ambling is a national pastime in Llaza. Get two Llazans with spare change, and an event with an uncertain outcome, and you'll get gambling. The lower classes bet on animals tearing each other apart, the upper classes play the stock market and everyone goes to the Races.

Based on the outskirts of town, on the mainland rather than the islands, the Llaza Racecourse is one of our greatest attractions. Built to allow any kind of race imaginable, from a straightforward flat race (on foot, shandix, or any creature you can imagine) up to the more interesting obstacle races. Today was such a race - designed specially for matoo and their little salsham'ai jockeys. I was here on a matter of business, with a little pleasure thrown in (it's unavoidable at the Races, I'm afraid).

Matoo. These large arboreal apes were imported into Llaza by the colony of salsham'ai who live amongst the trees of "Little Thalsa" - once a parkland, now a salsham'ai enclave. I don't know who first thought of racing them, but I'd wager it was a Llazan. Matoo are normally slow and peaceful creatures, which doesn't make for the most entertaining spectacle, but if you don't feed them for a couple of days they'll do anything to get their hands on a pile of fruit. Put obstacles in the way, stick a jockey on their back and apply a, shall we say, "flexible" set of rules, and you have matoo racing.

I took my place in the Turif Grandstand (a gift to the city by a merchant clan hoping to buy perpetuity) and tucked into the shimsha I'd just bought. I don't know what meat was in the little pastry parcel - rat, probably by the looks of the seller - but hey, at least it was tasty rat. Nine contestants were in this race, mostly salsham'ai but two were human children. Sometimes midgets get hired as jockeys too, but the salsham'ai make better riders in general. Being able to grasp with your feet gives you a definite advantage.

The flag dropped, the cages opened, and the big apes knuckled out at an ungainly gallop. So, the brutes aren't very elegant on the flat, but once they get into the tangled gridwork of uprights, crossbeams, diagonals, ropes and nets known as The Jungle, then you see spectacular feats. One of the salsham'ai on a ginger-furred matoo took the lead and his mount leapt onto the nearest bars of the Jungle. His red tunic marked him as S'ath, an outsider with no sponsor that I had heard of. Something told me his lead wouldn't hold. Three others quickly followed suit, the matoos grunting with effort as their great arms pulled them up the outside of The Jungle.

The Jungle is so designed that a jockey can steer their matoo on many different paths, each with its own benefits and pitfalls. Part of the skill is in playing to the strengths of your own mount, whilst forcing your opponent into routes that bring out their weaknesses. I saw that S'ath had already made an elemental mistake, taking the seemingly easier route that led to The Chasm - a wide open space that could only be crossed by a precarious rope swing. Not many matoo are willing to take the leap. His opponents were now about level. As for the other five, as far as I was concerned they were effectively out of the race. Matoo don't sprint well, so catching up through pure speed was not an option, and apart from S'ath the leader pack knew their way through The Jungle well. They weren't going to make mistakes. The favourite, Dhalooth, veteran of the races, was already wowing the crowds. He had taken his matoo up to The Ladder, a set of monkey bars usually travelled hand over hand. Dhalooth was making his matoo traverse it upside-down, sloth-fashion. It was faster, but more dangerous for the jockey. Dhalooth clung on with his feet and waved to the cheering masses like a true showman (or show-off. Take your pick). Meanwhile, S'ath was stalled, still trying to persuade his mount to jump for the dangling rope. Overtaking him (Probably. Sometimes it's damn hard to tell in the three-dimensional tangle that is The Jungle) came Thervin, a well-known performer at Ziframp's but surprisingly unimpressive in the races. Thervin was taking the middling route. No great obstacles but tight and restricted. His ape was grunting his way through from bar to bar at a fast methodical pace. I've never seen a beast so keen to get to a pile of mouldy dapils.

A cry went up from the crowd. The fourth member of the leader pack - sponsored by the Thalsan embassy, no less, had taken a tumble. Rider and ape dropped through the gridwork of the Jungle, before each caught hold of a crossbar. They were now a long way from each other, however. The rider (Seom'sem, I think his name was) began to frantically climb back up. You'd think the Embassy could afford someone better.

S'ath, having lost his lead, now glumly began to take the long route around the Chasm. Meanwhile Dhalooth and Thervin were pulling through to the other side. The slap of leathery hands on the uprights and crossbars and the meaty grunting of the apes occasionally drifted over the roar of the crowds. Dhalooth was favourite to win, Thervin was only five to one but he was gaining. His mount had more drive to it than Dhalooth's. The favourite was falling back despite his desperate urging to his mount. His matoo obviously wasn't as hungry as Thervin's.

They reached the end of The Jungle. Thervin's matoo leapt from about three man-heights up and hit the ground running. Dhalooth's matoo climbed down carefully. I could see the little salsham'ai, bouncing up and down on the ape's back, trying to push him onwards but it was no use. Thervin crossed the finish line first and his ape began to greedily put away his slightly over-ripe reward with a loud smacking of his lips. Dhalooth came home a comfortable (if embarrassing) second. S'ath came third and Seom'sem, having been reunited with his mount, came fourth.

I smiled as I came away from making Jun the Bookie cough up my winnings. Five to One ain't bad odds, and I picked up a healthy string of glass yen thanks to Thervin of Ziframp's Circus. As I made my way over to the jockey's enclosure, I passed a group of ragged looking folk, waiting near the finish line and watching with hungry, desperate eyes as the matoos ate their reward. Ah, damn it. Reluctantly bidding farewell to the silk pentesh I was planning on getting, I tossed them my winnings. Call me stupid if you like, but I have no wish to see anyone fighting over a monkey's scraps.

Dhalooth leaned back in his chair, put his arms behind his head and picked up his steaming mug of shoka with his foot. He knows I hate it when he does that.

"Bad luck little guy," I said.

"Luck nothing," he spat back. "Someone gave Semf a whole load of jula berries before the race. I found the seeds in his stall. It's no wonder his heart wasn't in the race. The poor creature must have been suffering terrible stomach cramps."

"That's too bad," I replied blandly. Dhalooth gave me a steely glare.

"Yes," he said tightly. "Too bad. Whoever did it knew what effect the jula berries would have on a matoo."

I put my best Dragon Scale-playing face on. "Well, that could have been any of your opponents," I began to tick the options off on my fingers, "anyone from Ziframp's Circus, anyone from, oh, the entire population of Little Thalsa." The steely glare didn't shift.

"The stable hands saw a human going in there shortly before the race," he continued. "And somebody not far from where I'm sitting appears to have made rather a tidy sum betting on my rival to win."

There was a long silence. I broke it. So I couldn't take that gaze anymore. I held out my palms as a gesture of contrition.

"Okay, I'm sorry little guy. You shouldn't be so good. Odds of two to one are no way to make a decent profit."

"So you hobbled me just so you could make a better profit?" Dhalooth exclaimed, exasperated.

"If it helps, it all went to a good cause."

A grin broke out on his little face. "Okay, okay. Next time you want to fix a race, just tell me and I'll fall off. Spare poor Semf the stomach ache." He transferred his mug from foot to hand and took a sip, inhaling the aroma. Peace was achieved. "Now, you mentioned a job?"

I leant forward on the table. "Pack your bags little guy," I told him. "We're going to Ashoyin."