"You must have me confused with someone else," was all he said, and sat back, refusing to answer any of the other questions I pelted him with on the ride to Cockburn Street. Beppo tried to make friends with me, but I was too upset and confused to do more than shake his hand when he offered it to me.

Pilar was all but glued to my side as we walked upstairs to apartment 12-C, the building as elegantly quiet as I remembered from my previous visit. The cold that seeped from him was so great, however, I made sure to put as much distance as possible between us.

Caspar opened the door with the same polite smile he had when I last left him. "Good afternoon, Miss Cosse. How nice to see you again."

"Thanks," I said, entering the apartment when he waved me in, Pilar and Beppo hot on my heels. "If it's not too rude of me to ask, why are you trying to have my cousin and a friend killed?"

Caspar looked genuinely astonished, I'll give him that. Either he was a hell of an actor, or he hadn't asked Pilar to shoot Clare and Paen full of holes. For a brief moment I wondered if I'd seen my attacker correctly, but one glance at Pilar reaffirmed that he was the man I'd recently stared down at the other end of a crossbow.

"Miss Cosse, I must humbly beg your indulgence. Am I to understand there has been a murder attempt on your life?" Caspar asked, taking my coat.

"Um… yeah. Something like that," I said, deciding not to say anything about Pilar. If he was acting on Caspar's request, then I wouldn't be telling him anything new. And if Pilar wasn't working with Caspar… well, that meant he had his own purpose in wanting us dead, and I'd have to find out just what that was. "I had no idea you and Pilar were… acquainted."

Caspar ignored the slight emphasis. "Ah, yes, Pilar and I go back many years. I've found it beneficial to employ him from time to time."

"Do you always hire someone to bring people to see you? I'd think a simple phone call and invitation would be less of a drain on the old expense sheet." I took the seat he indicated. The room was just as sunny as it had been earlier, but something in it was still rubbing my warning system the wrong way.

"Indeed, no. But I thought it expedient to have Pilar bring you himself. I know you are a busy woman, and what I have to say to you is of the utmost importance."

"Shoot," I said, then flinched. Pilar smiled a particularly unpleasant smile. The temperature in the room dropped a good ten degrees as he took a seat on a chair against the wall. Beppo jumped off onto a bookcase, and started examining a leafy spider fern. I pulled my eyes from the two of them to the pleasantly smiling man who was busy at a sideboard. "Er… go ahead."

"Might I offer you an aperitif first? Sherry?"

"That would be lovely," I said, matching his polite tone despite the fact that I'd more or less been hustled there by a murderous hired thug.

He handed me a tiny glass containing a few sips of dark sherry. "You're a plain-speaking woman, Miss Cosse. I like that. A toast to plain speaking and congenial understanding."

I clinked my glass against his, taking a sip of the sherry. I'm not a big sherry drinker, but this stuff was downright nasty. I wondered for a moment if it could have been drugged, then put that wild thought down to having watched too many old black and white movies.

"You're also a minimalist when it comes to conversation," Caspar said, taking a few sips of his sherry.

"Not really. My mother taught me it was rude to chatter on about nothing when someone has something important to say."

"Forthright, and understandably so, given your heritage."

I raised an eyebrow. It was true my eyes had an elf tilt to them, but I hadn't thought my genetic background was so evident. I passed as purebred mortal just about everywhere.

Caspar continued without pause. "I admire a woman who knows the value of a conversation that does not include unimportant chatter. There are many arts that have been lost over the years; decent conversation is, to my mind, the most lamentable of them."

"Indeed," I said, smiling politely and wondering when he would get to the point. I decided to help things along a smidgen. "What is it you'd like to talk about?"

"I wish to talk to you about a statue," he said smoothly, sipping at his sherry.

He got full marks for taking me by surprise, but lost a few in technique. "A statue? A statue of a falcon, perhaps?"

"No. The statue I refer to is of a monkey. A black monkey."

"You wouldn't by any chance be referring to the Jilin God?" I asked, deliberately keeping my eyes on his. Caspar wasn't a fool. He would notice if my gaze suddenly shifted at the mention of the statue.

"You see?" He smiled as he sat back, his face full of satisfaction. "You are a woman after my own heart. You know of what I speak, and rather than wasting both our time with unnecessary denials, you come right out and put the subject on the table. Yes, my dear, I do in fact refer to the Jilin God. Am I correct in assuming that you represent the interest of an individual in the statue?"

"I have many clients," I said, well aware that I was exaggerating slightly. "Their interests are varied, but you can, for the sake of this conversation, assume that I am also interested in the statue."

"That is a curious choice of words," Caspar said, crossing his legs. "You say 'interested in,' but not seeking. May I deduce that you have possession of the statue?"

"You can deduce anything you like, but that won't necessarily make it true."

Caspar sipped at his sherry. "You dislike lying outright, I see. Another admirable quality. I dislike being lied to. I assume from your non-denial that you do, in fact, have possession of the statue, or at least you know where it is."

"I don't have it on me, no. But I might know where it is." That wasn't exactly a lie, I told my conscience—I did know it was in a tomb of some sort. I just didn't know where that tomb was.

He laughed. "You have the statue—pardon me, know where it is—but you have not yet handed it over to your client, Mr. Paen Scott? Excellent. We progress. I take it you have no other interested persons in the statue?"

"That's not necessarily true," I answered, wondering how he knew about Paen. I didn't look at Pilar, but I felt the heat from my body being sucked out as the cold that surrounded him leached the surroundings of all warmth.

"Is it not?" Caspar set down his glass to consider me. "Who else might you represent?"

"Well, for one, there's me," I said, smiling.

"Well done, my dear. The mercenary streak does you proud." I almost rolled my eyes at that, but managed to keep my face a polite mask of interest. "I do like a woman who isn't afraid to take care of herself before others."

I let my smile widen. It couldn't hurt for him to think I'd be willing to sell out Paen. He might be more forthcoming with his role in the whole mess if he thought I could be swayed to find the statue for him.

"Why don't you tell me a little about the statue," I suggested, settling back in the chair.

He pursed his lips and I thought for a moment he was going to refuse, but he made a conceding gesture and said, "I suspect you know as much about it as I do, but if it pleases you to pretend ignorance, I shall indulge you. The Jilin God statue is approximately so big"—he held out his hands about six inches apart—"made of ebony, commissioned from Gu Kaizhi, one of the leading artists of the fourth century. It was later given to Marco Polo upon his arrival in Peking by the emperor himself, but mysteriously was not included in the inventory Polo had conducted when he left China."

"Was it stolen?" I asked, pondering the coincidence of both the Coda and the statue having their origins with Marco Polo.

"Perhaps. The statue reappeared briefly in Venice in the early eighteenth century, and then passed through private families for several generations. It was known to be in Paris and the American colonies, but then it disappeared from sight altogether."