The Serpent of Venice Read Online Free PDF Page B

cellar?”
    “The wall was intact. You sent away that great simpleton who attended the fool, did you not?”
    “I sent a forged note from the fool sending for him the next day. My protégé Bassanio arranged to put the giant and the fool’s monkey on a ship to Marseilles and paid their passage. You think the natural * could have done this?”
    Iago stroked his beard. “No, he is strong enough, but what was done to the senator requires a savagery beyond that of a simpleton enraged, even if he’d had a weapon of tooth and bone. It was an animal.”
    “The monkey, then?”
    “Yes, Antonio. The senator’s head was torn from his body and his liver eaten by a tiny fucking monkey in fool’s motley.”
    “Jeff,” said Antonio.
    “What?”
    “The monkey is called Jeff.”
    “Forget the monkey! What is this fascination you have with the monkey? Why didn’t you just keep the monkey?”
    “I needed to make the fool’s departure appear genuine, didn’t I?” said Antonio. “No one would go away without his monkey. Besides, I am a respected merchant of Venice. I cannot have a monkey, it would seem frivolous.”
    “Psssst, beg pardon, signor,” said one of the spice merchants, leaning out of his booth. “But I might be able to procure a monkey for you.”
    “Oh for fuck’s sake,” said Iago.
    “Very discreet, signor,” said the spice seller, affecting a conspiratorial whisper. “You can keep it, or just have it for the night, if you’d like. My man will come take it away in the morning.”
    “No,” said Antonio. “I have no need—”
    “How much did you hear?” Iago said to the spice man.
    “I know nothing of Antonio’s desire to fuck a monkey.” Innocence blossomed on the spice seller’s face, blissful ignorance gleamed in his eye.
    “I do not—” Antonio had taken off his floppy silk hat and was fanning himself with it, sweat having suddenly leapt out onto his brow.
    “Beyond the monkey fucking, what heard you?”
    “Nothing of a headless senator,” said the spice man.
    “Pay him,” said Iago to Antonio.
    “I don’t want to—”
    “Twenty ducats?” Iago raised his scarred eyebrow to the merchant.
    The spice seller shrugged, as if perhaps, in some land, a land where his children were not hungry and his wife was not so demanding, twenty ducats might possibly be enough to make him forget what he had never really heard, but here, in Venice, now, well, signor, a man has expenses, and—
    “Or I can kill you now,” said Iago, dropping his hand to the hilt of his dagger.
    “Never was there a more perfect price than twenty ducats,” said the spice man.
    “Pay him.” Iago kept his hand on his knife and continued to regard the spice man as Antonio dug into his purse for the coins.
    “And if word of what was said here passes your lips, your life is forfeit, as are the lives of your family.”
    “How do I know you won’t kill me anyway?” said the spice man.
    “Because Antonio has given you twenty ducats,” said Iago. “And Antonio is an honorable man.”
    “I am,” said Antonio. He counted the coins into the spice man’s palm. “An honorable man with no interest in monkeys.”
    Iago draped his arm around Antonio and led him to another corner of the square.
    “He may require killing, anyway.”
    “If you’re going to kill him anyway, I might have saved twenty ducats.”
    “Twenty ducats is your fine for being shite as a conspirator. ’Twas foolish to meet on the Rialto.”
    “How was I to know you were going to speak of murder? Why must I always be the one to pay?”
    “Money is your charm, Antonio, one which we may well need in abundance to purchase the power we’ve lost with Brabantio. Another senator of the council of six.”
    “If I commanded the wealth to purchase a senator, I wouldn’t need a war to pad my fortune. And none of the existing five council members favors our cause; they were all stung by the defeat to the Genoans. I fear our cause is lost.”
    “Not if