“My daughter cannot marry a Christian,” said Shylock.

“I’m not a Christian,” said I. “Heretic of convenience at worst.”

“I’m not marrying him,” said Jessica. “We are simply sailing off to do dread deeds and have drunken debauchery beneath the mizzenmast. I’d not marry such a small and irritating pest of a man.”

“Despite my puckish charm and enormous knob?” said I.

“Both soundly imaginary,” said Jessica.

“You agreed yourself, in front of this very father of yours, that I had an enormous knob.”

Shylock moaned and cradled his head in his hands as if it might explode any moment.

“I thought I was agreeing that you were an enormous knob,” she said.

“Oh, well then, now you’ve hurt my feelings,” said I. “I’ll be in the longboat, sulking, when you are ready. Farewell, Shylock. I will take good care of her, despite her sour disposition.”

“This is a punch to my heart,” said Shylock, by way of a good-bye.

“Well, don’t blame me, you’re the one that raised her. Might have added a soupçon of human kindness to all the guilt and kvetching if you didn’t want her to run off to be a pirate.”

“You, you, you, you, you—you do not talk this way of my daughter. You give me my ducats, but you take my daughter.”

“I am not taking your daughter. Your daughter is seeking her own adventure.”

“Pocket,” said Jessica. “Please, wait in the boat. I’ll be along in a bit.”

“Adieu, Shylock,” said I. I took my duffel, went to the end of the dock, and handed it down to the sailors.

There was much embracing and many tears and when Jessica finally joined me in the longboat, Shylock stood and watched us until we were all the way out into the harbor, and his dark figure, topped by his yellow hat, was still there, even as we raised anchor and set sail.

Drool was standing at the bow, letting the wind wash the stink off his hulking frame, and Jeff was cavorting in the rigging, chattering and shrieking with glee that he had been so sly as to have tricked us into building all this smashing monkey-climbing equipment for him. Nerissa had decided to join us on our travels, and she stood by the helm with Montano, whom Othello had appointed as our captain and pilot.

After he took his seat on the council, the Moor had given us the ship and crew in thanks for our service to him and Venice. Desdemona, as mistress of the estate, had rescinded her father’s instructions and saw that half of Brabantio’s fortune, along with the villa at Belmont, went to her sister, Portia, on the one condition that she never let her handsome, yet terribly thick husband, Bassanio, manage the money.