Shylock did not see us there, in his house, when he entered, so intent was he upon closing the door behind him and locking it, putting a hefty slab of oak between him and whatever was in the outside world. He leaned his forehead against the door and stood there, shivering and out of breath. When Jessica came behind him to wrap a towel around his shoulders, he screamed, and she jumped back.

“Papa,” said she.

“Look!” said I. “I’ve returned your loving daughter. Go ahead, give the girl a proper cuddle.”

“I have no daughter,” said Shylock, his back pressed so firmly against the door that I think it was the first time I had not seen him hunched over. Jessica clutched the towel to her bosom and backed away, trying to squeeze back tears.

“Thief!” he said to me. “Where are my ducats?”

“Look, I’ve brought Marco Polo!”

“Where is my turquoise?”

“And I’ve brought this monkey called Jeff. Look at his little fool’s kit.”

“What of my other jewels?”

“And look at this great drooling nitwit. Bigger even than Tubal’s two huge Jews.”

“Charmed,” said the ninny.

“I have seen this monkey,” said Shylock.

“Jeff,” provided Drool.

“He gave me a letter not an hour ago.”

“I know,” said I. “I sent him with the letter.”

“ ‘Don’t be afraid,’ it says. ‘You will be safe,’ it says. Then that thing, that creature, that monster—”

“That were the dragon Pocket shagged.”

“There was no dragon shagging.”

“Beggin’ pardon, sir,” said Drool, conspiratorially behind his hand, as subtle as a war hammer. “A gentleman don’t talk about his dragon sextool adventures, so as not to compromise a lady’s reputation.”

“That is not what I taught you.”

“Sor-ry.”

“She was a mermaid when she shagged me—I thought she was a mermaid. And I was chained up. I’m not even sure it was a proper shagging. Could have been either end, although having now seen the toothy end, I will say she’s not without her amorous skills—”

“ ‘And even a homely girl can be beautiful when she bears a generous spirit in the dark,’ ” Drool quoted me in my own voice.

“Deviate,” spat Jessica. “Dragon shagger!”

Shylock’s eyes widened. “What is this? What is this? What is this? Consorting with monsters that tear the flesh from a man’s bones like he would take off his socks? What are you?”

“Just the pert and nimble spirit of mirth, at your service,” said I, with a dance step and a bit of a jingle on my hat bells, as Shylock had not yet seen me in my official togs.

“He did rescue you, Papa,” said Jessica. “They were going to murder you.” The first unstern, ungrowling thing she had said to or about me since she’d learned of Lorenzo. “But he is a thief, and a rascal, and most assuredly a fool.”