I suddenly felt it prudent to be up, off the landing and onto the paved walkway—in fact, the second or third floor above the canal would do right now. I tried to climb to my feet, but could barely drag myself to the stairs, and all the time I watched the spot where Salanio had been dragged under. Then up it came.

The headless man—the meat that had been Lorenzo, I could tell by his doublet—was being propelled down the middle of the canal, half out of the water, a great wave driven before it. I scrambled to get up the stairs, away from the water, crawling, one step at a time, a burning returning to my ribs where the knife had striped them. I rolled onto my back, expecting, well, I don’t know, what? Death, I suppose. Mad, panicked grasps for what I wanted to be my last thought, because it would come fast, so fast—but the body stopped, as if it had a second thought, and slowly sank. The water flattened, settled. I was not going to die tonight. Not here.

Oh, Viv. Thou venomous sea-wench. Thou wondrous, terrible force. Oh, Viv.

I could feel her, my mermaid, a presence there, under the water, even as I had felt her presence in the dungeon, I now realized, more and more as the time had gone by. Those strange blue visions, like phantoms in my mind, those had been her. She was not going to kill me. She had thrown me up on this landing, just as she had done in front of Shylock’s house, to save me from drowning.

Oh, Viv, thou wicked, wicked thing. Thanks be to you, mermaid.

The chopines were gone from my feet, no doubt still stuck in the mud under the bridge, Jessica’s boots still strapped to them. I tried to roll up my wet sailcloth trousers, but ended up cutting them off with Salanio’s dagger, which had snagged in my coat. Once I could walk, I padded barefoot up the courtyard to the Grand Canal. Before I reached the Rialto Bridge I stopped and looked back at the water.

They must never be found. Never, I thought.

The blue-white images of bones underwater flashed across the black water, as if drawn on glass in front of my eyes. When I closed my eyes, I could see them clearly—two human skeletons, deep, deep underwater, lampreys and hagfish sucking them clean.

No, Lorenzo and Salanio would not be seen again.

CHORUS:

And so, the sodden and wounded rascal,

Now again as short of stature as of wit,

Friendless and heartbroken,

As poor in purse as he was in character,

Having betrayed fair Jessica’s kindness,

And after gleefully fornicating

With an abomination of the deep,

The fool, Pocket, craven fish-fucker—

“I still have Salanio’s dagger,” said I. “And it’s razor sharp, if you would prefer to narrate as a castrato for the duration.”