Stile did not even have to complete the climb. He only had to proceed one centimeter higher than the point the Citizen had reached. His caution, his alertness, and his reliance on the odds had brought him easy victory. Somehow it hadn’t seemed easy, though.
There was no fake address this time. Sheen took care of him, questioning him about his latest adventures in Phaze, and let him sleep. She concurred with the Lady Blue; she didn’t like the notion of him bracing the Red Adept in the Red Demesnes. “She’s a mean one; I could tell that from the holo. She’ll cut your throat with a brilliant smile. But I’m only a logical machine,” she complained. “I can’t stop an illogical manbrained flesh creature from being insanely foolish.”
“Right,” Stile agreed complacently. “Even clownish.” She always made reference to her inanimate status when upset.
But first he had to handle Round Seven. This turned out to be against another serf of about his own age. He was Clef, a tall thin man named for a symbol on written music, who evidently had qualified for the Tourney only because the top players of his ladder had not wanted to. Stile knew all the top serf-players of the current ladders, but did not recognize Clef. Therefore this man was no skilled Games-man, though he could have spot-skills.
They chatted while waiting for the grid. “Whoever wins this Round gets an extra year’s tenure,” Stile said. “Or more, depending on which Round he finally reaches.”
“Yes, it is my best hope to achieve Round Eight,” Clef agreed. “I have no chance to win the Tourney itself, unlike you.”
“Unlike me?”
“I have the advantage of you, so to speak,” Clef said. “I am aware of your skill in the Game. To be fair, I should advise you of my own specialties.”
“Fairness is no part of it,” Stile said. “Use any advantage you have. Maybe I’ll misjudge you, and grid right into your specialty. In any event, I have no way of knowing whether what you tell me is the truth.”
“Oh, it has to be the truth!” Clef said, shocked. “There is no place in my philosophy for untruth.”
Stile smiled, once again finding himself liking his opponent. “Glad to hear it. But still, you don’t have to—“
“I am a musician, hence my chosen name. My single other hobby is the rapier.”
“Ah—so you have a strength in either facet. That’s useful.”
“So it has proved. That and fortune. I did lose one match in CHANCE, but since I won three in that category I can not seriously object. I have come further in the Tourney than I really expected.”
“But you know I’ll play away from your strengths,” Stile said.
“I could as readily play for CHANCE again and neutralize your advantage.”
“Not if you get the letters.”
“Then my choice is easy. Rapier and flute are both tools.”
The flute? Stile wasn’t sure how well the Platinum Flute would play in this frame, since its magic could not operate here, but it was such a fine instrument it might well make him competitive. “I am not expert with the rapier,” he said, thinking of the training Neysa had given him in Phaze. “Yet I am not unversed in it, and in other weapons I am proficient. Unless you managed to get the rapier itself, rather than an edged sword, I doubt you would want to meet me in such a category.”
“I have no doubt at all I don’t want to meet you there!” Clef agreed.
“But I have lost one match in this Tourney through CHANCE, as you have, and am eager to avoid another.”
“Are you proffering a deal?” Clef inquired, elevating an eyebrow. He had elegant eyebrows, quite expressive. “This is legal and ethical. Of course no agreement has force in the Game itself. But two honorable players can come to an agreement if they wish.”
“I understand. Are you willing to meet me in Music?”
“Yes, depending.”
“You grant me Music, and I will grant you choice of instruments.”
“That was my notion.”
“However, I should warn you that I am widely versed in this area of the arts. My favorite is the flute, but I am proficient in any of the woodwinds and strings. More so than you, I believe; I have heard you play. So you may prefer to select one of the less sophisticated instruments.” Stile’s fiercely competitive soul was aroused. He had a compulsion to beat opponents in their special areas of strength. That was why he had tackled Hulk in Naked Physical. He thought again of the Platinum Flute, surely the finest instrument he could employ. On it he could play the best music of his life. He might take the measure of this self-proclaimed expert! But caution prevailed. If the flute was Clef’s instrument of choice, no skill of Stile’s could reasonably hope to match him, and it would be foolish to allow himself to believe otherwise. Also the Flute was in Stile’s possession only on loan, and if his use of it here drew the attention of Citizens to it—no, he could not risk that. Fortunately he did have an alternative. “The harmonica,” Stile said.
