“But alas,” said Iago, “perhaps there is a flaw in my plan that, because of the strength of my will and the breadth of my ambition, I am yet to discover . . .”

CHORUS: So beguiled by hate is the soldier, that he does not realize that the Venetians would never prosecute Othello, the son-in-law of a Senator, the heir to a Council seat himself, for what would look to be a well-justified killing of the man who wrongly used his wife. No working man at the docks would be undone for such a deed, so a general, a national hero, will not even stand trial.

“Oh bugger,” said Iago. “There is the ring of truth to it, isn’t there?”

CHORUS: Dazzlingly obvious to all but the most profoundly thick.

“Of course, Cassio is already failed as an officer, his murder serves not my purpose but for the pure pleasure of it. It is Othello who must fall before the Florentine’s sword. Yet, as Cassio is a skilled swordsman, though not from battle but from dogged disciplined practice, so is the Moor dangerous with his scimitar. I will have to slow his hand, as I did Rodrigo’s, with the Oriental potion. And if the darkling beast forms from the shadows and kills Othello, too . . . ? Well, he would have done well not to have trifled with my loyalties. You, Chorus, say nothing of this. I will see the Barbary horse dead this night, and I will not by your meddling be undone.”

CHORUS: A humble narrator is but a flourish in the scenery, no instrument of Fate is he. The watch bell tolls seven, and villains and heroes are called to put in motion their plots.

“Tis justice that on his last night the general waits in a common alehouse. It shows his kind were not meant for command. I am away.”

Marco Polo stood beside me at the rail on one side of the ship, while Jessica looked out over the sea on the other. “She is still not speaking to you, then?”

“Holding fast to her anger,” said I. “Not like telling her about Lorenzo sooner would have made anything better. She’s seen the world, met new friends, and learned to swear like a pirate—if she’d gone off with Lorenzo her gold would still be gone and her carcass would probably be feeding the fishes off some poxy Greek island.”

“What of your other lady, Pocket? The darker one?” The explorer bounced his eyebrows as if he were party to some bawdy secret, nudge, nudge.

“I haven’t seen her since we left Corsica, which is just as well. You keep that potion of yours capped, Polo. She might have been cute as a kitten when you last saw her, but now she seldom shows up without there’s a trail of gruesome gore and grieving survivors.”

“Except for you. She doesn’t harm you?”