed by demons. “Non! Non!” he called out, in a voice as tortured and indistinct as the Turk’s. “Laissez-moi tranquille, je vous en prie!” Not knowing what else to do, I bent down and, catching hold of his shirtsleeve, shook it a little. There was no response. I shook it harder. His eyes sprang open and the look in them was wild, desperate; one huge hand shot out and seized me by the throat.
    I tried to shout in protest, but his grip was so tight that I couldn’t breathe. Frantically, I flailed at his arm with my fists; it had no effect at all. Just as I was on the verge of passing out, he seemed to come fully awake at last, and to realize what he was doing. He released me and I sagged to the floor, gasping.
    Jacques swung his legs awkwardly over the edge of the bed and sat up, holding his head in both hands. “Idiote !” he growled. “Never do that again!”
    In a choked voice, I said, “I—I was only—”
    â€œDo not explain! And do not ask any questions! Just go back to bed. And in the future, when I am asleep do not come near me, no matter what I may do or say. Compris? ”
    A few nights later, his cries and struggles woke me again. I lay listening, wondering what sort of torments he was suffering, and why, until at last he grew quiet again.
    After nearly two weeks of being cooped up with Jacques and the Turk, I was once again rescued—temporarily—by the amiable Monsieur Mulhouse. He convinced Maelzel that, if I was to stay in good health—as good as my health ever got, anyway—I needed fresh air and exercise. Maelzel reluctantly agreed to let me out, but only at night. No one was to see me coming and going from the hall, lest they guess what we were up to.
    The streets were dark, except for the widely spaced coal-gas lamps, and deserted except for a drunk making his unsteady way home. “I imagine you would like to visit your father,” said Mulhouse.
    â€œOh, yes! Will you take me?”
    â€œ Oui. But you must not let Maelzel know. I think he would prefer to keep you two apart. He likes his minions to have no loyalty to anyone but himself.”
    â€œAre you his minion?”
    â€œI was. Until he no longer had any use for me.”
    â€œWhat did you do?”
    â€œWhat was my job, you mean? Or what did I do to make him dismiss me?”
    â€œBoth.”
    Mulhouse took his time in replying. “I am so accustomed to keeping it a secret, it is difficult for me to say. But I suppose I may tell you. I operated the Turk.”
    â€œReally? How did you fit inside? It’s close quarters, even for