The Serpent of Venice Read Free

him.
    The fool pulled away, and regarded the merchant, looking him not just in the eye, but around the eyes, as if they were windows to a dark house and he was looking for someone hiding inside.
    “Then you don’t want me to use my influence in France and England to back a war?”
    The merchant shook his head and smiled.
    “Oh balls, it’s simple revenge then?”
    Antonio and Iago nodded.
    The fool regarded the senator, and seemed to have difficulty focusing on the graybeard. “Everyone knows I’m here. Many saw me board the gondola to come here.”
    “And they will see a fool return,” said the senator.
    “I am a favorite of the doge,” slurred the fool. “He adores me.”
    “That is the problem,” said the senator.
    In a single motion the fool leapt from his chair to the middle of the table, reached into the small of his back, and came up with a wickedly pointed throwing dagger, which caught his eye as it flashed in his hand before him. He wobbled and shook his head as if to clear his vision.
    “Poison?” he said, somewhat wistfully. “Oh, fuckstockings, I am slain—”
    His eyes rolled back in his head, his knees buckled, and he fell face-forward on the table with a thump and a rattle of his blade across the floor.
    The three looked from the prostrate Fortunato to each other.
    The soldier felt the fool’s neck for a pulse. “He’s alive, but I can remedy that.” He reached for his dagger.
    “No,” said the senator. “Help me get him out of his clothes and to a deeper section of the cellar, then take your leave. You last saw him alive, and you can swear on your soul that is all you know.”
    Antonio the merchant sighed. “It’s sad we must kill the little fool, who, while wildly annoying, does seem to bring mirth and merriment to those around him. Yet I suppose if there is a ducat to be made, it must be made. If a profit blossoms, so must a merchant pluck it.”
    “Duty to God, profit, and the republic!” said the senator.
    “Many a fool has found his end trying to resist the wind of war,” said Iago. “So shall this one.”

TWO
    The Dark
    W hat are you doing?” I asked.
    “I’m walling you up in the dungeon,” said the senator, who crouched in the arched doorway to the chamber in which I was chained to the wall.
    “No you’re not,” said I.
    Indeed, it appeared that he was walling me up, but I wasn’t going to concede that simply because I was chained, naked, and water was rising about my feet. Cautious, I was, not to instill a sense of confidence in my enemy.
    “I am,” said he. “Brick by brick. The first masonry I’ve done since I was a lad, but it comes back. I was ten, I think, when I helped the mason who was building my father’s house. Not this one, of course. This house has been in the family for centuries. And I think I was less help than in his way, but alas, I learned.”
    “Well, you couldn’t possibly have been more annoying then than you are now, so do get on with it.”
    The senator stabbed his trowel into a bucket of mortar with such enthusiasm that he might have been spearing my liver. Then he held his lamp through the doorway into my little chamber, which he had already bricked up to just above his knees. By the lamplight I saw I was in a passageway barely two yards wide, that sloped downward into the dark water, which was now washing about my ankles. There was a high-tide line on the wall, about the level of my chest.
    “You know you’re going to die here, Fortunato?”
    “Pocket,” I corrected. “You’re mad, Brabantio. Deluded, paranoid, and irritatingly grandiose.”
    “You’ll die. Alone. In the dark.” He tamped down a brick with the butt of his trowel.
    “Senile, probably. It comes early to the inbred or the syphilitic.”
    “The crabs won’t even wait for you to stop moving before they begin to clean your bones.”
    “Ha!” said I.
    “What do you mean, Ha? ” said Brabantio.
    “You’ve played right into my hands!”
    I shrugged, as