Eligor’s companion was more than just lengthy, he was also pretty strange: nearly seven feet tall and reasonably muscular, but his hands and feet were way too big for the rest of his body, and his head was too small, giving him the look of (I really can’t find a nicer way to say it) a titanic pinhead. But the eyes in that sloping skull were sharp and focused, and I was quite sure those serving-plate hands were as strong as they looked.

“Mr. Dollar.” Eligor wore his Kenneth Vald body and his most earnest leisure clothes, as if about to go yachting with his old prep-school chums. He looked at Sam, pausing just long enough to show that he recognized him, then flicked a glance to Clarence before turning back to me. “So we meet again! Congratulations on escaping. Oh, and those of us who find Commissar Niloch rather tedious would like to thank you for dropping his head down the Outer Gorge. It should take him a few thousand years to tongue his way back up.”

“Where’s the Countess?” It was all I could do not to shout.

Eligor shook his head. “No appreciation for the art of conversation. That’s the problem with this tough-guy model of yours, Dollar—it’s all terse quips and sour replies. What’s wrong with Holmes or Hercule Poirot, heroes who could string a few words together?” He lifted an eyebrow at the involuntary growl that escaped me. “Oh, very well then, if you insist.” He waved to the tall guy. “He wants to see the Countess, Fiddlescrape. Would you do the honors, please?”

The bodyguard opened the back door of the long car and bent over. He helped Caz get out, although “helped” isn’t really the word I’d use unless fishermen “help” gaffed fish onto a boat. She was not her usual graceful self because her hands were tied behind her back. She was also gagged. I forced myself to take deep breaths so I didn’t just shoot somebody.

“Now let her go, and you’ll get the feather,” I told the grand duke.

“This is the part Sam didn’t really explain,” said Clarence into my ear. “What’s he want the feather for . . . ?”

“Shut up,” I advised him. “Send her over, Eligor.”

Eligor chuckled. “Oh, no, no. Feather first, then I promise you get the woman. You have my word.”

“Great! I was so hoping I could get the sworn promise of one of Hell’s biggest fixers,” I said. “Because then I’d feel really secure.” But I knew that he couldn’t just cheat me. The lords of Hell have a curious love-hate relationship with the truth, and if you’re smart enough, you can take advantage of that. “Go ahead, Sam. Get it.”