I hadn’t heard him coming at all, yet the Grand Canal from where he’d made his turn was a hundred yards away. This watery town could be right spooky at night.

“You asked for me?” came a voice from behind. I whirled around, nearly lost my balance on the chopines and had to grab the underside of the bridge to keep from going over into the canal. Bassanio stood on the cobbles at the top of the stairs.

“Oh, right,” said I. I was either going deaf or these Venetian fish-floggers were taught stealth from a very early age.

“I know you,” said he. “You’re the small Jew who brought the gold to Antonio’s this afternoon.”

“Smaller Jew,” I corrected. “Those were enormous fucking Jews I was with, you have to admit, so I am at least above average in size.” It seemed pointless to be walking all over Venice on stilts if I was still going to be the tiny one.

“Lorenzo says you know something of the caskets at Belmont?”

“I know you will make a play for Portia’s hand, and you’ve only the funds for one throw of the dice.”

“That’s no secret,” said Bassanio. “Lorenzo says you have a way to gain advantage.”

“I do,” said I.

“And what would your price be for such advantage? You already know that the three thousand ducats at risk are borrowed against the life of my friend.”

“Ah, but once you have won the fair Portia, and her dowry, then the ducats will be as a raindrop in a tempest of wealth, will they not? Only then will I seek payment.”

“Payment of?”

“A thousand ducats.”

“Very dear, a thousand ducats,” said he.

“Not so dear to use as bait to catch a hundred thousand and such a beauty as Portia, whose value is beyond gold.”

“No, not so much,” he said. “How will you give me advantage?”

“The caskets are sealed with wax, and watched over by the senator’s lawyers, are they not?”

“That is so.”

“Have you seen them?”

“I have a comrade who has word from Portia’s maid that they are on a high veranda, which is locked at night; from morning until dusk whenever the door to the veranda is unlocked, they are watched by Brabantio’s lawyers, who confirm the wax seals and will reseal the caskets if a suitor chooses the wrong one. I’m at my wits’ end. A prince of Morocco will make a try Wednesday, and my turn does not come until the day after, and if he chooses correctly—”

“Calm yourself, good Bassanio,” said I. “He will not choose correctly, because the correct choice shall not be there for him. I will see to it.”

“How?”

I held forth the note that Lorenzo had dropped. “This was given to me sealed, to bring to Lorenzo; I’m sure he gave testimony to my discretion.”

“He said you could be trusted.”