“You’re so sweet,” said Molly. She came forward to stand right in front of me, so we could stare into each other’s eyes.
“Are you two going back into the shower again?” said Frankie. “Are you even listening to me? Oh, hell . . . can I have some money to go to the pictures?”
“Hold it,” I said, tearing my gaze away from Molly to glare steadily at Frankie. “I still want to know exactly what’s happened to my parents. I can’t believe the hotel or the Casino would just let them leave, and escape, not when they had a claim on their souls. They must have some way of tracking them . . . so, just maybe, the Casino has my parents imprisoned somewhere here in the hotel. Ask around, Frankie. The Players may have left, but most of the staff are probably still here. Talk to them; see if anybody knows anything.”
Frankie nodded quickly. “Got it, boss.”
He left. Molly looked at me.
“We have to talk about your parents, Eddie. Even if we do break the bank here, we have to accept we might not be able to free their souls, or yours, from the Shadow Bank.”
“Then I’ll just have to do whatever it takes to bring down the Shadow Bank,” I said. “Not just for my sake, but for everyone’s.”
“Whatever happened to better the devil you know, and all that?” said Molly.
“That was before I got a look at how they do things,” I said. “I will not suffer this to continue, Molly. I can’t. It’s not just about me any more, or my parents. Or even stopping an inconvenient war. You saw the faces, Molly. Like Frankie said, they might as well be in Hell. If I turn my gaze away, it’s like I’m saying They knew what they were doing, they deserve it, it’s none of my business. And I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can’t, sweetie,” said Molly. “The Shadow Bank is going down! I’m with you all the way. But, how are we going to do it? We don’t even know who or what might be running them. What can we do?”
“Haven’t a clue,” I said. “I’m working on it.”
“Terrific . . .” said Molly. “Talk about getting a girl’s hopes up . . . want to lie down on the bed for a while?”
Just as she was saying that, there was the sound of gunfire as the lock on our door was blown apart, the door was kicked in, and someone with a very familiar face stormed into our suite. The Little Lord looked very angry, even disturbed . . . and in pretty good shape, considering that the last time I’d seen her she was being carried unconscious from the Arena. She was back in a formal suit, complete with top hat and a monocle screwed firmly into one eye. She had a really large gun in one hand, and a piece of complicated-looking tech jammed under her other arm. She fixed me with a cold, dangerous look and pointed the gun right at me.
Molly moved quickly forward to stand between me and the Little Lord, and I let her. I thought about drawing the Colt Repeater from my pocket dimension, and then thought better of it. A drawn gun trumps a holstered gun, every time. I was better off letting Molly defend us both with her magics.
Until I recognised the tech under the Little Lord’s arm; what it was, what it had to be. And I stepped forward, to put myself between Molly and the Little Lord. Her gun followed my every movement. It looked very steady; and the Little Lord looked very determined. Molly glared at me, as though I might have forgotten I didn’t have my armour any more. I put out an arm to hold her where she was, and nodded to the Little Lord.
“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” I said calmly. “Nice gun. Is that tech thing . . . what I think it is?”
“What?” said Molly.
“It’s a portable null zone generator,” the Little Lord said grimly, glancing quickly at Molly. “So your magics won’t work against me, witch.”
“Where did you get such a thing?” I said quickly, to bring the Little Lord’s attention back to me. And before Molly could say anything that might make the situation any more tense. “And how did you get back here from the Games world?”
“Pretended I was unconscious, until the flunkies weren’t looking,” said the Little Lord. “Then I slipped away, clubbed down a Player from behind, stole his obol and his identity, and a flunky escorted me back through the dimensional door. Seems they really can’t tell us apart, after all. I stole this portable generator from one of the hotel staff, beat your location out of a Jackson, and stole his gun, and here I am.”
“That’s actually . . . pretty impressive,” said Molly. “Sounds like something I might do.”
“It’s amazing how motivated you can get when you’ve just lost your soul,” said the Little Lord. Her gun was still pointing straight at me. “And now, I want it back. Give me back my soul, right now! Because if you don’t I will shoot you, Shaman Bond, and take my chances that with your death, all your bets will be declared null and void!”
“Sore loser,” said Molly.
“Shut up!” said the Little Lord, her voice rising dangerously. “You don’t understand! It’s not just money I lost this time; it’s my eternal soul! I thought I understood what I was risking, but I didn’t. I’ll do whatever I have to, to get my soul back!”
“All right,” I said. “You can have it.”
The Little Lord looked at me. “What?”
“It’s just one soul,” I said. “I’ve got loads—more than enough to get me into the Big Game.” I looked at Molly. “I told you I wasn’t comfortable owning souls.”
“You expect me to believe you?” said the Little Lord. “You’re really willing to just . . . give me my soul back?”
“Why not?” I said.
Moving slowly and carefully, I took the hotel ledger out of my pocket dimension, leafed through the pages to find the Little Lord’s name, and then took out a pen and carefully crossed her name through. Then I put the ledger away again, took out the obol I’d kept, and handed it to her.
“This is your soul,” I said. “Or at least what represents it. I revoke all claims to it.”
And as I handed the small coin over to the Little Lord, we both felt something pass between us. Like the handing over of a precious gift, or a heavy burden, or something of indescribable significance. We both breathed a little more easily. The Little Lord clutched her obol tightly in her fist, and looked at me with something like wonder.
“Thank you. . . . That was the most generous thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what I’d expected would happen when I finally got here, but that wasn’t it.”
“He’s a good man,” said Molly. “I don’t tell him nearly often enough, but he is.”
“I’m Shaman Bond,” I said. “If I was someone else, I might have responsibilities. I might feel it was my duty to hang on to the obol. But I’m not. I’m Shaman Bond, and a free man.”
The Little Lord looked at Molly. “Am I supposed to understand any of that?”
“I’m right here, and I’m not sure I do,” said Molly.
“I’d leave the Casino right now, if I were you,” I said kindly to the Little Lord. “Hotel Security are probably already on their way here to investigate the shooting, and Casino Security will be hot on the trail of their stolen null generator. Besides, I don’t think the Casino’s a healthy place for you. Now you’ve got your soul back, there’s always the chance you might be tempted to gamble it again.”
“I didn’t mean to,” said the Little Lord. “I was just so desperate to get home again.”
“Then you’d better have some money, too,” I said. “To help you on your journey.” I produced a thick wad of notes from my pocket, and offered them to her. The Little Lord put her gun away, and accepted the money almost shyly.
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you. I . . . I’m out of here. I’m going home!”
She turned and left. I went over to the door and pushed it shut. I turned back to find Molly looking at me.
“You really think she can get out of this hotel, and evade Casino Security, on her own?”
“Why not?” I said. “She has a portable null generator and I’d like to see anyone stop her, the mood she’s in. She’s go
ing home. Wherever that might be. Planet of the Aristocratic Imposters, perhaps.”
“Oh, I can tell you where she comes from,” said Molly. “The Nightside. She’s an old friend of Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor.”
I sighed, quietly. “Tell me she’s not the Little God of Transvestites, or something.”
“No,” said Molly. “Nothing so grand. She’s from some other-dimensional city port called Haven, and the sooner she goes back there, the better. You know, you really are too good for your own good, sometimes. Come here.”
Not long after that the door slammed open again, and Frankie came hurrying in.
“What the hell happened to the lock on your door? Did something happen while I was gone? Oh God, you’re at it again. Don’t you ever stop? Look, you have to listen to me! This is important! Really important!”
“All right,” I said, stepping away from Molly. “I believe you. What is it, that’s so very important?”
“It’s your parents!” said Frankie. “I’ve found them! I got lucky first time out, talking to the right person. The Casino is holding your parents prisoner, and I know where!”
“Where?” I said, and something in my voice and in my gaze made Frankie stumble for a moment.
“Right here in the hotel,” he said finally.
“Are you sure?” said Molly.
“Of course I’m sure!” said Frankie, regaining something of his usual assurance. “I told you—I can find out anything! The Casino has both of them locked up in a specially guarded holding cell, down in the hotel sub-basement. But you have to come with me, right now, because they’re about to be moved!”
“Let’s go,” I said.
Frankie dithered impatiently, while I made sure I had all the Armourer’s special weapons and devices stored away somewhere about my person. I wanted to be sure I was ready for anything. Molly stuck close to me, comforting me with her presence, making it clear that she was ready to back me up, in whatever I chose to do. Finally, I nodded to Frankie, and he led the way out of the room.
* * *
As we hurried down the deserted corridor towards the elevators, I rehearsed in my head all the things I intended to say to my parents when I finally caught up with them. To Patrick and Diana—or Charles and Emily. I hadn’t spoken to them since my family home returned from the alien world it had been exiled to. We’d meant to sit down and talk, and catch up. But we’d all been so busy, and then Casino Infernale got in the way. There was so much I wanted to say to them, so many questions I needed answered. . . . I was still angry with them for abandoning me to the Droods to bring up. For not letting me know they were still alive. And, for betting my soul and losing it, without even asking my permission. But I was a field agent, just like they had been for so many years. I knew that sometimes you have to think on your feet in dangerous situations, and make sudden decisions for the good of the mission. I wasn’t ready to judge or forgive them, just yet. I was ready to listen, and try to understand.
There just might be a lot of shouting involved, first.
We waited impatiently before the closed elevator doors, as the damned thing seemed to take forever to arrive. I kept looking up and down the empty corridor, but there was still no sign anywhere of any kind of Security. If I was Scott, I’d give them a real earful for their poor reaction times. But it was just as well, for the Security goons. I wasn’t in the mood to be messed with. The elevator doors finally opened, and we all hurried inside. Frankie hit the button for the sub-basement, the doors closed, and the elevator started its descent.
It took a long time to pass all the way down through the dozens of floors, to the very bottom. I kept checking my pockets to make sure everything was where it should be. I was still dangerously tense; Molly was poised and ready for anything; and Frankie seemed to grow more and more nervous. I didn’t blame him. He wasn’t the fighting sort and he was about to see a Drood enraged. It was not going to be pretty. The elevator finally slowed to a halt, and we all braced ourselves as we waited for the doors to open. When they did, I was first out.
And then I stopped, and glared at Frankie.
“Wait a minute! I know this place! This isn’t the sub-basement; it’s the underground car park!”
“Same thing!” Frankie said quickly. “They don’t have a call button marked for the car park, or anybody could get in! Now will you please keep your voice down! We’re not supposed to be here, remember? There are still some staff around. . . .”
“I have to wonder,” said Molly, looking carefully between the rows upon rows of parked cars, “when we were here before, did we perhaps pass right by the holding cell, and not even know it?”
“This hotel is full of secure locations,” said Frankie, hurrying on ahead and glancing quickly about him. “They’ve got stuff holed away here you wouldn’t believe. There are whole sections of Casino Infernale that don’t even talk to each other. Now will you please hurry up and follow me!”
He quickly threaded his way through one particular set of parked cars, and I was right there behind him, with Molly bringing up the rear and shooting dangerous glances in all directions. The underground car park was exactly as I’d remembered it. A great stone cavern full of very old and very new cars, sitting silent and still in their orderly rows, and no sign of any staff anywhere. And then Molly stopped, abruptly. I sighed, and looked back.
“What is it, Molly?”
“Something’s wrong,” said Molly. “As in, something doesn’t feel right.”
And that was when the Casino Security people dropped their concealing illusion, and a whole army of very well-armed guards appeared all around us. We’d walked right into their midst, completely unaware. What looked like all of the remaining Jackson Fifty-five were in position around us, cutting off all the exits, pointing all kinds of guns at us. I stood very still and after I glared at her, so did Molly. From out among the parked cars, sauntering along, came the hotel manager himself, Jonathon Scott. Frankie looked at me, shrugged and smirked, and then moved over to stand with Scott. The Jacksons let him pass, unchallenged. Molly made a deep growling noise.
“So,” said Scott, stopping a respectful distance away from me and Molly. He looked me up and down with more than common interest. “You aren’t the shady and shifty Shaman Bond, after all. Instead, you’re a Drood in disguise. And not just any Drood, but the almost legendary Eddie Drood. Your reputation very definitely precedes you. Though I always thought you’d be taller.”
“I get that a lot,” I said. And then I looked at Frankie, who flinched under my gaze, but quickly recovered.
“Sorry, boss. I really was with you all the way; right until you started that nonsense about bringing down the Shadow Bank. I was listening outside the door. Old habits. I am too old and too experienced to work with crazy people. So I went straight to Mr. Scott, explained my position, and struck a deal. He was most understanding. And it must be said, the Shadow Bank pays a hell of a lot better than the Droods.”
“You really are a bastard,” said Molly.
“One of the Grey Bastards,” Frankie said proudly. “The clue is in the name.”
“Don’t try anything, witch,” said Scott. “We have a full-strength portable null zone generator working down here.” He indicated a large machine, standing to one side, guarded by half a dozen Jacksons. “Your infamous magics are being very thoroughly suppressed.”
“I don’t believe it,” Molly said to me. “You’re legendary, but I’m just infamous?”
“How about the machine?” I said.
“Oh, that. Yeah, scumbag here is right. I’ve got nothing. Getting really tired of that, I have to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything, witch,” said Scott. “So shut up. Let the people who matter talk, or I’ll have you gagged.” He waited a moment, to make his point, and then gave me his full attention. “So, a Drood without his torc. No sign we can detect that you ever had one . . . I never thought to see such a thing.”
“Giving it
up wasn’t easy,” I said. “But bringing you down will make it all worthwhile.”
“Typical Drood arrogance,” said Scott, entirely unmoved. If anything, he seemed amused. “You have no idea how much money I’m going to make out of you. From auctioning you to the Major Players here. The secrets waiting to be dug out of your mind, and after that’s gone, your body . . . What your new master will tear out of you will change the order of the world. . . . Drood secrets, for sale to the highest bidders.” He stopped, and thought for a moment. “I suppose . . . I could always ransom you, back to your family. . . . They’d pay really big money to keep your secrets from getting out. But no. Too risky. Your family has a reputation for dealing harshly with anyone who wants a more equitable playing field. No, I think it best they don’t know anything about this until it’s all safely over, and it’s too late for them to interfere.”
He broke off to smile on the increasingly fuming Molly. “I’m sure we’ll get a decent sum for you too, witch. And oh the things we’ll do to you, before we let you go. I’m sure your new owner won’t mind if we have some fun with you first. As long as your mind’s intact, they won’t care what we’ve done to your body.”
I must have moved forward, because all the guns immediately moved to cover me, and Scott actually fell back a step. He glared at me.
“Stay right where you are, Drood! And don’t try to run. I need you alive, not intact. Having the Jackson Fifty-five chase after you and drag you down would just be embarrassing for all concerned. Now, Eddie, please be so good as to remove that nasty gun of yours from your hidden pocket dimension, and drop it on the floor. And when you’ve done that, you can empty out all your pockets, and show us all the lovely toys the family Armourer gave you just for this mission. I’m sure my superiors will have such fun, working out what they do, and how best to use them against your family.”
“Can I ask a question?” I said.
“What is it?” said Scott.
“Do you really have my father and mother imprisoned down here somewhere?”
“Of course not!” said Scott. “Haven’t a clue where they are. Didn’t know they were your parents, until Frankie volunteered the information.”
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