The Great Game

“So why don’t we try to find someone who can induct us into the mysteries of this place? Information is power, and power brokers like to be at the heart of things. If anyone does know anything, he or she will be represented here. In this hall. Somewhere.”

Alice nods slowly, but she’s clearly reluctant. “But there’s going to be…”

I cut her off. “A price? Yes, sure. But I know how these people work. Trust me.”

She swallows. “Alright. But we must be careful.”

“Of course,” I say. “So. Why don’t we try starting with the guy with the wolf and the hat?”

“What? Why, for God’s sake?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “You said he was here a lot of time. That means he almost certainly knows anyone else who is working the room. That makes him a very good starting point.”

“Of course, you don’t know. Look, he’s a pretty scary guy.”

“He’s got a freaking wolf, for Christ’s sake. Of course he scares people. It doesn’t matter if he’s a bad-ass. Everyone who plays the game knows the rules.”

“What if he’s not playing your damn game? This isn’t the Bronx, remember?”

I’m about to say something sarcastic and vaguely patronising when I realize she’s right. I don’t know anything about this place. For all I know, he cruises the hall for weak victims to cart off and feed to his pet. Still. “OK, that’s a fair point, but a bad reputation might also mean he’s clued in. What do you know about him?”

“I’ve heard he’s heavy. People seem scared to him — everyone’s polite and wary, even assholes like Gunnar.”

“Have you ever heard him blamed for anything specific?”

Alice sighs. “Rumors have linked him to  a disappearance or two, and one of Eadida’s friends claimed he was some sort of satanist. But he’s not the sort of guy you talk about, you know?”

“Ok. I hear you. I still think he’s a good prospect. Do you know anyone who’d be a better bet?”

“I suppose not,” she says.

“All right. Let’s do it, then.”

I finish off my coffee and get up briskly. Alice eyes me with a little exasperation, and then follows suit, and leads the way towards the side of the hall. I try to stay focussed, and not look around at everyone like some gawking tourist. It’s not easy.

It takes maybe quarter of an hour, but eventually we catch sight of that blood-red top hat bobbing over the crowd.  We get a bit closer, and the crowd seems to thin out. The man is leaning against the wall, the wolf curled around his feet. It would be cute if the damn thing didn’t look so feral. He looks like he’s idly watching the passers by, sipping from a champagne flute. He glances over at us, and smiles broadly.

It is not a reassuring sight.

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Today’s picture: Burningman in color infrared by ioerror.