“Yes, like that,” said Polo, wincing at the sound. “I had discovered your friend’s incredible gift before our ship was taken, and since our captors would not provide me with the parchment and ink I needed to write my tale, I told the Genoans he was my valet; he was brought to my quarters and I began to recite my story to him.”

“Which kept him from being chained to an oar on a war galley?”

“Since there had been no response from Venice to ransom him, there was talk among the guards he would be sent that way, yes,” said Polo.

“I thank you for that,” said I. I really had been terribly worried about the great ninny, and kindness is so uncommon in these dark ages.

“It is more than repaid by your ransoming me. I have had the good fortune to encounter the miraculous in my travels, and I feel duty bound to try to preserve it.”

“Yes, Drool’s a bloody miracle, innit? You know he can fart the chorus to ‘Greensleeves’?”

“I can give ’er a go, Pocket,” said the dim giant, from behind me.

“No! Not necessary, lad.” Three out of four tries, Drool produced a trumpeting raspberry of “Greensleeves,” but every fourth time or so, he shat himself in the harmony. “I would like to know about another miracle you rescued on your travels. Drool said you brought a serpent back from the Orient. A dragon?”

Polo’s eyes went wide. “I suppose I never thought about how that would sound when my story was heard. I wouldn’t blame you if you thought I was a loon. They are rare creatures, even in China. But I wanted to show it in Venice, show people that the wonders of the Orient are real. It is no matter. The creature slipped out of my rucksack into the canal when I was climbing out of the boat at a dock near Arsenal. After surviving a trek across the great desert, too. A tiny thing, no bigger than my forearm it was. I’m sure it perished in the foul water of the canals. They live in the great rivers of China. I tried to draw it back to the dock using a balm they are attracted to, made from their venom, but it was no use. The creature was gone.”

“Perhaps not,” said I.

“Pocket shagged a dragon,” said Drool matter-of-factly.

“I did not shag her. I was cruelly abused while chained in a dungeon.”

Marco Polo raised an eyebrow. “Signor?”