In Corsica, after an appropriate half-hour of mourning upon finding out she had been widowed, Emilia married Michael Cassio, and was now installed, quite comfortably, in the Citadel at Bastia, the new Baroness of Corsica.

“I worry about Papa,” Jessica said.

“He will be fine. He has his spectacles, so he can do his own accounts, and that widow Esther is taking care of him at the house. She has a healthy laugh and won’t put up with his bollocks. Shylock had nearly smiled when he met her. The possibilities are as dazzling as they are disgusting.” Tubal had hired the woman to look after his friend. It turned out that it had been Iago who had hired the two huge Jews to kill us, not Tubal, and the two old moneylenders had resumed their friendship with new frontiers of resentment and envy to help it along.

“Can you even get to China by sea?” asked Jessica, as we stood at the rail at the rear of the ship, watching Venice recede into the horizon, and the shadow of the black dragon following behind just below the surface of the water.

“No idea. I thought we agreed when we decided to go pirating that you will learn the nautical bits and I will compose bawdy songs of our legendary adventures. Marco Polo says it may be possible, but he also said that we may have to take her overland to get her home.”

“Montano thinks there may be a river to China from the Black Sea.”

“If not, we can sail back the other way.”

“South,” she provided.

“If you say so. We will get her back to her own kind, if there are any left, even if we have to sail the Serpent of Venice o’er all the seven seas together. There are seven seas, right?”

“It’s a shit name for a ship,” she said.

I’d had the name of our ship emblazoned on her stern in great gilt letters, and an effigy of Vivian carved in ebony graced her bow.

“Well, we aren’t going to call the ship the Dread Pirate Jessica. That, my dear, is a shit name for a ship.”

“Arrrrr,” she arrrrrred.

Afterword

AFTERWORD