Read Curiosity for Free Online

plenty of skill, I had precious little experience.
    Maelzel’s headquarters occupied nearly the entire first floor of Masonic Hall. It was obvious at a glance that the place was no chess club. It looked more like a factory. Half a dozen men in work clothes and carpenter’s aprons were engaged in a bewildering variety of tasks: One was carving what looked like a doll or marionette. Another was chiseling teeth into a wooden gear a foot in diameter. A third was constructing a miniature house, laying bricks the size of split peas. Next to him was a fellow crafting a wagon so small it could have been pulled by snails.
    On the back wall hung a sheet of linen some four feet high and ten feet long, on which two men were painting a landscape as true to life as a daguerreotype—though of course the daguerreotype hadn’t been invented yet. These odd activities stirred my curiosity, and I might have stood there gaping for a long while, but Mulhouse led me across the sawdust- and shavings-strewn floor and into an office with a large glass window that gave a clear view of the whole workshop. The desk was cluttered with books and drawings and clay models and dirty cups and overflowing ashtrays, but no one sat there.
    On one wall of the office was a heavy door; Mulhouse approached it and knocked—not as you or I would knock, but in a certain pattern: three raps, then a pause, three more, then a pause, then two more. After a moment, a little panel in the door opened and I saw dark eyes peering out. “Oh, it is you,” said a voice. The door opened slightly—not enough for me to see inside the room—and a man emerged, swiftly pulled it shut behind him, and locked it.
    This, I supposed, must be Maelzel. As I’ve said, when you’re young it’s hard to judge an adult’s age, but I suppose he must have been sixty or so. His hairline had receded considerably; the remaining hair—which was worn long, in the manner of men who wanted to appear artistic—showed no trace of gray. No doubt he dyed it with silver nitrate and henna, but I didn’t know about such things then; I noticed only that it seemed unnaturally black.
    I later learned that, when he made public appearances, he wore a corset to contain his ample belly, but at the moment it was contained only by a carpenter’s apron, like those worn by the workmen. Otherwise, he was dressed like a gentleman, in a brown linen jacket and trousers. His face had an aristocratic look, too, with a long nose that was nearly as straight and sharp as a knife; his arched eyebrows, which looked as if they’d been plucked, were raised in surprise.
    â€œWhat have we here, Mulhouse? You said you would bring me a chess player, not a street urchin.” He had a European accent, too, but it was heavier and more guttural than Mulhouse’s.
    Mulhouse smiled smugly. “Ah, Johann. You, of all people, should know better than to let appearances deceive you. The boy may look a bit shabby, but I assure you, his chess playing is not.”
    â€œHave you played against him?”
    â€œOf course. I am not a fool.”
    â€œThat is debatable.” The man approached me and, to my astonishment, placed both hands on my head and began exploring my scalp, much the way the keepers at the House of Refuge had when they were looking for lice. Alarmed, I glanced at Mulhouse. He smiled slightly and gave me a reassuring nod.
    After a full minute of massaging my skull with his blunt fingers, Maelzel said, “Hmm. His organ of Locality is well developed; so are those representing Order and Calculation. A good sign.” The fingers moved to a spot directly above my ear. “I note that he is also better than average in Cautiousness and Agreeableness.” The fingers probed the area behind my ear. “He is lacking in Combativeness, which is a good thing . . .” They crept across my crown, making me shiver. “. . . but also in