Play of Shadows

2.6: Wolf at the Door

They did not find the mermaid statue.

Frances caught Michael's eye and raised a hand in greeting. The chatter of the other players rose around him like the flutter of wings, still hushed but noticeable after a stretch of nothing but his footsteps and the occasional muttered comment to keep him company.

"How'd you know where to go?" Frances asked.

They hadn't found the statue, because they hadn't been looking for it, and one was prerequisite for the other. Their winding path just happened to lead them where they needed to go. Frances would suspect the game responsible for the convenience, but his gut said otherwise.

He had followed the man with the cane, and the man with the cane led the way as if he knew where he was going. Like he was certain of it.

Svetlan slanted his head back the way they had come. Frances followed the motion, sweeping a cursory glance over what he could see of the artwork they had left behind.

"It's all to do with the sea," he realized.

Svetlan smiled. "Exhibits are generally grouped by theme, and we had a very specific goal in mind," he said.

Frances squinted at the man, unconvinced.

Michael came up to them then. He clasped Frances' shoulder in brief greeting, then offered Svetlan a hand and a friendly smile.

"Hello. I don't believe we have officially met. Michael," he said.

"What happened?" Frances interrupted. He pulled at the frayed collar of Michael's shirt when his friend raised a brow in question, then darted a meaningful look down at his soaked pants.

"Ah, that. I meant to talk to you about it, actually," Michael replied. He darted a look at their company.

"I will leave you to it, then," Svetlan said.

Frances watched the man limp away. The other players darted glances his way, some decidedly unfriendly.

"Did he follow you?" Michael asked.

Frances snorted. "Other way around. What happened to you? Is that – did something bite you?"

Michael angled his arm, pulling at the shredded remains of a sleeve. "So it did."

The man told Frances of the winding chase that had taken him to the mermaid statue. More false turns than not, the players growing disorientated the longer they wandered through the Gallery's gleaming halls. The artwork hanging from the walls changed but nothing else ever did, each hallway exactly like the other.

"It's like walking in a dream," Michael said. His eyes lost focus for a moment, perhaps chasing a memory.

Frances waved a hand in front of his face, startling the man. "What bit you?" he reminded.

"Not entirely sure, to be honest," Michael admitted. "Could have been one of the damned rabbits. Things got a little blurry toward the end. We were being herded in this direction, that's all I know."

There had been a long, winding chase through various exhibits, helped along by a claw or a tentacle darting from nearby artwork whenever players strayed the wrong way.

"You should be more careful. A scratch or two won't kill them," Frances said, meaning the other players. It was clear that Michael had taken the brunt of the assistance the game had provided.

Michael shrugged him off with a placating smile. "And how did you find this place? Where did you disappear to, anyway?"

Frances shared his adventure in Baba Yaga's hut and then his own, much less thrilling trek across the Gallery. "Svetlan says the paintings pointed the way, or something. Something about a maritime theme and exhibit sections in real galleries."