“We practice and I feed my men well. A man rows harder when he is fed and when he is paid. There are no slaves in my ships.”

“I was a slave,” said I.

“As was I,” said Othello. “Chained to an oar for three years, was I, until my ship was sunk by pirates and I floated away, saved by the broken oar that I had been shackled to.”

“Not so much rowing for me. Greasy fuckload of juggling and jesting, but very few nautical bits.”

“I don’t think you would do well at sea, friend Pocket. Men on a ship, unable to escape your chatter, might try to kill you. Have you heard of keel hauling?”

“Ha! I’ve been to sea and survived. And I was quiet the whole time, but for some retching and a wee bit of complaining.”

“Why do you need a ship?”

“You remember my monkey, Jeff?”

“A horrible creature—”

“He needs rescuing. From Genoa. As does my enormous apprentice, but I thought Jeff would evoke more sympathy.”

“And what of your puppet? Does your puppet not need rescuing as well?”

“Jones? You know he’s not real, right? I give him voice. He’s not a living creature, you know?”

“Yes, this I know,” said the Moor, dazzling a grin at me that veritably shimmered with self-congratulation. “I was making a joke.”

“Excellent point. I’ll need a ship and a pilot and a crew.”

“How did I make that point?”

“With your joke, I have seen my folly in thinking that I, an unskilled sailor, could take a ship to Genoa without help.”

“It was a good joke,” said the Moor.

“When it comes to crafting jape, thou art a soldier indeed.”

“You think because I am a soldier and you are a joker that you can make sport of me, but I am a strategist, too, Pocket of Dog Snogging, and I know when someone feints, then tries to outflank me.”

“If not for me you’d not have your Desdemona.”

“If not for me you’d be drowned,” said the Moor.

“That’s not a fair trade. I am but a wisp of a fool, a used and broken one at that, with no reason to live but revenge. Desdemona is worth a hundred of me.”

“She is my soul’s joy,” said the Moor.

“A thousand of me.”

“You shall have your ship.”

“And crew and pilot?”

“Yes, yes, but you cannot just sail into the harbor at Genoa. We are at war with them. The ship will have to put you into a longboat down the coast, out of sight, and you can row in. Do you even know where they are?”

“Yes. Well, somewhat. The Genoans are holding them for ransom. In prison, I reckon.”