The Player of Games

been concentrating as much as he intended to in the coming games.

He wasn't sure himself why he was pulling his punches in this way, but somehow it seemed important not to let Contact know everything, to keep something back. It was a small victory against them, a little game, a gesture on a lesser board; a blow against the elements and the gods.

The Great Palace of Groasnachek lay by the broad and murky river which had given the city its name. That night there was a grand ball for the more important people who would be playing the game of Azad over the next half-year.

They were taken there in a groundcar, along broad, tree-lined boulevards lit by tall floodlights. Gurgeh sat in the back of the vehicle with Pequil, who'd been in the car when it arrived at the hotel. A uniformed male drove the car, apparently in sole control of the machine. Gurgeh tried not to think about crashes. Flere-Imsaho sat on the floor in its bulky disguise, humming quietly and attracting small fibres from the limousine's furry floor covering.

The palace wasn't as immense as Gurgeh had expected, though still impressive enough; it was ornately decorated and brightly illuminated, and from each of its many spires and towers, long, richly decorated banners waved sinuously, slow brilliant waves of heraldry against the orange-black sky.

In the awning-covered courtyard where the car stopped there was a huge array of gilded scaffolding on which burned twelve thousand candles of various sizes and colours; one for every person entered in the games. The ball itself was for over a thousand people, about half of them game-players; the rest were mostly partners of the players, or officials, priests, officers and bureaucrats who were sufficiently content with their present position — and who had earned the security of tenure which meant they could not be displaced, no matter how well their underlings might do in the games — not to want to compete.

The mentors and administrators of the Azad colleges — the game's teaching institutions — formed the remainder of the gathering, and were similarly exempt from the need to take part in the tournament.

The night was too warm for Gurgeh's taste; a thick heat filled with the city-smell, and stagnant. The robe was heavy and surprisingly uncomfortable; Gurgeh wondered how soon he could politely leave the ball. They entered the palace through a huge doorway flanked by massive opened gates of polished, jewel-studded metal. The vestibules and halls they passed through glittered with sumptuous decorations standing on tables or hanging from walls and ceilings.

The people were as fabulous as their surroundings. The females, of whom there seemed to be a great number, were ablaze with jewellery and extravagantly ornamented dresses. Gurgeh guessed that, measuring from the bottom of their bell-shaped gowns, the women must have been as broad as they were tall. They rustled as they went by, and smelled strongly of heavy, obtrusive perfumes. Many of the people he passed glanced or looked or actually stopped and stared at Gurgeh and the floating, humming, crackling Flere-Imsaho.

Every few metres along the walls, and on both sides of every doorway, gaudily-uniformed males stood stock still, their trousered legs slightly apart, gloved hands clasped behind their rod-straight backs, their gaze fixed firmly on the high, painted ceilings.

'What are they standing there for?' Gurgeh whispered to the drone in Eachic, low enough so that Pequil couldn't hear.

'Show,' the machine said.

Gurgeh thought about this. 'Show?'

'Yes; to show that the Emperor is rich and important enough to have hundreds of flunkeys standing around doing nothing.'

'Doesn't everybody know that already?'

The drone didn't answer for a moment. Then it sighed. 'You haven't really cracked the psychology of wealth and power yet, have you, Jernau Gurgeh?'

Gurgeh walked on, smiling on the side of his face Flere-Imsaho couldn't see.

The apices they passed were all dressed in the same heavy robes Gurgeh was wearing; ornate without being ostentatious. What struck Gurgeh most strongly, though, was that the whole place and everybody in it seemed to be stuck in another age. He could see nothing in the palace or worn by the people that could not have been produced at least a thousand years earlier; he had watched recordings of ancient imperial ceremonies when he'd done his own research into the society, and thought he had a reasonable grasp of ancient dress and forms. It struck him as strange that despite the Empire's obvious, if limited, technological sophistication, its formal side remained so entrenched in the past. Ancient customs, fashions and architectural forms were all common in the Culture too, but they were used freely, even haphazardly, as only parts of a whole range of styles, not adhered to rigidly and consistently to the exclusion of all else.

'Just wait here; you'll be announced,' the drone said, tugging at Gurgeh's sleeve so that he stopped beside the smiling Lo Pequil at a doorway leading down a huge flight of broad steps into the main ballroom. Pequil handed a card to a uniformed apex standing at the top of the steps, whose amplified voice rang round the vast hall.

'The honourable Lo Pequil Monenine, AAB, Level Two Main, Empire Medal, Order of Merit and bar… with Chark Gavant-sha Gernow Morat Gurgee Dam Hazeze.'

They walked down the grand staircase. The scene below them was an order of magnitude brighter and more impressive than any social event Gurgeh had ever witnessed, The Culture simply didn't do things on such a scale. The ballroom looked like a vast and glittering pool into which somebody had thrown a thousand fabulous flowers, and then stirred.

'That announcer murdered my name,' Gurgeh said to the drone. He glanced at Pequil. 'But why does our friend look so unhappy?'

'I think because the «senior» in his name was missed out,' Flere-Imsaho said.

'Is that important?'

'Gurgeh, in this society everything is important,' the drone said, then added glumly, 'At least you both got announced.'

'Hello there!' a voice shouted out as they got to the bottom of the stairs. A tall, male-looking person pushed between a couple of Azadians to get beside Gurgeh. He wore garish, flowing robes. He had a beard, bunned brown hair, bright staring green eyes, and he looked as though he might come from the Culture. He stuck one long- fingered, many-ringed hand out, took Gurgeh's hand and clasped it. 'Shohobohaum Za; pleased to meet you. I used to know your name too until that delinquent at the top of the stairs got his tongue round it. Gurgeh, isn't it? Oh, Pequil; you here too, eh?' He pushed a glass into Pequil's hands. 'Here; you drink this muck, don't you? Hi drone. Hey; Gurgeh,' he put his arm round Gurgeh's shoulders, 'you want a proper drink, yeah?'

'Jernow Morat Gurgee,' Pequil began, looking awkward, 'Let me introduce…'

But Shohobohaum Za was already steering Gurgeh away through the crowds at the bottom of the staircase. 'How's things anyway, Pequil?' he shouted over his shoulder at the dazed-looking apex. 'Okay? Yeah? Good. Talk to you later. Just taking this other exile for a little drink!'

A pale-looking Pequil waved back weakly. Flere-Imsaho hesitated, then stayed with the Azadian.

Shohobohaum Za turned back to Gurgeh, removed his arm from the other man's shoulders and, in a less strident voice, said, 'Boring bladder, old Pequil. Hope you didn't mind being dragged away.'

'I'll cope with the remorse,' Gurgeh said, looking the other Culture man up and down. 'I take it you're the… ambassador?'

'The same,' Za said, and belched. 'This way,' he nodded, guiding Gurgeh through the crowds. 'I spotted some grif bottles behind one of the drink tables and I want to dock with a couple before the Emp and his cronies snaffle the lot.' They passed a low stage where a band played loudly. 'Crazy place, isn't it?' Za shouted at Gurgeh as they headed for the rear of the hall.

Gurgeh wondered exactly what the other man was referring to.

'Here we is,' Za said, coming to a stop by a long line of tables. Behind the tables, liveried males served drinks and food to the guests. Above them, on a huge arched wall, a dark tapestry sewn with diamonds and gold-thread depicted an ancient space battle.

Za gave a whistle and leant over to whisper to the tall, stern-looking male who approached. Gurgeh saw a piece of paper being exchanged, then Za slapped his hand over Gurgeh's wrist and breezed away from the tables, hauling Gurgeh over to a large circular couch set round the bottom of a fluted pillar of marble inlaid with precious metals.

'Wait till you taste this stuff,' Za said, leaning towards Gurgeh and winking. Shohobohaum Za was a little