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.”