“You do,” said Othello. “Do you know the names and routes of the ships that Antonio has at sea, the ones he used to guarantee his bond to Jessica’s father?”

I pulled the parchment that Shylock had written out for me from my nun’s habit and gave it to the Moor. “They are here, and a schedule of when they are expected to return to Venice. But these do not guarantee the bond. For that Antonio promised a pound of his flesh.”

“Surely that was meant as a jest.”

“That is part of the job, but no.”

“Why are you still in nun’s clothing? Without your motley and puppet stick, I forget that you are a deeply silly man. It’s unsettling.”

“I’d make a fit nun, wouldn’t I? That’s the problem, innit? You fancy me in this nun suit, don’t you, you bloody great stallion?”

“You need to shave,” said the Moor.

“But then, eh?” I winked, tarty teasing nun that I was.

“You are silly and you make a homely nun! I will go arrange for your ship. Watch the exercises; maybe you will learn something, thou irritant fool.”

So I did watch, watched the great aquamarine slate of the Ligurian Sea laid out before me to the horizon, scored with the wake and churn of a dozen ships, but it was not the smoke and warships that drew my eye, it was that shadow just under the surface by the breakwater, waiting for me to return to the sea.

“Oh dear, Nerissa,” said Portia. “I am so distressed, I’ve scarcely had time to think about shoes.”

“And shoes surely wither with your neglect, lady, but the Duke of Aragon awaits. Shall we make our entrance?”

“I don’t look too beautiful, do I?” Portia primped as if Nerissa were a looking glass and she would know when everything looked just right by the look on her maid’s face.

Nerissa smirked. Three thousand ducats just to have a go? You’re a country villa and a lifetime of blow jobs short of being too beautiful, love, Nerissa thought. But she said, “You are perfect.”

They made their way down the stairs, Portia gliding ahead, Nerissa bouncing behind, as was their habit, to find the Duke of Aragon, a dazzlingly handsome young man with a waxed mustache and coal-blackened eyelids, waiting with a pair of manservants in the foyer.

The lawyers made their statements and Aragon bowed grandly over Portia’s hand.

“Nerissa, please show the duke to the caskets.”