“Of course you can’t, sweetie,” said Molly. “The Shadow Bank is going down! I’m with you all the way. But, how are we going to do it? We don’t even know who or what might be running them. What can we do?”
“Haven’t a clue,” I said. “I’m working on it.”
“Terrific . . .” said Molly. “Talk about getting a girl’s hopes up . . . want to lie down on the bed for a while?”
Just as she was saying that, there was the sound of gunfire as the lock on our door was blown apart, the door was kicked in, and someone with a very familiar face stormed into our suite. The Little Lord looked very angry, even disturbed . . . and in pretty good shape, considering that the last time I’d seen her she was being carried unconscious from the Arena. She was back in a formal suit, complete with top hat and a monocle screwed firmly into one eye. She had a really large gun in one hand, and a piece of complicated-looking tech jammed under her other arm. She fixed me with a cold, dangerous look and pointed the gun right at me.
Molly moved quickly forward to stand between me and the Little Lord, and I let her. I thought about drawing the Colt Repeater from my pocket dimension, and then thought better of it. A drawn gun trumps a holstered gun, every time. I was better off letting Molly defend us both with her magics.
Until I recognised the tech under the Little Lord’s arm; what it was, what it had to be. And I stepped forward, to put myself between Molly and the Little Lord. Her gun followed my every movement. It looked very steady; and the Little Lord looked very determined. Molly glared at me, as though I might have forgotten I didn’t have my armour any more. I put out an arm to hold her where she was, and nodded to the Little Lord.
“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” I said calmly. “Nice gun. Is that tech thing . . . what I think it is?”
“What?” said Molly.
“It’s a portable null zone generator,” the Little Lord said grimly, glancing quickly at Molly. “So your magics won’t work against me, witch.”
“Where did you get such a thing?” I said quickly, to bring the Little Lord’s attention back to me. And before Molly could say anything that might make the situation any more tense. “And how did you get back here from the Games world?”
“Pretended I was unconscious, until the flunkies weren’t looking,” said the Little Lord. “Then I slipped away, clubbed down a Player from behind, stole his obol and his identity, and a flunky escorted me back through the dimensional door. Seems they really can’t tell us apart, after all. I stole this portable generator from one of the hotel staff, beat your location out of a Jackson, and stole his gun, and here I am.”
“That’s actually . . . pretty impressive,” said Molly. “Sounds like something I might do.”
“It’s amazing how motivated you can get when you’ve just lost your soul,” said the Little Lord. Her gun was still pointing straight at me. “And now, I want it back. Give me back my soul, right now! Because if you don’t I will shoot you, Shaman Bond, and take my chances that with your death, all your bets will be declared null and void!”
“Sore loser,” said Molly.
“Shut up!” said the Little Lord, her voice rising dangerously. “You don’t understand! It’s not just money I lost this time; it’s my eternal soul! I thought I understood what I was risking, but I didn’t. I’ll do whatever I have to, to get my soul back!”
“All right,” I said. “You can have it.”
The Little Lord looked at me. “What?”
“It’s just one soul,” I said. “I’ve got loads—more than enough to get me into the Big Game.” I looked at Molly. “I told you I wasn’t comfortable owning souls.”
“You expect me to believe you?” said the Little Lord. “You’re really willing to just . . . give me my soul back?”
“Why not?” I said.
Moving slowly and carefully, I took the hotel ledger out of my pocket dimension, leafed through the pages to find the Little Lord’s name, and then took out a pen and carefully crossed her name through. Then I put the ledger away again, took out the obol I’d kept, and handed it to her.
“This is your soul,” I said. “Or at least what represents it. I revoke all claims to it.”
And as I handed the small coin over to the Little Lord, we both felt something pass between us. Like the handing over of a precious gift, or a heavy burden, or something of indescribable significance. We both breathed a little more easily. The Little Lord clutched her obol tightly in her fist, and looked at me with something like wonder.
“Thank you. . . . That was the most generous thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what I’d expected would happen when I finally got here, but that wasn’t it.”
“He’s a good man,” said Molly. “I don’t tell him nearly often enough, but he is.”
“I’m Shaman Bond,” I said. “If I was someone else, I might have responsibilities. I might feel it was my duty to hang on to the obol. But I’m not. I’m Shaman Bond, and a free man.”
The Little Lord looked at Molly. “Am I supposed to understand any of that?”
“I’m right here, and I’m not sure I do,” said Molly.
“I’d leave the Casino right now, if I were you,” I said kindly to the Little Lord. “Hotel Security are probably already on their way here to investigate the shooting, and Casino Security will be hot on the trail of their stolen null generator. Besides, I don’t think the Casino’s a healthy place for you. Now you’ve got your soul back, there’s always the chance you might be tempted to gamble it again.”
“I didn’t mean to,” said the Little Lord. “I was just so desperate to get home again.”
“Then you’d better have some money, too,” I said. “To help you on your journey.” I produced a thick wad of notes from my pocket, and offered them to her. The Little Lord put her gun away, and accepted the money almost shyly.
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you. I . . . I’m out of here. I’m going home!”
She turned and left. I went over to the door and pushed it shut. I turned back to find Molly looking at me.
“You really think she can get out of this hotel, and evade Casino Security, on her own?”
“Why not?” I said. “She has a portable null generator and I’d like to see anyone stop her, the mood she’s in. She’s going home. Wherever that might be. Planet of the Aristocratic Imposters, perhaps.”
“Oh, I can tell you where she comes from,” said Molly. “The Nightside. She’s an old friend of Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor.”
I sighed, quietly. “Tell me she’s not the Little God of Transvestites, or something.”
“No,” said Molly. “Nothing so grand. She’s from some other-dimensional city port called Haven, and the sooner she goes back there, the better. You know, you really are too good for your own good, sometimes. Come here.”
Not long after that the door slammed open again, and Frankie came hurrying in.
“What the hell happened to the lock on your door? Did something happen while I was gone? Oh God, you’re at it again. Don’t you ever stop? Look, you have to listen to me! This is important! Really important!”
“All right,” I said, stepping away from Molly. “I believe you. What is it, that’s so very important?”
“It’s your parents!” said Frankie. “I’ve found them! I got lucky first time out, talking to the right person. The Casino is holding your parents prisoner, and I know where!”
“Where?” I said, and something in my voice and in my gaze made Frankie stumble for a moment.
“Right here in the hotel,” he said finally.
“Are you sure?” said Molly.
“Of course I’m sure!” said Frankie, regaining something of his usual assurance. “I told you—I can find out anything! The Casino has both of them locked up in a specially guarded holding cell, down in the hotel sub-basement. But you have to come with me, right now, because they’re about to be moved!”