The Player of Games

table.

Gurgeh turned the screen round. 'It's a little early for that, don't you think?'

The old, bald apex peered at the screen, smiling thinly. 'Hmm. You think so?' He reached out, turned the screen off.

'Things change, Hamin.'

'Indeed they do, Gurgeh. But I think the course of this game will not. Yomonul and Traff will continue to ignore you and attack each other. You will win.'

'Well then,' Gurgeh said, looking at the dead screen. 'Krowo will get to play Nicosar.'

'Krowo may; we can devise a game to cover that. You must not.'

'Must not?' Gurgeh said. 'I thought I'd done all you wanted. What else can I do?'

'Refuse to play the Emperor.'

Gurgeh looked into the old apex's pale grey eyes, each set in a web of fine lines. They gazed just as calmly back. 'What's the problem, Hamin? I'm not a threat any more.'

Hamin smoothed the fine material at the cuff of his robe. 'You know, Jernau Gurgeh, I do hate obsessions. They're so… blinding, yes?' He smiled. 'I am becoming worried for my Emperor, Gurgeh. I know how much he wants to prove he is rightfully on the throne, that he is worthy of the post he's held the last two years. I believe he will do just that, but I know that what he really wants — what he always did want — is to play Molsce and win. That, of course, isn't possible any more. The Emperor is dead, long live the Emperor; he rises from the flames… but I think he sees old Molsce in you, Jernau Gurgeh, and it is you he feels he must play, you he must beat; the alien, the man from the Culture, the morat, player-of-games. I am not sure that would be a good idea. It is not necessary. You will lose anyway, I feel certain, but… as I say; obsessions disturb me. It would be best for all concerned if you let it be known as soon as possible you will retire after this game.'

'And deprive Nicosar of the chance to beat me?' Gurgeh looked surprised and amused.

'Yes. Better he still feels there's something still to prove. It will do him no harm.'

'I'll think about it,' Gurgeh said.

Hamin studied him for a moment. 'I hope you understand how frank I've been with you, Jernau Gurgeh. It would be unfortunate if such honesty went unacknowledged, and unrewarded.'

Gurgeh nodded. 'Yes, I don't doubt it would.'

A male servant at the door announced the game was about to recommence. 'Excuse me, rector,' Gurgeh said, rising. The old apex's gaze followed him. 'Duty calls.'

'Obey,' Hamin said.

Gurgeh stopped, looking down at the wizened old creature on the far side of the table. Then he turned and left.

Hamin gazed at the blank table-screen in front of him, as if absorbed in some fascinating, invisible game that only he could see.

Gurgeh won on the Board of Origin and the Board of Form. The ferocious struggle between Traff and Yomonul continued; first one edged ahead, then the other. Traff went into the Board of Becoming with a very slight lead over the older apex. Gurgeh was so far ahead he was almost invulnerable, able to relax in his strongholds and spectate upon the total war around him before heading out to mop up whatever was left of the exhausted victor's forces. It seemed the only fair — not to mention expedient — thing to do; let the lads have their fun, then impose order later and tidy the toys back in the box.

Still no substitute for a real game, though.

'Are you pleased or displeased, Mr Gurgeh?' Star Marshal Yomonul came up to Gurgeh and asked him the question during a pause in the game while Traff consulted with the Adjudicator on a point of order. Gurgeh had been standing thinking, staring at the board, and hadn't noticed the imprisoned apex approach. He looked up in surprise to see the star marshal in front of him, his lined face looking out, faintly amused, from its titanium and carbon cage. Neither soldier had paid him any attention until now.

'At being left out?' Gurgeh said.

The apex moved one rod-braced arm to indicate the board. 'Yes; to be winning so easily. Do you seek the victory or the challenge?' The apex's skeletal mask moved with each action of the jaw.

'I'd prefer both,' Gurgeh admitted. 'I have thought of joining in; as a third force, or on one side or the other… but this looks too much like a personal war.'

The elderly apex grinned; the head-cage nodded easily. 'It is,' he said. 'You're doing very well as you are. I wouldn't change now, if I were you.'

'What about you?' Gurgeh asked. 'You seem to be getting the worst of it at the moment.'

Yomonul smiled; the face mask flexed even for that small gesture. 'I'm having the time of my life. And I still have a few surprises lined up for the youngster, and a few tricks. But I feel a little guilty at letting you through so easily. You'll embarrass us all if you play Nicosar and win.'

Gurgeh expressed surprise. 'You think I could?'

'No.' The apex's gesture was the more emphatic for being contained and amplified in its dark cage. 'Nicosar plays at his best when he has to, and at his best he will beat you. So long as he isn't too ambitious. No; he'll beat you, because you'll threaten him, and he will respect that. But — ah…' The star marshal turned as Traff strode across the board, moved a couple of pieces, and then bowed with exaggerated courtesy to Yomonul. The star marshal looked back at Gurgeh. 'I see it is my turn. Excuse me.' He returned to the fray.

Perhaps one of the tricks Yomonul had mentioned was making Traff think his conversation with Gurgeh had been to enlist the Culture man's aid; for some time afterwards the younger soldier acted as though he was expecting to have to fight on two fronts.

It gave Yomonul an edge. He scraped in ahead of Traff. Gurgeh won the match and the chance to play Nicosar. Hamin tried to talk to him in the corridor outside the game-hall, immediately after his victory, but Gurgeh just smiled and walked past.

Cinderbuds swayed all around them; the light wind made shushing noises in the golden canopy. The court, the game-players and their retinues sat on a high, steeply raked wooden structure itself almost the size of a small castle. Before the stand, in a large clearing in the cinderbud forest, was a long, narrow run; a double fence of stout timbers five metres or more high. This formed the central section of a sort of open corral, shaped like an hourglass and open to the forest at both ends. Nicosar and the higher-placed players sat at the front of the high wooden platform with a good view of the wooden funnel.

At the back of the stand there were awninged areas where food was being prepared. Smells of roasting meat drifted over the stand and out into the forest.

'That'll have them frothing at the mouth,' Star Marshal Yomonul said, leaning over to Gurgeh with a whirring of servoes. They were sitting side by side, on the front rank of the platform, a little along from the Emperor. Both held a large projectile rifle, fastened to a supporting tripod in front of them.

'What will?' Gurgeh asked.

'The smell.' Yomonul grinned, gesturing behind them to the fires and grills. 'Roasted meat. Wind's carrying it their way. It'll drive them crazy.'

'Oh, great,' muttered Flere-Imsaho from near Gurgeh's feet. It had already tried to persuade Gurgeh not to take part in the hunt.

Gurgeh ignored the machine and nodded. 'Of course,' he said. He hefted the rifle stock. The ancient weapon was single shot; a sliding bolt had to be operated to reload it. Each gun had slightly different rifling patterns, so that when the bullets were removed from the bodies of the animals, the marks on them would allow a score to be kept and heads and pelts to be allocated.

'You sure you've used one of these before?' Yomonul asked, grinning at him. The apex was in a good mood. In a few tens of days he would be released from the exoskeleton. Meanwhile, the Emperor had allowed the prison regimen to be relaxed; Yomonul could socialise, drink, and eat whatever he liked.

Gurgeh nodded. 'I've shot guns,' he said. He'd never used a projectile gun, but there had been that day, years ago now, with Yay, in the desert.

'Bet you've never shot anything live before,' the drone said.