Casino Infernale

CHAPTER THREE Take a Chance on Me

We came home from Mars to find the old chapel waiting for us like a familiar pair of arms. It felt disturbing, but delightful, to go so quickly from an alien world to a place of such pleasant familiarity. The Armourer and I armoured down, and Molly sent her bark sideways again. She looked fine, but my uncle Jack looked . . . tired. Older. The three of us just stood together for a while, getting our mental breath back. Because even people like us need to take time out, now and again, to recover our bearings and recharge our batteries.

“Will everyone else get home okay?” I said, finally.

“Oh, sure,” said the Armourer. “And the Tombs will shut themselves down.”

“What if someone decides they want to hang around?” said Molly. “Dig out a few secrets?”

“The Tombs can look after themselves,” said the Armourer. “You really don’t want to outstay your welcome there.”

“Louise did,” said Molly. “She said she liked it there.”

“Yes, but she’s weird,” the Armourer said kindly.

“What about Natasha Chang?” I said.

“I’m sure someone will give her a lift home, if she needs one,” said the Armourer.

“I wouldn’t worry about her,” said Molly. “Take a lot more than a bottle over the head to slow that one down.”

“Why would anyone want to help her, when she was ready to kill us all?” I said.

“Now, that was always on the cards,” said the Armourer. “She is Crowley Project, after all. Bad Deeds R Us, where betrayal comes as standard. But . . . no one ever bears grudges over what happens at Summit Meetings. Not when you might need to work with them some day.”

“What happens on Mars, stays on Mars,” I said solemnly.

“Well, quite,” said the Armourer.

And then he insisted we all beat our clothing, and stamp our feet hard, to shake off any Martian dust we might have picked up. He crouched down, his knees creaking loudly, and carefully brushed up what few grains he could find, before dropping it all into a small specimen jar, and sealing it very carefully. He straightened up, slowly. I went to offer a helping hand, and he stopped me with a hard look. I should have known better. He tucked the jar away, somewhere about his person.

“I’ll study that later, then store it somewhere safe,” he said happily. The Armourer does love his work.

“Excuse me,” I said, “but what’s so dangerous about Martian dust?”

“I don’t know,” the Armourer said darkly. “That’s why I’m going to study it, and store it somewhere safe.”

“You said . . . all the Martians are dead and gone,” I said. “Long gone . . . so who else could there have been in the Tombs, watching us?”

“Beats me,” said the Armourer.

“I could always ask Louise,” said Molly, just a bit threateningly.

“Nothing lives in the Martian Tombs,” said the Armourer, firmly.

“So what the hell did J. C. Chance See, with his horrible eyes?” I said. “Martian ghosts?”

“God, I hope not,” said the Armourer. “Help me with this Door, Eddie. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Together, we pushed Merlin’s Door into place against the chapel wall, and the moment we stepped back the Door just faded into the wall and disappeared, leaving nothing behind but an expanse of unbroken stonework. The Armourer sniffed loudly, turned away, and led us out of the old chapel. I was the last out, and I hesitated in the doorway, looking back. It would have been good to see the ghost of old Jacob, one last time. But there was no trace of him anywhere. There are miracles in my world, but rarely the ones you want.

I was just starting to turn away when the old television set suddenly turned itself on, and there on the screen was a ghostly image, grinning out at me.

“Jacob?” I said.

The television shut itself down. The screen was blank, the image gone—if it had ever really been there. It might have been him, or it might have been one last practical joke, arranged before he left. Jacob always did like to have the last laugh.

I left the old chapel, and heaved the door back into place. The ivy waved good-bye as I walked away.

The Armourer led us back through Drood Hall, heading for the Armoury. Like an old horse with the scent of the stables in his nostrils. He was clearly tired now, just plodding along with his shoulders bowed and his head down. People hurried back and forth through the corridors and hallways, and after a while I began to notice that they were looking at me. Not the usual Oh God it’s him back again . . . but more . . . sad, concerned. As though they knew something I didn’t and were commiserating in advance. I would have liked to stop and question some of them, but I didn’t like the way the Armourer was looking. The trip to Mars had taken a lot out of him, and I wanted him back in the Armoury where he belonged, as soon as possible. Hopefully, the familiar surroundings would invigorate him again.

Molly didn’t give a damn how tired he was. She kept badgering him about the Regent, and demanding the Armourer return control of the Merlin Glass to me, so we could get back to the Department of the Uncanny, and she could pin the Regent to the wall till she got some answers out of him. The Armourer finally had enough, and turned his old head sharply to glare at her.

“The Regent isn’t at the Department, just now. He’s gone to France.”

“What?” said Molly. “He didn’t say anything to us . . . what the hell is he doing in France?”

“He went some time back, to prepare the way for our assault on Casino Infernale,” said the Armourer.

“Why would the head of the Department of the Uncanny intrude on our mission?” I said. “And why has he gone personally, instead of sending his own people?” I was missing something here. I could tell.

“He had to go himself,” said the Armourer, “because your parents have been at Casino Infernale for some time. Playing the games, putting pressure on the bank. Setting things up for you.”

“But why is the Department of the Uncanny getting involved with Drood business?” I insisted, honestly confused.

“This is Summit business,” said the Armourer. “My father, and your parents, are working with us on this case.”

“Because . . . no one ever really leaves the family?” I said.

“You’re learning, Eddie,” said the Armourer.

Molly made a rude noise. “How is it you know so much about the Regent’s business?”

“He’s my dad,” said the Armourer. “We keep in touch; always have. Even though we couldn’t tell you, Eddie.”

“Yes . . .” I said. “We are going to have words about that, Uncle Jack.”

“It was for your own good, Eddie. Your protection.”

“That whole We know what’s best for you attitude is one of the main reasons I ran away from this family, first chance I got,” I said.

“I feel the same way myself, sometimes,” said the Armourer. “We will talk later, Eddie. About many things. I promise.”

Back in the Armoury, everything looked much the same. Except for the bits that had exploded or caught fire in our absence. Sometimes I don’t think of the Armoury as a scientific laboratory, more as evolution in action. It was raining very heavily in one corner of the Armoury, complete with thunder and lightning. A bit much just to test a new kind of umbrella. The Armourer seemed pleased to be back on his own territory again; stumbling along, not hurrying, smiling amiably about him at lab assistants who were usually much more preoccupied with whatever it was that was going horribly wrong right in front of them.

The Armourer finally sank down into his favourite old chair, complete with extra cushions and safety straps, in front of his personal workstation. He let out a long slow sigh of relief.

“Good to be back!” he said. “But then, the best part of a holiday is always coming home again.”

“Didn’t you enjoy being on Mars?” said Molly.

“I don’t enjoy leaving the Hall much at all, these days, truth be told,” said the Armourer. “It takes so much out of me. Don’t even like leaving the Armoury, some days.”

He started rummaging through his desk drawers, looking for food and drink and his private little bottle of pick-me-ups that he likes to think no one else knows about. I took a careful look around at the lab assistants, making sure none of them were getting too close. One young man was holding his melting arm over a sink, and swearing bitterly. A young woman was chasing frantically after a giant eyeball with its own heavily flapping bat wings, flailing about her with a really big butterfly net. The eyeball bobbed happily along ahead of her, always just out of reach. And two lab assistants stood quietly and thoughtfully at the edge of a combat circle, making notes on clipboards as their two shadows fought it out inside the circle.

Someone else was emptying the water from a fire bucket over a burning bush. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

I’d expected my uncle Jack to put the kettle on, and make us all a nice refreshing cup of tea. My family runs on hot sweet tea and Jaffa Cakes. Instead, he pulled out a bottle of Bombay gin and a glass, and poured himself a more than healthy measure. He didn’t offer Molly or me one. He added a good measure of Red Bull to his gin, and then dunked a Jaffa Cake in it. Neither the drink nor the cake seemed to restore him much. It worried me to see him like this. Watching the Armourer host the Summit on Mars, standing tall and sharp and authoritative, had been like seeing the Uncle Jack I’d known as a child. The man who was, once upon a time, one of the best field agents the Droods ever had. Now, that much older man’s fires seemed to have burned out. He looked up suddenly, and caught the expression on my face. He smiled, briefly.

“Don’t get old, Eddie. It’s hard work.”

Embarrassed, I looked away. Molly stole two chairs from nearby workstations, and we pulled them up opposite the Armourer, and sat down. He finished his drink, and looked thoughtfully at the various bits of high tech and partially disassembled weapons scattered across his work surface. He reached out to pat his computer fondly, like a favourite pet. The machine was wrapped in mistletoe, and long strings of garlic. Which may or may not have added to its processing power.

“That’s new,” I said, pointing vaguely at something green and brown, in a pot. “What is that?”

“A bonsai wicker man,” the Armourer said proudly. “Only one in captivity.” His voice was firmer now, his eyes clearer.

Molly leaned in close, fascinated. “What do you burn in it?”

“Chestnuts, mostly,” said the Armourer.

“Uncle Jack,” I said, and he looked at me sharply. He knew I used his name only to put pressure on him. “I think it’s time you told me what’s going on, Uncle Jack.”

“Yes, I suppose it is time, Eddie.” He sat back in his chair, and considered me thoughtfully. “Very well. Down to business, eh? Good, good . . . Casino Infernale is being held in the city of Nantes, in France, this year.”

“Hold it,” I said. “With something this important, shouldn’t I be getting the full briefing from the Council?”

“Thought you were in a hurry, boy? Still . . . caution; always a good thing. I’m telling you what you need to know, because I know more about this than anyone else. I was involved in one of the earliest attempts to break the bank at Casino Infernale, back in the mid-sixties. Don’t ask me the exact date. I’ve never been good with dates. . . . Anyway, this particular mission was the first and only time I ever worked in the field with my brother James. We were both building a reputation, back then, and they’d already started calling James the Grey Fox. This was a carefully planned mission, with two very experienced field agents, and it still all went to shit in a hurry and we had to run for our lives. Hopefully, you two will do better.” He stopped then, for a long moment, his gaze far away, lost in yesterday. He looked old again. Even frail. He roused himself, and continued. “It’s been a long time since I was out in the field. Walking up and down in the world, changing history from behind the scenes. Now just hosting a Summit takes it out of me . . . which is why you get to go to Nantes, and not me.”

“What went wrong?” I said. “On the mission, with you and James?”

“Casino Security was on to us from the start,” said the Armourer. His mouth pulled back, as though bothered by a bad taste. “We thought we were being so clever, swaggering around hidden behind our brandnew identities and immaculately crafted disguises. But hotel security spotted our torcs the moment we walked in. They were just waiting for us to start something, so they could kill us both and prove they weren’t afraid of no Droods. . . . We had no choice but to abandon the mission and take to our heels. Ended up being chased across the hotel roof by a whole army of heavily armed goons. Ah, the good old days . . . But you don’t want to hear this.”

“Of course I do!” I said. “You hardly ever talk about being a field agent, any more. When I was a kid, I used to love sneaking out of lessons to come down here and listen to all your stories.”

“Glory days,” said the Armourer. “You’ll understand when you’re older, Eddie. You can’t afford to live too much in the past, if you want to get anything done. But the past can seem so much more tempting than the present, because that’s the only place you can meet your old friends. . . . No. No; concentrate! I never told you this story before, Eddie, because we made such a mess of it. The Casino Security people threw everything they had at us: guns and magics, incendiaries and shaped curses. James and I would have liked to stand our ground and fight; show these cheap thugs what Drood armour and training could do. But we had to get away. We had to get the information home . . . that they could See our torcs. Not many could, then. So we headed for the roof, to make our escape.

“We were on the penthouse floor, you see. Casino Security couldn’t touch us until we actually broke a rule. For fear of upsetting the other gamblers. If they thought Security thugs could just jump them any time, for no reason, they wouldn’t come. Gambling, serious gambling, only works if it’s protected by the rules. Anyway, word got to us that there was a hidden safe somewhere in the penthouse main office, with all kinds of useful information in it about Casino Infernale and the Shadow Bank that funded it. So James and I sneaked up there and broke in, trusting to our armour to hide and protect us. But the moment we opened the office door, every alarm in the world went off at once. And dozens of over-muscled, heavily armed, Security goons appeared out of nowhere. To drag us down, and haul us away for . . . questioning.

“James and I fought our way out, easily enough. Weapons and numbers were never going to be enough against Drood armour. We stove in chests and broke in heads with our golden fists, and threw huge men against the walls with such force that we broke the walls as well as the men. And laughed while we did it. Glorying in death and destruction. We were younger men then, and thought being the Good Guys justified anything. . . .

“We took the elevator to the roof. We couldn’t go down, because it sounded like all the Security people in the hotel were coming up, with God alone knew how much heavy-duty weaponry. So we went up, to the maintenance level directly below the roof. The elevator slid smoothly to a halt, and James and I looked at each other. We knew there was bound to be massed nastiness waiting on the other side of the elevator doors. So, we smashed the door controls so the bad guys couldn’t get in, and then bashed holes in the elevator roof. In films there are always inspection panels you can use to get out, but there aren’t any in real life. Hollywood lies to you all the time. So, we burst up through into the elevator shaft, and then clambered up the cables to the roof exit.

“Once outside, we went to the edge and looked down. We were a very long way up. Tallest building in Nantes, by far. We could see right out across the city. The wind blew across the roof with savage force, enough to rock us back and forth on our feet even in our armour. I could hear feet hurrying up the stairs to the roof—lots of feet. James and I looked frantically about us, but there was no obvious way down . . . so we ran for the far edge of the roof, to buy us some time. Hoping we’d find something there we could use. A door burst open behind us, and armed men spilled out onto the roof, opening fire on us with every kind of weapon you could think of.

“James and I kept our heads down, and ran for all we were worth. When you’re in the armour, Molly, you feel like you can run like the wind. We sprinted, faster than a racing car, golden arms pumping at our sides, and the roof just flew past. Bullets, and other things, ricocheted harmlessly off our armour. A few hit us hard enough to make us stagger, but we just kept going. We both knew surrender wasn’t an option. They’d vivisect us alive, right down to the genetic level, to learn the secret of Drood armour. So we ran. I don’t think either of us was laughing, any more.

“And, just like that, we ran out of roof. We skidded to a halt at the edge, our golden heels digging furrows in the concrete surface . . . and when we looked down it was the same dizzying drop, hundreds and hundreds of feet. No way down, and no way back. Bullets were still ricocheting from our armour, and blowing chunks out of the roof around us. We were trapped. Just standing there on the edge, looking down, made my head swim. Drood armour has many fine qualities, but flying has never been one of them. I looked at James.

“‘We’re going to have to jump,’ I said.

“‘Are you crazy? The fall will almost certainly kill us,’ he said.

“‘Let’s cling to the word almost,’ I said.

“‘The armour will probably survive the drop,’ said James. ‘But I hate to think what the impact of the sudden halt will do to what’s inside the armour. If they ever find a way to open it up, they’ll be able to remove what’s left of us with spoons.’

“‘Not if we slow ourselves down,’ I said.

“I jumped off the edge, not allowing myself time to think about it, and dug the fingers of both golden hands into the side of the building. They sank in deep, even as I plummeted down through all those hundreds of feet. James was right behind me. We fell, faster and faster, no matter how deep we dug our hands in, tearing two great jagged runnels down the side of the hotel. . . . But it did the trick. It slowed us just enough. We both hit the ground hard enough to blast out a great crater, but we walked away. Trembling like a stripper on opening night, but still alive. As soon as we got our strength and breath and wits back, we ran. And never once looked back.

“And that is what happened when James and I tried to break the bank at Casino Infernale. Two great legends like us, and we never even got near.”

I applauded loudly, and Molly joined in. The Armourer shrugged, and made himself another large gin and Red Bull.

“How did you get out of France?” I said.

“By train, under forged tickets and fake identities we’d tucked away on one side, just in case.” The Armourer smiled slowly. “I heard later that the Casino Security people came looking for us with cars and planes and boats, sniffer dogs and telepaths. Searching for teleport signs or secret entrances to hidden underground ways . . . but it never even occurred to them to stop and search the trains. Far too ordinary . . . James and I played portable Scrabble all the way to the coast, and then the invisible network smuggled us home. I have to tell you, Eddie—your uncle James knew more rude words, and the correct way to spell them, than any civilised person should. I was shocked, I tell you. Shocked.

“And that . . . was the only time I ever worked a mission with my brother. The whole affair was considered such a cock-up that the then Matriarch split us up, and sent us off to work in completely separate areas of the world. Such was the spying game, then.

“Now, Eddie, Molly . . . Casino Infernale is being held at Nantes again, this year. Right now. All the greatest games of chance, attracting all the most famous faces and successful gamblers from all over the world. Fortunes to be made and lost, every day and every night, while the Casino takes its cut, and funds the Shadow Bank. Reputations made and souls lost, on the turn of a card. And that’s why we’re sending you two.

“The Shadow Bank likes to move Casino Infernale around, from city to city and from country to country. For security reasons. They like some places better than others, because they’re easier to defend, or control. That’s why they’re back in Nantes, for the third time in fifty years. You can expect the nastiest, most up to date, and fiendishly subtle security measures you’ve ever encountered. And then some. They will kill you if they find out who you really are. Just to be able to boast they’ve killed a Drood.” He looked at Molly. “If Eddie dies, and you’re taken, my dear, make them kill you. We wouldn’t be able to get to them in time, and what they would do to you . . .”

“They wouldn’t dare,” said Molly. “My sisters would . . .”

“The Shadow Bank wouldn’t care!” said the Armourer. “Even your sisters couldn’t touch them. They do anything, because they can. Casino Infernale exists to help fund the Shadow Bank, but it’s also about power and prestige. That’s what pulls in the biggest and richest gamblers in the world every year, to play for the highest stakes. The Shadow Bank provides loans to all the secret people and hidden organisations. They provide utterly discreet banking services and launder money in every currency you can think of. Everyone owes them . . . favours. They regard themselves as untouchable . . . because they are.”

“Why don’t we just smuggle a really big bomb into the middle of Casino Infernale, and blow the hell out of everything and everyone?” said Molly, practical as always.

“Because we don’t want to upset the Shadow Bank,” the Armourer said patiently. “Not when we might need to go cap in hand to them, some day.”

I looked at him steadily. “Are we by any chance already in bed with the Shadow Bank? Do we do business with them?”

“No,” said the Armourer. “And we never have. But you can never tell what the future might bring. We just want to stop them supporting an inconvenient war, not destroy them.”

“Such is the spying life,” I said.

“Exactly,” said the Armourer.

“I have done business with the Shadow Bank myself,” said Molly. “Back before I met you, Eddie, of course . . . But they’ve always been something of a mystery. Who are they, really? Who owns the Shadow Bank? Who profits?”

“I don’t know,” said the Armourer. “Don’t know anyone that does. They have the best security in the world.”

“Better than ours?” I said.

He raised a bushy white eyebrow. “Neither side wants to press the point.”

“How old is the Shadow Bank?” I asked. “Old as us?”

“Older,” said the Armourer. “In fact, I have heard stories. . . .”

Molly and I waited, but he just stopped talking, staring at nothing in particular. After a while, he pulled himself together again and carried on, in a calm and considered tone of voice.

“Shaman Bond and Molly Metcalf are to go to Casino Infernale, and gamble at every game they can get into. Don’t be afraid to lie and bluff, that’s what everyone else will be doing. With the help of certain useful items, courtesy of these labs, you will play the games of chance, win, and win big. Big enough to break the bank. And hopefully drive a financial stake through the heart of whoever’s running Casino Infernale this year. And, of course, stop the Inheritance war before it gets started. Yes. Any questions? Eddie, you’re not in school any more, you don’t need to raise your hand.”

“How much money will we be given to work with?” I said. “On the grounds that I am sure as hell not funding this myself.”

“I told you,” the Armourer said firmly. “At Casino Infernale, it’s never about the money. In the big games, you play for souls. There are lesser, introductory games, where you can play for money, or objects of power, or years of service. But those games are strictly for the small fry, and you won’t be bothering much with them.”

“I still see one major stumbling block to our getting in,” I said. “Casino Security were able to See your torc, and Uncle James’. Our armour has changed since then, but certain people are always going to be able to See my torc. Hadrian Coll did, on Trammell Island.”

“Never liked the man,” said the Armourer. “You did say he was dead, didn’t you? Good, good . . . Don’t worry about the torc. We think we have an answer.”

“All right,” I said. “What marvellous toys do you have for me to play with, this time?”

He actually winced. “I do wish you wouldn’t call them that, Eddie.”

“Do you have something to make sure I win, every time?” I said.

“Casino Security would spot anything that obvious in a moment,” said the Armourer. “We have to be more subtle than that.”

He rummaged around in one of his desk drawers, and brought out a very familiar-looking handgun, in a worn leather shoulder holster.

“We’ll start with the Colt Repeater,” the Armourer said briskly. “You’ve used this often enough before. Standard issue. No recoil, aims itself, and never runs out of ammunition. Fires steel bullets, silver, wood, and incendiaries. As required. The ammo teleports in from outside, so Casino Security shouldn’t be able to detect the gun’s extra-curricular capabilities. . . .”

“They’ll know it’s there, though,” I said. “Won’t they just confiscate it?”

“Everyone at Casino Infernale goes armed,” said the Armourer. “Or no one would dare turn up. Gamblers like to play rough, and they’re always ready to defend themselves, and their winnings. As long as your gun is clearly for personal use, and apparently small and limited, Security won’t bother you. All their staff will be much better armed, of course.”

“Such as?” said Molly.

“Just assume the worst, and you’ll be right more often than you’re wrong,” said the Armourer.

“Terrific . . .” said Molly. “I notice you’re not offering me any weapons.”

“Wouldn’t dream of insulting you, my dear,” the Armourer said gallantly, and Molly actually giggled.

“Why the shoulder holster?” I said, hefting the weight of the gun and holster in my hand, dubiously. “Why can’t I just keep it in my pocket dimension, until I need it?”

“Because we don’t want the Security staff even suspecting you might have such a thing,” the Armourer said sternly. “Keep the gun in plain sight, where they can see it.”

I shrugged out of my jacket, and struggled into the shoulder-holster straps. I’ve never liked the bloody things. It’s like trying to put on a bra, in the dark, backwards. In the end, Molly had to help me. She does have more experience in these matters, after all. Bras and shoulder holsters. By the time we were finished, and I had my jacket on again, feeling very self-conscious about the bulge over my left chest, the Armourer was waiting to present Molly and me with two thin glass phials, each containing a deep purple liquid that seethed and heaved as though trying to break through the glass. I couldn’t help noticing that the vials were not just stoppered, but wired shut. This did not fill me with confidence.

“A simple memory enhancer,” said the Armourer, beaming. “So you can count cards, calculate the odds, detect patterns in the run of play, and more . . . should give you just the edge you need, against even the most proficient and practised players.”

I looked suspiciously at the bubbling liquid. “How long will the effect last?”

“Good question,” said the Armourer. “No idea. Make a note of when the stuff stops working, and be sure to let me know.”

“Has anyone actually tested this before?” said Molly.

“Oh, yes,” said the Armourer. “Lots of people.”

“Where are they!” demanded Molly. “Show them to me!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” said the Armourer. “Get it down you. Yes, right now! So it will have a chance to sink into your system, and Security won’t be able to detect it.”

Molly and I took one glass phial each. My phial felt unpleasantly warm to the touch. We looked at each other, for mutual comfort and support, and then carefully peeled away the heavy wire holding the stoppers in place. The purple liquid jumped wildly in the phial, as though sensing a chance to escape. I popped off the stopper, put the phial to my lips and knocked it back in one. My lips thinned back from the bitter over-taste, and then I swear to God my eyes squeezed shut so tightly, it forced tears down my cheeks. My throat tried to turn inside out. I have never tasted anything so foul in my life. Including that chalky white kaolin morphine muck they used to force on me when I was poorly as a kid. And too weak to fight them off.

God, it was bad! I wanted to rip my tongue right out of my mouth and throw it on the floor and stamp on it, in the hope that would stop the taste. I grabbed the Armourer’s large gin and Red Bull and gulped it down, trying to cauterise my taste buds.

Molly waved her hands wildly, tears of pure horror jumping from her wide-stretched eyes. “Somebody bring me a dog’s arse, right now! So I can chew on it, to get this taste out of my mouth!”

I handed her the Armourer’s gin bottle, and she sucked it down hard.

“Big babies,” said the Armourer.

The nuclear fallout in my mouth began to recede, and I was able to breathe properly again. Molly was still sucking at her gin bottle. I looked reproachfully at the Armourer.

“I am still working on the taste,” he admitted. “But it could save your life, at Casino Infernale! I think . . . it works on the old principle of if it tastes bad, it must be doing you good. The effects should start kicking in after two, three hours. Don’t worry about side effects.”

“You mean there aren’t any?” I said.

“No, I mean there’s no point in worrying about them, because there’s nothing you can do to ameliorate them. They don’t last long. Just grit your teeth and hang on to something solid, until it’s all over. Or, more likely, all over someone else.”

“Let me kill him,” said Molly, still hanging on to the gin bottle.

“Get in the queue,” I said.

“You’ll like this,” said the Armourer, temptingly. He offered Molly and me two small objects: flat black plastic, like key fobs without the fobs.

“Look pretty damned ordinary and innocent, don’t they?” the Armourer said proudly. “You each keep one, and make sure you keep them separate. Security won’t even know you’ve got them. If anyone should challenge you, just say they’re lucky charms. That always goes down well. They’re completely innocuous, until you fit them together. Once joined and activated, this clever little device operates as a sort of top rank can-opener. Able to open any box or container.”

“Such as a safe?” I said.

“You’re learning!” said the Armourer. “Can I please have my gin bottle back, Molly? It may not be worth much, but it is of great sentimental value. Thank you. Oh, come on, the two of you; it wasn’t that bad. . . .”

“Yes, it was,” I said firmly.

“It was even worse than that,” said Molly.

“Puts a nice shine on your fillings,” said the Armourer. “Now, finally: a pack of playing cards. Look pretty damned normal, don’t they?”

He thrust the pack into my hands, and I shuffled them a few times, and fanned out a few cards, to look them over.

“Marked?” I said. “Infrared, ultraviolet?”

The Armourer sniffed. “Nothing so obvious. This . . . is a chameleon deck. You can substitute it for any other pack of cards, and this pack will immediately take on all the characteristics of the pack it’s replacing. Identical, down to the smallest detail. Except that this deck is preprogrammed to ensure you win, every time. Any game, any variation; the pack will provide you and you alone with the winning cards, every time. No matter who deals, or how many times the pack gets shuffled. But, you have to get really close to the deck you’re replacing, for the chameleon aspect to kick in.”

I put the cards in my jacket pocket. Molly glared at the Armourer. “I don’t get any toys?”

“You don’t need my help,” said the Armourer. “You have your magic. But do be careful, Molly; Casino Security will go to great lengths to prevent you from using all your usual tricks and practices.”

“Really like to see them stop me,” said Molly.

“They will,” said the Armourer. “Unless you’re very subtle.” And then he stopped, and looked at me, and something in his face changed. He looked . . . sad, and concerned, like all the people I’d passed in the corridors before. Who looked like they knew what was coming, and were sorry for me. The Armourer, my uncle Jack, was looking at me with something particular in mind, and he looked . . . guilty. “And now, Eddie,” he said slowly, “we come to the unfortunate part. The necessary, unpleasant part.”

“The memory drug doesn’t count?” said Molly.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” said the Armourer, his gaze fixed on me, so sad, so sad. “I really am very sorry, but there’s no other way to do this.”

“What?” I said. “What are you talking about, Uncle Jack?”

I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. My stomach muscles tensed painfully. There was a sense of something really bad in the air, a foreboding of something awful just waiting to happen. I felt like I should be running. Molly glared quickly about her, looking for a threat. She could feel it too.

“Ethel!” said the Armourer. “Show yourself, please.”

And just like that, the familiar comforting red glow appeared in the Armoury, confining itself to the Armourer’s workstation. Warm rosy red light fell over me like a spotlight, picking me out; a spiritual pressure I could feel holding me in place, even as it embraced me. Ethel manifested in the Armoury, and immediately all the lab assistants stopped what they were doing and hurried forward from all sides. Many of them were carrying surveillance tech and recording gear, along with some other stuff I didn’t even recognise. All of them eager for a chance to study our mysterious other-dimensional benefactor.

“Well done, boys and girls,” said the Armourer. “Nice reaction times. Watch all you like, but don’t get too close.”

“And whoever’s doing that, stop it immediately,” said Ethel.

One particular piece of tech suddenly went up in smoke, and the assistant carrying it retired, coughing heavily.

“I like it here,” Ethel said comfortably. “So many interesting things . . . and look at all the toys! I want to play with all of them!”

“What are you doing here, Ethel?” I said. “You never leave the Sanctity!”

“She’s here because I need her to be here,” said the Armourer.

And then he stopped. There was something more he wanted to say, but somehow he just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Let me, Jack,” said Ethel. “It’s all right. He’ll understand.”

“Understand what?” I said. “What’s going on here!”

“I have to remove your torc, Eddie,” said Ethel. “It’s the only way we can get a Drood into Casino Infernale.”

“Oh, come on!” I said. “Can’t you just disguise it, or alter it?”

“No,” said Ethel.

“The kind of Security people you’ll be dealing with would see through any disguise we might try,” said the Armourer. He made himself look at me, and the naked sorrow and suffering in his gaze clutched at my heart with a cold, hard hand.

“Strange matter weighs heavily on the world,” said Ethel. “All I can do is remove it completely.”

Molly moved in close beside me. I don’t know what was in my face, but she didn’t like looking at it.

“Without your torc, you’ll be completely unprotected,” said the Armourer. “Nothing to stand between you and the dangers of the Casino. There’s a good chance I’m sending you to your death, Eddie, and the only excuse I have is that it’s necessary.”

“You don’t have to do this, Eddie,” said Molly. She placed a comforting hand on my arm. “Tell them to go to Hell. Tell them to get someone else for their suicide mission. I’ll stand by you. You know that. It doesn’t always have to be you!”

“Yes, it does,” I said. I hardly recognised my own voice. It sounded numb, shocked. “It does have to be me, because I have the best chance of succeeding and coming back alive. It wouldn’t be fair . . . to hand this off to someone else. Someone less prepared, with a worse chance. This is too important to let someone else screw it up because they were second choice. So it does have to be me. Go ahead, Ethel. Do it.”

“Eddie . . .” said Ethel.

“Do it!” I said. “Do it now, before I change my mind.”

The torc disappeared from around my neck. Just vanished, drawn back into whatever unnatural place Ethel found it. I felt it go, and it felt like being skinned. Like having a layer of my soul ripped off. Afterwards, Molly told me I screamed. I don’t remember. I think I made myself forget. I think I had to. The next thing I do remember, I was on the floor . . . on my knees, sobbing like a baby. Molly was on her knees beside me, holding me in her arms, rocking me back and forth and murmuring comforting words to me.

“You bitch!” I heard her scream at Ethel. “What have you done to him?”

“I’m sorry,” said Ethel. “But I couldn’t just take the torc away. Casino Security would still have been able to detect that it had been there. Strange matter leaves marks. I had to alter you right down to the genetic level, Eddie. So you’re not just a Drood without a torc; you never were a Drood. Never have been a Drood. You’re Shaman Bond, and you always have been.”

“Just what I always wanted,” I said, bitterly. “To have never been a Drood.”

“When the mission is over, you come back here and Ethel will reinstate your torc,” said the Armourer.

“Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for everything, Uncle Jack.”

I made myself stop shaking, with an effort of will. Molly let go and sat back. She brought out a handkerchief and wiped the cold sweat off my face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so angry. I started to get to my feet again, and Molly was quickly there to help me. She carried most of my weight, until I could carry it myself. I looked slowly about me. There were lab assistants everywhere, some of them recording my reactions, but none of them said anything. Molly glared about her, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t have the words. I felt cold, and empty. Violated. I’d never felt so naked and vulnerable before.

“It’s all right, Eddie,” said Molly. “You’ve still got me.”

“You’ve still got me,” I said. “I’m still here. Most of me, anyway.”

“I will make them pay for this,” said Molly. “Make them all pay. . . .”

“No,” I said. “Don’t. Please. Anything for the family, remember?”

“I know what I’ve done to you,” said Ethel. “Do you forgive me, Eddie?”

“Ask me later,” I said.

She disappeared, her red glow gone in a moment. And what little comfort her light had given me went with her. Still without saying anything, the lab assistants turned and left, taking their tech with them. I would have liked to put their silent departure down to tact, and understanding, but I doubted it. There just wasn’t any reason for them to stay any longer. So all that was left was Molly and me, and the Armourer. He sat down in his chair, looking older and more tired than ever. I sat down facing him, and Molly sat down beside me. She held my hand in both of hers, like she would never let me go. And for a while, we all just sat there and looked at each other.

“Was it really that bad, Eddie?” the Armourer said finally. “It looked bad.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Eddie. There just wasn’t any other way. You said it yourself. This mission matters.”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “I know. Anything, for the family.”

He winced, and looked away from me.

“I hate your family, Eddie,” said Molly. “Always have, and always will. Because they do things like this to people. To their own people.”

“I would have taken your place if I could, Eddie,” said the Armourer. “I would have given up my torc to take another run at Casino Infernale. I volunteered. Argued my case before the rest of the Council. I would have spared you this, if I could. But the family wouldn’t let me go. Apparently, I’m too valuable to risk in the field. I had to fight them just to be allowed to take you to the Summit on Mars. I wanted you to have some fun first.”

“It’s . . . all right, Uncle Jack,” I said.

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “It’ll never be right between us again. I’ve poisoned what we had, for the family.”

We sat a while longer, each of us lost in our separate thoughts. The Armoury seemed surprisingly quiet, subdued. Molly wouldn’t let go of my hand. The pain was gone; the shock was gone. I just felt . . . cold. Finally, the Armourer forced himself up out of his chair, his face calm and composed again, as though nothing had happened. He was just a man with a job to do. He searched through the various drawers under his desk, brought out a hefty buff envelope, and handed it to me. I made myself take it, and look inside. Molly looked too, and wrinkled her nose at the wad of documents and papers.

“What’s this?” she said. “You want him to sign a disclaimer, so he won’t sue you?”

“This is what those in the field call a legend,” he said, ignoring the anger still dripping from every word she spoke. “Spy talk for a complete set of documents, all the paperwork an agent needs to support his identity in the world. Driving license, photo IDs, credit cards, old letters and photos, everything to prove Shaman Bond has a real history in the world. Normally, Eddie wouldn’t need it. He’s a familiar face in the scene. But this is Casino Infernale, so we don’t take chances.”

I leafed quickly through the various papers, and then distributed them here and there about my person.

“Don’t I get a legend?” said Molly. Her voice made it clear that while she hadn’t forgiven him, she was ready to play the game again if I was.

“Use your own,” said the Armourer. “Just be yourself. They’ll have heard of you. In fact, you’re exactly the kind of person they’d expect to turn up for the games. And, hopefully, your infamous reputation will help to hold everyone’s attention, and distract the Security people from seeing your companion as anyone but the shifty and shady Shaman Bond. You shine brightly, so he can hide in your shadow. . . .”

“Is that it?” I said. “Are we done now?”

“Not just yet,” said the Armourer. “I was wondering if you might like to leave the Martian artefact with me. The one the Tombs forced on you? I would like to study it.”

“No,” I said. “The Tombs wanted me to have it.”

“You see?” said the Armourer. “I’d find that worrying.”

There was one more stop before Molly and I could leave the Hall. The Armourer took it upon himself to personally lead us back through the Hall, and accompany us all the way to Vanity Faire, the Droods’ very own costume department. (Named after the novel, not the magazine.) A great store full of clothes and costumes and outfits suitable for every occasion, in every culture and country. Field agents have to fit in, if they want to go unnoticed.

The Armourer threw the door open with a flourish, revealing row upon row of clothing racks, groaning under the weight of more good tatt and schmutter than you could shake a fashionable stick at. It looked like the world’s biggest jumble sale, or a going out of business sale. The Armourer looked at me hopefully. It was obvious he’d brought me here to try to cheer me up. So I did my best to play along.

“I don’t normally get to use this place,” I said.

“Because you hardly ever come home,” said the Armourer. “You can’t go to Casino Infernale looking like that, now can you?”

“What’s wrong with this?” I said, looking down at myself. “This is my best casual outfit.”

“That’s so casual it’s downright careless,” said the Armourer. “You look like you’re wearing your favourite old suit so your wife can’t throw it out. You need something more fitting, more glamorous, to make the scene at Casino Infernale. You have to dress up if you’re going to mix with gambling celebrities and Major Players. A Drood wouldn’t, but Shaman Bond would.”

“What about me?” Molly said immediately. “Do I get a new outfit too?”

“Of course!” said the Armourer. “Help yourself to anything you fancy!”

“Oh, you will regret saying that,” I said.

Molly gave the Armourer a hard look, to show she wasn’t finished with him yet, and then gave me a searching look. Asking without asking whether I’d be okay on my own. I nodded briefly. Molly gave my hand one last squeeze, and then went charging into the costumes department with the light of battle in her eyes.

“Caradoc!” the Armourer said loudly. “Where are you, man?”

“Is he still in charge?” I said. “He’s a bit . . .”

“He’s a lot,” said the Armourer. “But everyone in the family has the job that fits them best, and this is his. He reads all the fashion magazines, you know. . . .”

Caradoc Drood came striding forward to greet us. He knew everything there was to know about outfitting a field agent with just the right look, to blend in. Though looking at Caradoc, it was hard to think where he might ever blend in. Tall and spindly, with his overlong arms and legs, Caradoc was wearing a bright pink frock coat over white leggings and court shoes, and all in all he looked very much like a mad flamingo. He had long, slicked-back white hair, a sharp angular face, and piercing blood-red eyes. He stopped before us, struck a pose, ruffled his cravat of gold cloth with the long fingers of one hand, and looked down his nose at me.

“So!” he said, in a dark dramatic voice. “You are the incredible Edwin Drood! I was hoping they’d let me run up something special for you, to mark you as the family’s new head, but you didn’t last long enough. Hey ho . . . alackaday. And now you’re off to France, home of la belle couture. I am so jealous I could just spit. Well, well . . . what are we to make of you, so that you can walk through Casino Infernale with your head held high, Mr. Shaman Bond?”

If Caradoc were any more artificial, he’d be an android.

“I’m sure my measurements are on file here somewhere,” I said.

“Oh, we have everyone’s measurements,” said Caradoc. “If only so the shroud will fit . . . what am I going to do with you? Is there time for plastic surgery? My little joke . . .” He considered me for a long moment, tapping at his chin with one slender finger. And then he turned and darted back into the clothes rack, disappearing into the rows. I looked at the Armourer.

“He’s got worse, hasn’t he?” I said.

“Hard to tell,” said the Armourer. “Admit it, though, you are having fun.”

“For all the wrong reasons,” I said. “Now hush—Caradoc returns from the clothing jungle.”

Caradoc deigned to offer me several outfits in a row, all of which I dismissed out of hand, just to watch his nostrils flare. I might have to play dress-up doll, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for anybody.

“Far too everyday and acceptable,” I said loftily. “Shaman Bond wouldn’t be seen dead in anything so . . . mundane.”

“This is the kind of thing they will be expecting at Casino Infernale,” said Caradoc.

“Then they’re going to be disappointed,” I said. “Which is as it should be. Shaman Bond has a long history of disappointing people.”

I strode forward into the racks and started taking things off, rejecting them, dropping them in crumpled heaps on the floor, and moving on. Caradoc hurried after me, grabbing up the clothes and hugging them to his chest, while making loud bleating sounds of distress. I was actually starting to feel a bit better. My mood always improves when I get to torment authority figures. As authority figures went, Caradoc didn’t go far, but he was present, and annoying me, so he would do. He really shouldn’t have looked down his nose at me. That’s always dangerous.

Molly kept reappearing with something big and bold and horribly expensive-looking, hanging around just long enough to say I’m having this! before dropping whatever it was onto a growing pile, and then darting back in for more. Every now and again I could locate her exact position in the fashion jungle through loud squeals of delight and the odd cry of New shoes!

I finally settled on a black goatskin leather jacket, over a blindingly white shirt, and black slacks. A bit stark, but it suited how I was feeling. Molly came back out of the clothes racks wearing a Little Black Dress, took one look at me, muttered something about not being a member of the Addams Family, and went back in again. I admired my new look in a full-length mirror, and then looked at the Armourer.

“Well?” I said. “What do you think?”

“Words fail me,” said Caradoc, bitterly.

“You’ll certainly make an impression,” said the Armourer.

Caradoc insisted on offering me a display of Old School Ties, everything from Eton to John of Gaunt, Cambridge to Oxford. On the grounds that they might impress somebody. I dismissed all of them. Shaman Bond wouldn’t wear such a thing, unless he was running a con. His past is a mystery, and quite deliberately so, so that he could claim to be from anywhere, as needed.

“Have you got any bow-ties?” I asked Caradoc. “Bow-ties are cool. The Travelling Doctor said so.”

Caradoc raised his eyes, to address the heavens. “I’m being punished for something, aren’t I? I’ll go and look. . . .”

He stomped off just as Molly returned, wearing a marvellous burgundy red evening gown, complete with all sorts of expensive accoutrements. She did a twirl for me, and the Armourer and I applauded politely. Molly grabbed up all the dresses she’d dumped in a pile, and hugged them to her.

“Designer labels, all of them! And they’re mine, all mine! Don’t they look amazing?”

The Armourer and I exchanged a look. We didn’t speak fashion.

“Wonderful,” said the Armourer.

“Charming,” I said.

“You’d better pick out some spare socks and underwear, and things,” the Armourer said vaguely. “No telling how long you’ll have to spend at the Casino. I’ll go round up some decent luggage for you. Leather, with straps. You can never have too many straps. . . .”

He disappeared into the frocky depths of the department, in search of the still missing Caradoc. Molly looked me over.

“Not bad . . .”

“Scrub up nice, don’t I?” I said.

“We can still drop everything and run,” said Molly, perfectly seriously. “They’d never find us.”

“I want my torc back,” I said. “And, I want to be the one who breaks the bank at Casino Infernale.”

All too soon we were back in the old chapel and standing before the retrieved Door, dressed to the nines, with a whole bunch of heavy designer luggage. Most of it Molly’s, though I had a pretty good idea who’d end up carrying it. I’d settled on a burgundy red bow-tie, to match Molly’s dress, and then broke Caradoc’s heart by insisting on a clip-on.

“I still don’t see why we can’t use the Merlin Glass,” I said. “At least then we’d have a way out if we need it.”

“You can’t use the Glass,” the Armourer said patiently, “because Casino Security is set up to recognise the presence of anything that powerful. Its ownership would be a dead giveaway as to who you really are.”

“I could always say I’d stolen it,” I said. “They’d accept that, from Shaman Bond.”

“Shaman might possess the Merlin Glass, but he wouldn’t know how to keep himself safe from the Glass’ defences,” said the Armourer. “No, Eddie. Best not to risk it. The Glass stays here.”

He stepped back from the Door, shouted Nantes! France! at it, and the Door swung open at once, revealing a bright sunshiny city view. The Armourer gestured frantically for us to go through, so Molly and I quickly gathered up our luggage and made a run for it. The Door slammed shut behind us the moment we were safely on the other side, and then disappeared itself.

We were standing on an old bridge, looking out over a river. Don’t ask me which one. Very blue waters, with barges tied up at regular intervals. Bright sunshine, midday from the look of it, and the air smelled wonderfully fresh and clean. Well-preserved historical-looking houses on all sides. On the whole, I approved. People passed us by, paying us no attention at all. Which was just a bit odd, considering that as far as they were concerned, we must have appeared suddenly out of nowhere. I mentioned this to Molly, and she just shrugged.

“Part of the Door’s magic, I suppose. I’m sure they’ll start noticing us in a moment. They’d better. I didn’t squeeze into this dress with the help of a crowbar and a warm spoon just to be ignored.”

“No one would dare,” I assured her.

She looked at me steadily. “How do you feel, Eddie? Really?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I never felt like this before. Naked to the world, with all its threats and dangers. Maybe this is what being Shaman Bond really feels like. If so, he’s a braver man than me.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk about Shaman as though he was someone else,” said Molly. “He’s just your cover! You’re both the same man!”

“It doesn’t always feel like that,” I said. “Do you love Shaman the same way you love Eddie?”

“Of course!” she said. “They’re the same person!”

“No,” I said. “They’re not. You’re always much easier around Shaman, because you still hate Droods. . . .”

“You are a psychologist’s dream,” said Molly. “Or his worst nightmare . . . Someone’s looking at us.”

I looked round quickly, and sure enough one particular young man was heading straight in our direction. A happy, smiling sort in a striped jacket, over a Johnny Hallyday T-shirt, with battered blue jeans and cowboy boots. Smart and handsome, and just full of joie de vivre. He wore a black beret, with a cigarette protruding from a corner of his mouth. He couldn’t have looked more like someone trying to look French. As he drew nearer, still smiling determinedly, it seemed to me that he had far too much character for his own good. I was pretty sure I knew him from somewhere. . . .

He came to a halt before Molly and me, bouncing up and down on his springy soles, nodded to me and winked to Molly. He leaned forward to kiss me on both cheeks, and I stopped him with a hard look. He turned to Molly, and quickly thought better of it.

“Welcome to Nantes, mes braves,” he said, in a fake French accent that wouldn’t have fooled a deaf person. “Francois Greyson, at votre service.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” I said, as the penny finally dropped. I finally recognised the face, and the bad acting. “Francois, my arse. You’re Fun Time Frankie.”

“Well, yes, if you insist,” said Frankie, in a posh English accent that was just as fake in its own way. “Just trying to blend in, old bean. . . .”

Molly looked at him, and then at me. “Is this a good or a bad thing?”

“Hard to tell,” I said.

“Why . . . Fun Time Frankie?” said Molly.

“Because this disreputable little toad never met a party he didn’t like,” I said. “Been everywhere, had everyone.”

“That is an awful rumour, only spread by people who know me,” said Frankie.

“A useful enough tour guide, I suppose,” I said. “Just don’t turn your back on him.”

“You’re too kind,” said Frankie.

“No, I’m bloody not,” I said. “You’re really the best local contact the family could provide?”

Frankie then provided an excellent version of the Gallic Couldn’t give a damn screw you move along shrug. “I’m the only one in the area, just now. The Droods really are being run ragged, trying to keep the lid on things. Even friendly associates such as I are in short supply. Frankly, you’re lucky to have me. I know the area, I know the local underground scene, and I have direct knowledge of Casino Infernale. Which I’m happy to provide. For the just about generous fee your family is currently providing.”

“Frankie is another of my uncle James’ half-breed offspring,” I explained to Molly. “Dear God, that man did put himself about. Half the up-and-comers in secret organisations and hidden underground bunkers have his eyes.”

“I am a Grey Bastard and proud of it!” Frankie said cheerfully. He spat the cigarette out the side of his mouth, over the side of the bridge and into the river. “Never did care for Gauloises. . . . Welcome, welcome; what can I do to help?”

“To start with, you can carry the bags,” I said.

Molly looked at Frankie in a thoughtful way that made him visibly uncomfortable. “So,” she said, “another Bastard . . . like Hadrian Coll.”

“Trickster Man?” said Frankie. “Splendid fellow! You know him?”

“He tried to kill us,” I said.

“And now he’s dead,” said Molly.

“Never liked the man,” Frankie said briskly. “Welcome to Nantes! France’s sixth biggest city! Lots of nightlife here, if you know where to look, and some fantastic restaurants. . . . We get a lot of tourists here, particularly when Paris gets a bit crowded. No Crazy Horse, as such, but I’m sure we can find you something a bit tasty, if your tastes run that way.” He winked roguishly at us, took in our expressions, and hurried on. “Nantes was built along the River Loire, at the confluence of the Rivers Evdre and Sevre. . . . Why are you looking at me like that and I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“Do we look like tourists to you?” I said.

“Not really, no,” said Frankie. He scuffed his cowboy boots in an awkward sort of way. “I learned all that specially, too. . . . Still! Never mind, eh? Always happy to do work for the exalted Drood family. If the price is right. Come along with me, everything is prepared.”

“Hold it,” said Molly. “Information first. I want to talk with the Regent of Shadows. I was told he was here, at Casino Infernale.”

“Well, yes,” said Frankie. “He was here, but he’s already left. Gone back to the Department of the Uncanny, I suppose.”

“He’s avoiding us,” said Molly.

“Can’t think why,” I said.

Molly rounded on me. “This is serious, Eddie! This matters to me!”

“Of course it does,” I said. “I’m sorry, Molly. But . . . do try to remember I’m Shaman Bond here.”

Molly sighed, and stepped forward to place both her hands on my chest, her face close to mine. “We’ve both been through a lot, haven’t we? Let’s just get this mission over with, so we can get our lives back. Shaman.”

I looked at Frankie, who was shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Clearly he could tell that something was wrong, and equally clearly, he didn’t want any part of it. I glared at him, and he stood still.

I put Molly carefully to one side, so I could give him my best cold dangerous stare. “There’s something you’re not telling us, Frankie.” I had no evidence, but with Fun Time Frankie it was always going to be a pretty safe bet. “I think you should tell us everything. Right now.”

“I was going to get you settled at the hotel first,” said Frankie, clinging desperately to his winning smile. “Let you have a nice cold drink, take it easy. . . . All right! All right! I’ll tell you everything you want to know—just please let go of my lapels and put me down! Really, you don’t know where this jacket’s been. . . .”

I put him down. My temper was running on a really short fuse.

Frankie swallowed hard. “I’m afraid . . . things have already gone horribly wrong. The Regent’s shadow agents, Patrick and Diana, arrived here with the Regent some days ago. Before I was even involved. The Department of the Uncanny was starting its own run on breaking the bank at Casino Infernale. That’s what persuaded the Droods to have another go.”

“You’d think I would get used to my family keeping things from me, by now,” I said. “Go on, Frankie. And don’t try to clean it up. I want to know everything.”

“Patrick and Diana bet big at the games, and lost big,” said Frankie. “They didn’t just bet and lose their own souls. They lost yours, too.”

“What?” I said. “Players are allowed to bet other players’ souls, as well as their own?”

“Well, yes,” said Frankie. “If they can demonstrate that they and you are directly linked by blood, which apparently you are. . . . Would you care to explain to me how that’s possible?”

“No,” I said.

“Fair enough,” said Frankie. “Fortunately, it’s Shaman Bond who’s lost his soul, as far as the Casino is concerned. Not Eddie Drood. You haven’t actually lost your soul, as such. It’s just that the Casino, and therefore the Shadow Bank, now have primary claim on it. It’s up to them to find a way to enforce that claim, though to be fair, that doesn’t seem to have been much of a problem for them, in the past. So basically, you’re still the captain of your soul . . . just not the owner of it. Sorry.”

“I don’t feel well,” I said.

“Purely psychosomatic,” said Frankie. “It’ll pass.”

“How do they collect on a gambled soul, if the owner’s still alive?” said Molly.

“They have their ways,” said Frankie. “Really horribly unpleasant ways . . .”

“Where are the shadow agents Patrick and Diana, right now?” I said, and something in my voice made him hurry to answer me.

“Incredibly missing,” said Frankie. “They went on the run the moment their losses became clear, so they couldn’t be obliged to make good on their souls.”

“Are they still here in Nantes?” said Molly.

“Unknown,” said Frankie. “I rather doubt it. In fact, if I were them, I wouldn’t even still be in France. I would be in another world, in another dimension, hiding out under an assumed species. The Shadow Bank has very far-reaching friends and influence. They never give up on a debt, and have been known to enforce them on succeeding generations, when the original loser escapes them. With interest.”

“Wonderful,” I said. “Screwed and blued before I even start. What else can go wrong?”

“I have made out a list, if you’re interested,” said Frankie, reaching for an inside pocket. He stopped when he saw my look.

“You’re so good to me,” I said. “Does anyone at Casino Infernale have any idea who I really am?”

“Not as far as I know. Your cover alias is still solid.” Frankie looked at Molly. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“I get that a lot,” said Molly. She didn’t sound particularly disappointed.

“As long as I’m still safely Shaman Bond, we still have some time to work with,” I said, thinking hard.

“Yes,” said Frankie. “But not a lot.”

“So, I have to win at the games, and win big, and win fast,” I said. “No pressure there. But what am I supposed to bet with, if I can’t use my own soul?”

“There is still Molly’s soul,” said Frankie, very carefully.

“What?” said Molly, extremely dangerously.

“Yes, I admit it is a somewhat compromised soul, with many claimants already attached,” said Frankie, even more carefully, “but it’s all you’ve got to work with, Shaman. You’re not blood relatives, but you are . . . attached. They’ll accept that, at the Casino. As long as Molly goes along . . .”

“I am going to turn you into a small squishy thing with your testicles floating on the surface!” said Molly. “And then stamp on you!”

“Please don’t let her turn me into a small squishy thing,” said Frankie, hiding behind me.

“Not in public!” I said to Molly.

“Never get to have any fun any more,” grumbled Molly.

“Are you sure about this?” I said to Frankie, as he reluctantly appeared again from behind me.

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Frankie. “Souls are currency at Casino Infernale. And before you ask, no you can’t bet with my soul. It’s already . . . under contract.”

“Doesn’t surprise me at all,” I said. I looked at Molly. “I can’t do this to you. I can’t risk you losing your soul.”

“You have to,” said Molly. “It’s the only way to get your soul back. I give you my permission, Shaman.”

“You’re going to hold this over my head for the rest of our lives, aren’t you?” I said.

“Bloody right I am,” said Molly.

We shared a moment.

“Warms the cockles of my heart, to witness such true love,” said Frankie. “I may cry.”

“I will stamp on your cockles if you piss me off any further,” said Molly. “Take us to the nearest first-class hotel. I want a shower and a whole bunch of drinks, not necessarily in that order. And I think Shaman could use a little lie-down. . . . Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Weren’t you told?” said Frankie. “Didn’t you get any kind of briefing before they sent you here? Maybe they were afraid to tell you, in case you wouldn’t go. . . . All players at Casino Infernale are required to stay at the Casino hotel. It’s a condition, if you want to play the games. So no one can sneak out on their debts.”

“Like Patrick and Diana just did?” I said.

“Yes!” said Frankie. “It’s supposed to be impossible to get past Casino Security! They’re still tearing their hair out trying to figure out how that happened. Anyway, you two already have a room booked at the Casino hotel. As Shaman Bond and Molly Metcalf.”

“Just how long ago did my family commit themselves to this mission?” I said.

“I didn’t ask, and they wouldn’t tell me if I did,” said Frankie. “I find it best not to ask the family questions because the answers are always going to upset you. I got you a really nice room! At a really good rate.”

“For a really nice kickback,” I said.

“Well, naturally,” said Frankie. “I have a reputation to live down to.”

“Have you at least arranged for a car to take us there?” I said.

Frankie winced. “I want it clearly understood that none of what is to follow is in any way my idea. The Regent left a car for you. He had it imported, specially, just for you. Did you by any chance do something to make him really mad at you?”

“It’s always possible,” I said. “What’s wrong with the car?”

“Oh, see for yourself,” said Frankie.

He gathered up as many of our bags as he could, and I took the rest, because Molly doesn’t do things like that. Says it’s bad for her image. Frankie led us off the bridge. He shot a look back at Molly.

“Did you really . . . ?”

“Almost certainly,” said Molly.

“I was afraid of that,” said Frankie.

Off the bridge and around the corner, parked in a space all by itself because nothing else wanted to be anywhere near it . . . was a 1958 scarlet and white Plymouth Fury.

“Oh, no . . .” I said.

“Told you,” said Frankie.

“Yes!” said the car. “It’s me! Back again, by popular demand! The Scarlet Lady, her own sweet self. I knew you wouldn’t be able to cope without me, so I volunteered to come over and help you out! Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Words fail me,” I said.

“I heard that!” said the car.

“Oh, I am so glad you can hear that thing talking,” said Frankie. “I thought it was just me. . . . Is it an Artificial Intelligence?”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” said Molly.

“I am wise and wonderful and know many things!” said the car happily. “What am I? I’ll never tell!”

“So,” said Frankie, “you three have a history?”

“We’ve worked together,” said Molly. “And my nerves may never recover.”

“You’re just saying that,” said the car.

“She’s very impressive,” I said. “In her own loud and vulgar and utterly appalling way. She helped us bring down Crow Lee.”

“The Most Evil Man In The World?” said Frankie. “Well, colour me officially impressed.”

“Knew you would be!” said the car.

Frankie and I loaded the baggage into the trunk, and then he hurried forward to pull open the driver’s door. But when he tried to get behind the wheel, the Scarlet Lady flexed the front seat and threw him right back out again.

“You get in the back, underling, where you belong,” said the car. “I know all about you Grey Bastards.”

Frankie picked himself up off the curb, recovered as much dignity as he could, and got in the back seat. I settled in behind the wheel, and the car started her engine while Molly was still taking her place beside me as shotgun. We both fastened our seat belts immediately. We’d never been able to forget what it was like, riding with the Scarlet Lady. Much as we’d tried. The car lurched forward and out into the traffic, driving herself, slamming through the gears in swift succession, her engine roaring like a predator let loose among unsuspecting livestock.

“Just sit back and leave the driving to me,” the Scarlet Lady said cheerfully. “It’s all right, I know the way. I have SPS. Supernatural Positioning Systems. Satellites? We laugh at Satellites!”

We roared through the narrow city streets, the Scarlet Lady’s engine revving for all it was worth, while the rest of the traffic hurried to get out of our way. But we hadn’t been driving for long before we realised we were driving down an empty street. All the other vehicles had disappeared down side streets, thrown themselves into back alleys, or hid themselves in cul-de-sacs. Leaving the road entirely to us.

“Slow down,” I said, and the car reluctantly did so. I looked around me.

“Where has everyone gone?” said Molly. “Do they know something we don’t?”

“Almost certainly,” said Frankie. “Word gets around fast when the Casino’s in town.”

“Incoming!” shouted the car.

I leaned forward, peering up through the top part of the windscreen, and discovered that the sky overhead was full of prehistoric flying reptiles. Massive creatures with twenty-foot wingspans, grey-green scales, and long, toothless beaks ending in sharp points. Their narrow, vicious heads were balanced by long backwards-pointing bony crests. Their huge wings cupped the air as they glided back and forth above us.

“What the hell are those ugly-looking things?” said Molly.

“Hush,” said Frankie, from the back seat. “They might hear you.”

“They’re Pteranodons!” I said, grinning despite myself. “I used to love dinosaurs when I was a kid. Though strictly speaking, Pteranodons are reptiles, not dinosaurs. . . .”

I broke off, as I realised there were people riding on the backs of the winged reptiles. Sitting bolt upright in silver saddles, controlling their Pteranodons with glowing silver bridles and reins, were large blonde warrior women in SS Nazi uniforms. All of them perfect Aryan types, with harsh, laughing faces. Even as I watched, they dug silver spurs into the scaly sides of their mounts, and drove them down out of the sky, heading straight for us.

The warrior women all had heavy-duty machine guns mounted securely at the front of their saddles, and every single one of them opened fire on the Scarlet Lady as they swept past us, hitting us from every side at once. The car threw herself back and forth, while all around us sustained gunfire chewed up the road, blew up lengths of pavement, and blasted great holes in storefronts on either side of the street. Fires blazed up, and black smoke billowed out of gutted buildings. Some of the bullets must have been incendiaries. The flying reptiles punched right through the black smoke, and went banking up and around in a great turn, to come round at us again. Their riders reloaded from bulging panniers, while the Pteranodons screeched back and forth in the air above us, riding the thermals, sweeping round and round in great arcs. The flying reptiles screamed rage and fury as their riders forced them into long machine-gunning power dives again.

There were more of them than I could count, coming at us from every direction at once, guns blazing.

“Who are these crazy women?” shouted Molly.

“Pan’s Panzerpeople!” Frankie shouted back, from where he was lying prone on the back seat. “Fourth Reich Femmes, the Bitches From Hell!”

“You know them?” said Molly.

“Everyone knows them!” said Frankie. “Mayhem for hire, all proceeds going to fund the return of the glorious Fourth Reich!”

“Mercenaries . . .” I said. “Who sent them?”

“How should I know?” said Frankie. “I only just met you and I wish I hadn’t. It could be anybody. . . . And no, I am not going to sit up and talk to you. I am staying down here where it is relatively safe. If there was a glove box back here, I’d be hiding inside it.”

“Control yourself!” said the Scarlet Lady. “I don’t care how frightened you are, you make a mess on my upholstery and I will make you clean it up yourself!”

“Could be worse,” said Molly, peering out the windows. “Could be dragons.”

“How could dragons be worse?” said Frankie.

“Dragons breathe fire,” said Molly.

“Everything they say about you is true,” said Frankie.

“If someone’s paying mercenaries to kill us, even before we get to the Casino,” I said, “does that mean someone knows who I really am?”

“Why do you keep asking me questions, when you must have figured out by now that the best you’re going to get is an educated guess?” said Frankie, just a bit shrilly. “Somebody might know, or they might not. It’s a Casino! Place your bets! Choose whichever answer will make you feel better. I’m going to keep my head well down and sob for my life.”

“When I find out who wished you on us as our local contact,” said Molly, “I will riverdance on their head.”

“Fine by me,” said Frankie.

“Death from above!” howled the car, throwing all of us over to one side as she charged down a side street, and then plunged back out onto a main street again. The Pteranodons stuck with us, chewing up our surroundings with long strafing runs. The odd bullet ricocheted from the Scarlet Lady’s reinforced exterior, but didn’t even slow her down. The car radio started playing “Ride of the Valkyries,” while the car hummed happily along. Molly and I braced ourselves and hung on to our seat belts with both hands, as the car rocked this way and that. From somewhere deep in the back seat came plaintive noises of distress.

The Scarlet Lady roared up and down half a dozen back streets, taking lefts and rights at random, trying to shake off the Pan’s Panzerpeople. But the Pteranodons wheeled majestically overhead, tracking us easily from above, raking the streets with vicious gunfire. Buildings blew up as we shot past them, flying debris bouncing off the car. A lamp-post was cut in half by savage fire, and the top end crashed down onto the car’s roof. The metal didn’t even buckle under the weight, and the steel post fell away in a series of sparks as the car pressed on, laughing savagely.

I couldn’t help noticing that while all the cars and trucks and other vehicles had disappeared, there were still any number of pedestrians still walking up and down the pavements, who didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the end of the world going on all around them. Fire and bullets and collapsing buildings to all sides, sometimes right in front of them, but never any reaction from the poor souls caught up in it.

Even when some were shot dead, or brought down under falling rubble.

“Frankie?” I said.

“I’m not coming out!”

“Why are all the pedestrians blind to what’s happening?”

“Casino Infernale has half a dozen major league telepaths just sitting around their basement, doing nothing but broadcasting Don’t Notice Anything Out Of The Ordinary, very loudly, in eight-hour shifts. All of the day and all of the night, until Casino Infernale is over. Huge payoffs take care of everything else. The price of doing business in a tourist town.”

“But people are dying out there!” said Molly.

“No one will give a damn,” said Frankie. “No one will even notice anything, until much later. By which time Casino Security will have cleaned up the mess and hauled away the bodies, and silenced the relatives. One way or another. At best, there’ll be some vague story about terrorists, for the outside media. No one wants to scare off the tourists.”

“Could the Casino be behind the Pan’s Panzerpeople?” I said.

“Stop asking me about this! I don’t know!”

“Don’t make me come back there,” I said.

“All right! All right, let me think. . . . It’s unlikely. If Casino Security knew who you really are, they’d have blown you away the moment you arrived. Taken you out with a nuclear grenade, or a hit demon. Made a real mess of you as a warning to others. But, I mean, come on! No one with any sense would try to take down a Drood with bullets! Shaman Bond, on the other hand . . . This kind of overkill has all the hallmarks of a pre-emptive strike, by some other gambler who sees you as a threat.”

The Pteranodons slammed down out of the sky in waves, again and again. Ugly flying reptile things with gun girls on their backs, sweeping in from left and right to try to catch us in a crossfire. The Nazi warrior women called out to each other in harsh guttural voices, laughing raucously, their bony Aryan faces full of the joy of battle and slaughter. They didn’t care how many innocent people they killed, how many pitiful corpses and broken bodies they left lying in the streets. Heavy bullets slammed into the Scarlet Lady’s chassis, over and over, rocking the car back and forth but never breaking through.

“I’ve had enough of this,” I said. “No more innocents dying, not on my watch. Car, do you have any built-in weapons systems?”

“Of course!” said the car. “Your uncle Jack gave me a good going over on his last visit. Lovely man. Lovely hands . . .”

“Hold everything,” said Molly. “What was the Drood Armourer doing, installing Drood weapons in a Department of the Uncanny car?”

“Can we please concentrate on the matter at hand?” I said. “Car, can you fire back at these Nazi bitches?”

“I have front-mounted cannon,” said the car. “But they’re all aimed at ground level. Everything else has to be controlled by the passengers. Rules.”

“Fine by me!” said Molly. “Show me something!”

“Love to,” said the car.

The dashboard suddenly rolled over, to be replaced by a complete computerised weapons system. Controls for automatic weaponry, car-to-air missiles, front – and rear-mounted flamethrowers. Molly and I both reached for the missile control systems, but she got there first. She activated the tracking systems, grabbed the joy-stick provided, and locked on to the nearest rider in the sky. Molly fired the missile, and it blasted off from the rear of the car to blow both the Pteranodon and its Nazi gun girl out of the sky in one great explosion. Blood and flesh fell through the air like hellish confetti. Molly kept working the controls, targeting one Pan’s Panzerperson after another, but she could take out only one at a time, and I just knew there weren’t going to be enough missiles in the car’s armoury to take out all the targets.

“Missiles won’t do it,” I said to the car. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” said the car. “What can you bring to the party?”

“I have a Colt Repeater!”

“That’ll do nicely,” said the car.

A sliding panel opened in the roof above me, while the front seat sank down into the floor. I stood up, and the upper half of my body passed easily through the space provided. I drew my Colt Repeater from its shoulder holster, called for standard steel ammo, and let the gun do the rest.

I braced myself as the car plunged back and forth, and screwed up my eyes at the wind that battered my face. I felt cold and alone and very vulnerable. No torc, no armour, no protection. If a bullet hit me, I would die. Simple as that. I wanted to sit down again. Let Molly and the car do all the hard work. But I couldn’t just sit there in safety while innocent people were being killed. Because of me. So I turned the Colt Repeater on the nearest flying reptile, and opened fire.

The first bullet hit the rider of the Pteranodon coming straight at me. Slammed right through her left eye. Her head snapped back and blood and brains spilled out through the exit wound, flying off into the slipstream. The pink and grey streamers seemed to just fly away forever. Until the dead warrior woman fell off the Pteranodon, and tumbled bonelessly through the air. The Pteranodon screamed angrily, and just kept coming; so I shot that through the left eye too. The skull was probably bony enough to deflect a bullet. (I did the general aiming; the gun took care of the rest.) The Pteranodon plunged from the sky like a dead plane, and smashed through the roof of a boulangerie.

Sometimes the bullets hit hard enough to punch a Pan’s Panzerperson backwards out of her saddle. Sometimes I couldn’t get a clear shot at a Pteranodon’s eye, and then I’d blow holes in their leathery wings until they couldn’t stay aloft, and they fell scrabbling from the sky to slam into the ground, and spread their guts across the road. Sometimes, if I killed the rider the Pteranodon would just flap away, and I’d let them go. It wasn’t their idea to be here.

The cold rushing air beat me in the face, as I steadied my right wrist with my left hand. The Colt’s aiming system could do only so much. I kept firing, and women and reptiles kept dying. Molly was still working the missile controls, so that the sky above was full of flames and dark clouds, and bloody bits and pieces falling through the air. Bullets still came pounding in from every direction, ricocheting from the sides of the car and sparking from the roof, some increasingly close to me.

I’d never felt so scared. There had been times before when I’d been separated from my torc for a time, but I’d never had to go into battle without my armour’s protection. I flinched every time a bullet flew away from the roof. Sometimes I cried out, involuntarily. My stomach ached from where the muscles had been clenched for so long. It was hard to get my breath. I could have sat down. Said I’d done enough. But I couldn’t, as long as there were still Nazi killers in the air and people dying in the streets. And because if I did sit down, I knew I’d never get my nerve back.

I needed to prove to myself that torc or no torc, armour or no armour, I was still me. With a Drood’s training and a Drood’s duty. I may not always have believed in my family, but I have always believed in what they were supposed to stand for.

That’s usually been the trouble between us.

I switched from steel ammo to incendiaries, summoning them into the Colt from wherever the hell it stores the damn stuff, and the gun made sure I never missed. I killed the Nazi killers, one by one, and dead Pteranodons fell as blazing carcasses from an increasingly empty sky. Falling bodies slammed into burning roofs, and smashed through storefronts, while others hit the ground hard and did not move again. Until finally there was only one Pan’s Panzerperson left, standing up in her silver stirrups as she raked the Scarlet Lady with machine gun fire, screaming obscenities that were mostly lost in the rushing air.

She sent her Pteranodon circling round the car in a tight curve, so that I had to keep turning in my enclosed space to track her. And then she brought the flying reptile all the way round, and urged it hurtling down. The Pteranodon flew straight at the car, just a few yards above the ground. Collision course.

“I’ve run out of rockets!” Molly shrieked at me. “There’s nothing more I can do!”

“And the reptile’s still too far off the ground for my front-mounted cannon to do any good!” said the car.

“Hold yourself steady,” I said.

I leaned forward, across the car roof. The Pan’s Panzerperson was speeding towards me, hunched over her Pteranodon. She saw me aim my gun at her and laughed raucously. She and her mount flew right at me, as she fired her machine gun in short steady bursts. Bullets sprayed all around me, ricocheting harmlessly from the car’s roof. Reptile and rider drew closer and closer, while I waited for a clear shot, and then I aimed the Colt Repeater as carefully as I could, and shot the Nazi warrior woman right between the eyes. Her head snapped back, her hands flying away from the mounted machine gun. She fell sideways, out of her silver saddle, but one foot remained caught in the silver stirrup. The Pteranodon flew on, its dead rider dangling beneath it. I couldn’t get a clear shot at either of the Pteranodon’s eyes as it headed straight for us, screaming with rage.

“Nothing more I can do,” I said. “Coming back in, car.”

The front seat reappeared below me. I sank back into it, and the roof panel closed over my head as I sat down. I slipped the Colt Repeater back into its shoulder holster. I was shaking, shuddering, from reaction. Looking through the windscreen, I could see the Pteranodon flying straight at us, growing bigger and bigger. Its great wings flapped viciously as it built up more and more speed. I fastened my seat belt again, and put my hands on the steering wheel.

“Give me control, Scarlet Lady,” I said.

“Are you sure about this?” said the car. “If you’re thinking of dodging that thing, my reflexes are a lot better than yours.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think dodging would work.”

“And I really don’t think you should assume that you or I would survive a head-on collision with several flying tons of enraged flying dinosaur!” said the car.

“Just give me control! I’ve got an idea!”

“Oh, well, that’s different,” said the car.

The steering wheel came alive under my hands. I kept us on course, straight towards the Pteranodon.

“This better be a really good idea,” said Molly.

In the back seat, Frankie was singing “Abide With Me.” The car joined in.

I waited till the very last moment, until the Pteranodon was committed and plunging down out of the sky, straight at us. And then, I slammed on the brakes. The car screamed to a very sudden halt, black smoke belching out from the wheel arches. Molly and I were thrown forward against our seat belts. (No airbags. Not that kind of car.) But we slammed to a halt much faster than any modern car could have managed. And the Pteranodon slammed head first into the road, exactly where we would have been if I hadn’t hit the brakes. The impact broke the reptile’s neck, and it tumbled over and over across the ground before sliding to a halt right in front of us.

Dead as a dodo.

I put the car in gear and rode over the reptile, taking my time, just to be sure. I drove on, and then gave control back to the Scarlet Lady. And only then did my hands start shaking again. Molly leaned over and put an arm across my shoulders, hugged me, and kissed me on the cheek.

“My hero,” she said.

The missile control disappeared, as the dashboard revolved back into place again. The car radio started playing “Give Peace a Chance,” while the car hummed along. Frankie slowly reappeared in the back seat, looking very pale as he checked himself for bullet holes. The car moved steadily along at a sane and reasonable pace, and bit by bit the general traffic reappeared, to accompany us. Driving calmly and easily, as though it had never been away. The whole city seemed entirely calm and peaceful again, as though there was no fire and black smoke rising up in the car’s rearview mirror.

“Is there a bar anywhere in this vehicle?” said Molly.

A bar immediately appeared in the dashboard before her, and Molly opened it up and poured herself a very generous brandy. She offered one to me, but I shook my head, tight-lipped. I felt like I needed to stay sharp, in control. I held both my hands together in my lap, and they gradually stopped shaking. I’d risked my life before, in the field. Just never so . . . nakedly. Frankie looked pleadingly at Molly, and she passed him back a brandy. He downed it greedily, and made loud grateful noises.

“They did warn me about you two,” he said, after a while. “But I didn’t believe them. . . .”

“How are they going to remove all those dead reptiles?” said Molly.

“Fork-lift trucks, I expect,” said Frankie.

“I still want to know who sent those Pan’s Panzerpeople after us,” I said. “I want a name. You must suspect someone, Frankie.”

“This is Casino Infernale,” Frankie said patiently. “It could be any number of people. Experienced players weeding out the weaker opponents is not only expected, it’s actively encouraged. This was a bit over the top, admittedly.”

“Can we expect more of this?” said Molly.

“Of course,” said Frankie. “Nothing so obvious, or straight forward, once we’re safely inside the Casino itself, but . . .”

“Then in future,” said Molly, “I think we should get our retaliation in first.”

“You’re going to fit right in,” said Frankie. “You stand up to them, girl. I’ll be right behind you. Hiding.”

“This all happened a bit too soon for my liking,” I said. “This was all arranged; waiting for us. But who knew exactly where and when we’d be arriving, and what car we’d be using?”

“Good questions,” said Frankie. “I’d try to find out, if I was you.”

“Have you got an ejector seat?” I asked the car.