Iago was quickly up the stairs to hide the tiny, red-lacquered box taken from Brabantio’s body that held the last of the tarry potion. Only a small bit remained, less even than they had put in the fool’s amontillado, but he would save it. Use it on the Moor, perhaps, or better yet, Desdemona. It would be wasted on Cassio—for it was the one true thing he had ever told Rodrigo—Cassio would be nearly helpless after a cup or two of wine.

He polished the box on his sleeve, and the black serpent set in the red lacquer shone green-eyed under the lantern. A curious Oriental thing. He kept it tucked beneath a pair of gloves in his trunk. A most curious thing.

CHORUS: Under a waxing crescent moon did two dark creatures lurk by the harbor’s edge, one walked into the warm lamplight of the officers’ station under the guise of friendship and good cheer, the other lay like an inky shadow among rocks at the shore, watching.

Iago put the jug down upon the table where Cassio was seated, quill in hand, over a ledger.

“Come, Captain, fetch cups, I have a stout jug of wine and we have not celebrated our victory by storm over the Genoans and the health of gallant Othello and his new wife.”

“Oh, not tonight, good Iago,” said Cassio. “I have poor and unhappy brains for drinking. I wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.”

“But they are our friends, for which we must celebrate life, and our enemies, whose deaths save our friends from peril. To life, one cup?”

“I have had one cup tonight already with supper and the figures dance on the page like scattering ants.”

“One cup! One cup and I will tell you good news, a message, just for you, that will smooth the lines from your brow and draw them as smiles at the edges of your eyes. One cup, for a surprise.”

“Fine, then, there are cups on the mantel. One cup.”

Iago retrieved the cups, tall, heavy cylinders of green Murano glass, then plunked them on the table and splashed in the wine, staining the corner of Cassio’s ledger as well. “Now drink with me. To Venice! To Othello! To Desdemona! Happiness to their sheets!”

“What?”

“Just fucking drink.”

They drank, emptying their cups, Iago watching the captain over the edge of his cup, while Cassio winced as he drank and shivered when his cup returned to the table with a thump.

“Now tell me the good news,” said Cassio.

“One more!”

“No, one more and I shall lose my wits, Iago. I tell you, I have no head for it.”

“But when I tell you, you’ll be glad of it. I promise.”