“Fine, then, what did you want to have words about?” She sat up, cross-legged on the bed, elbow on her knee, chin in hand. “Well?”

“I don’t remember,” said the Moor.

“Well, close the door and come to bed, love, you’re tenting your robe, the servants will be scandalized. Emilia will be jealous.”

“Jealousy!” said the Moor. “That was it! A green-eyed monster!”

“Oh no, thou raging lunatic, I am but a helpless nun,” said Desdemona, quivering in her most naked distress, since apparently this was how Othello wanted to go with the bloody game.

Bested, the Moor shrugged, closed and latched the door, and went over to the bed.

“A green-eyed monster that mocks the meat it feeds upon . . . ?” Othello mumbled.

“Why not?” said Desdemona, taking her turn to shrug. “We can do that.”

Nineteen: Well Met in Corsica Once More

NINETEEN

Well Met in Corsica Once More

Jessica stood at the rail of the poop deck in her white blouse, canvas sailor’s trousers tucked into her high boots, and the red silk scarf she’d bought in Genoa tied around her head, her dark curls spilling down past her shoulders. I must admit, she made for the most fair and fit pirate I had ever seen, despite her surly mood. We were two days from landing back at Corsica and she had not spoken to me since we’d retrieved her from Genoa and she’d found out about my spending her father’s gold.

I approached her cautiously, but not so quietly I would startle her. Truth be told, I did not like her standing so close to the rail, for although I had not seen her since she presented herself to Drool and me, I could feel the dragon out there, following. I’d tasked Drool to look after Jessica, and he had followed her around the ship like an enormous slobbering puppy. He sat with his back against the rail, watching her, his gaze as vacant as the cloudless sky above.

“It was my only recourse, Jess. Polo saved Drool, kept him alive, no doubt. And his family will repay you the ransom when he returns to Venice. It is little more than a loan.”

“And will he repay my mother’s ring, which I had to give for your fucking monkey? My father’s turquoise wedding ring.”

“To be fair, you are not blameless, you did steal the treasure first.”

“What will I tell Lorenzo when he comes to Corsica? He may be waiting for me even now. That money was for our life together.”

“Viv eated him,” said Drool.

“What?” said Jessica.

“Nothing,” said I.

“Viv eated Lorenzo,” said Drool. And then, before I could stop him, in a perfect imitation of my own voice, the natural recited the story of how Viv had taken Lorenzo and Salarino, word for word as I had told the tale to Marco Polo.