''He asked,'' she said. ''He's very interested in you, in case you hadn't noticed.''
''Well, if he wants a boyfriend, he's barking up the wrong tree.''
David judged that to be a pretty good exit line, and turned on his heel to go.
Immediately Saeed and Salim closed ranks, blocking the way out.
''All right,'' David said, ''which one of you plug-uglies wants it first?''
The two Liberators folded their arms. David reckoned he could take them down pretty easily. Though both were stockily well built, neither radiated the calm, ready-for-anything aura of an experienced fighter. Street muscle. They would go for obvious blows — face, chest, belly. He would jab at nerve clusters and soft spots — throat, eyes, genitals. No contest.
The Lightbringer spoke, and Saeed and Salim unfolded their arms and stepped aside.
He spoke again, and Zafirah said, ''David, the Lightbringer says you are free to leave if you wish. He will not stop you. But,'' she continued, ''he has heard rumours that you are an accomplished senet player.''
''Oh, has he? News travels fast.''
''Luxor is a small place and the Lightbringer likes to stay informed. He wants to know if you will sit with him in private and play a few games.''
''What for? I can't see the point.''
''Indulge me,'' the Lightbringer said through Zafirah. ''I fancy myself a pretty good player too. In fact, I've yet to meet my equal in the game. Maybe that's you?''
''Not interested.''
''Not interested? Or do you simply fear losing?''
David knew, with an inward sigh, that that was that. A gauntlet had just been thrown down and there was no way he couldn't pick it up. Nobody called David Westwynter a coward. Or even implied it.
Ten minutes later, he and the Lightbringer were alone in the chamber. Everyone else had been dismissed, including Zafirah. Without her as interpreter there would be no conversation, no interaction other than through the game itself. It was just the two of them, hunched on wooden chairs, with the board laid out on an upturned crate between them.
David noted that it was a proper AW Games board, not a crude knock-off like the ones he'd played on earlier in the day. Freegypt was exempt from international patent law, much as it was exempt from all the other rules the rest of the world lived by, so bogus copies of the game could be produced and sold with impunity. The Lightbringer, however, clearly preferred the quality and craftsmanship of the genuine article. The version he owned was actually the deluxe edition, carved from teak, with counters made of polished marble and a small drawer inset into the board in which to stow them. Everything was scratched and scuffed with age and use.
As the Lightbringer set out the counters for the first game, David took the opportunity to study him at close range. The mask was sewn to fit, with seams down both sides, and gathered at the neck. Whatever material it was made from, it was thin enough that the wearer could see out without much difficulty. Seeing in, though, was much harder. David could just make out the glitter of the man's eyes as they flicked to and fro. The mouth was a dim oval. He thought he spied a patch of strange, ribbed roughness covering the skin of most of one cheek, but it might have been shadows cast by tiny pleats and folds in the fabric.
The Lightbringer looked up and David ended his scrutiny. The Lightbringer proffered the casting sticks. David took them and threw them. He got a 1, meaning he was playing black and went first.
And the game commenced.
And David lost.
It happened so fast he could barely believe it. He'd succeeded in getting just one of his counters to Square 30 and off the board. He'd had a hard time even manoeuvring them onto the last row.
The Lightbringer gave a grunt of satisfaction, then made a gesture: perhaps David would like a second chance.
David certainly did.
The game began again, and again David lost. He made a better fist of it this time, installing counters on both the House of Beauty and the House of Three Truths, but it wasn't enough to foil the Lightbringer's efforts. He won while David still had three counters left to remove.
The Lightbringer might have been pleased to have had two victories on the trot. He might have been annoyed that David wasn't proving to be much competition after all. It was impossible to know.
They knuckled down to a third game, David now more determined than ever to beat the other man.
It was a close-fought contest. Luck was definitely on David's side this time, in as much as luck meant anything. The sticks kept giving him fours and sixes, allowing him turn after turn after turn. He built up a commanding lead. He removed one counter from the board.
Then the Lightbringer came from behind, gained the upper hand, and in fewer than ten moves had all his counters off and yet another victory under his belt.
David looked at the board aghast, as if somehow it had betrayed him. Three games. He had lost three whole games. And badly too. They'd not even been marginal defeats. They'd been crushing ones.
He hadn't had such a poor run at senet since… he couldn't remember when. He could think of only two people who'd ever been able to best him at the game quite so convincingly. One was his father, and the other was dead.
He debated whether to agree to a fourth game. He wasn't sure his ego could handle it. However, when the Lightbringer held out the sticks to him, he took them, and shook them, and threw them, and once again board-game battle was joined.
Now David began to notice something. He hadn't realised it before, but the Lightbringer's playing strategies were very familiar. They mirrored his own. Every move the other man made was the move he too would have made had he been in that position. The Lightbringer followed game patterns he himself favoured. It was as though he was up against another David Westwynter, and that was why he was losing. The same skills he used to beat others were being used to beat him.
Accordingly he changed tactics. He abandoned formal play. All the permutations he knew by rote, he avoided. He went for wild-card moves instead, doing what he least expected of himself and therefore what his opponent would least expect too. Given a choice between safe and unpredictable, he chose the latter every time. His only rule was recklessness. Chaos was the order of the day.
He didn't care that this probably meant he would lose. It was also the only hope he had of winning. If he continued to play as before, he would simply be handing the Lightbringer a fourth victory.
To his surprise, the gamble paid off. As he plucked his fifth and final counter off the board, David could barely suppress a grin of glee.
The Lightbringer nodded, perhaps in appreciation, perhaps in bemusement, perhaps both.
Then, in perfect English, with no trace of an accent, he said: ''Well done.''
David's jaw dropped.
''You figured it out,'' the Lightbringer went on. ''Took you long enough, but you got there. Go mad. Take absurd risks. It's the only defence against tightly structured play.''
''You're… you're British.''
''Yes, but you can do better than that.''
''What do you mean?''
''What do you think I mean? Dave.''
David didn't understand.
Then he did.
All at once the chamber seemed tiny, constrictingly small. David felt as though the world were telescoping down, zeroing in on this point in space and time, this moment, this impossible event. Nothing else was happening anywhere, just this. There was just this stone room, these two chairs, the two people sitting on them. Everything outside the immediate vicinity had ceased to matter, ceased to be.