Read Online The Serpent of Venice by Christopher Moore - Free Book Online Page B

right breast between my thumb and forefinger and gave it an urgent twist.
    “Ouch!” said she, jumping back and cradling the offended orb with her willy-wagging hand. “That hurt. Bad slave! Bad!”
    I had retreated to the corner of the cot I’d been lying on and assumed a defensive crouch. “Where am I? How did I get here? Who are you? Why were you about to lop off my knob?”
    “I wasn’t. I was just confirming your covenant with God with your foreskin.”
    “Look, you mad tart, I have a covenant with God, which is: I don’t mention that he has stocked the world full of villains, walleys, and madwomen, and in return he keeps his bloody hands off my willy. It’s a strained relationship, but it works, with the exception of—” And then I was on my feet, confronting the girl despite her knife. “Say, you’re not the mermaid made human again, are you? I’ve heard the bloody stories.” I grabbed the hem of her skirt and threw it up to reveal her tail.
    “Oh,” said I. Having found no tail in evidence, I dropped her skirt and backed away. “Well, even if you’re not a mermaid you should wear knickers about the house. People will think you wanton.”
    I was suddenly light-headed and fell back upon the cot, swooning.
    “You’re going to make a shit slave, aren’t you?” she said.
    “I’m knackered, love. Put away the knife and let a bloke rest. Some toast would be lovely. I’ve had nothing but raw fish for—” I felt my chin. I had more than a bit of a beard. I must have been chained in the dungeon for a fortnight at least.
    She seemed to look at me, really, for the first time, and I could see her eyes widen in alarm. She put her knife on a side table, pulled back the covers at the other end of the cot, and nodded. “In you go.”
    Even though it was warm in the house, I was shivering, so I did as I was told, and she propped me up on some pillows. “You do look like you could use a meal. I’ll fetch you some bread and cheese—maybe some sweet wine if we have any left. I’m going to have to keep you hidden here in my room until you’re well enough to present to Papa, so you’re going to have to be quiet.”
    “Quiet,” I repeated.
    “You look like you’ve been in the water for a long time. Were you shipwrecked? Escaped galley slave what went over the side in despair? They wash up now and then, but usually not still breathing.”
    I thought it best, at this point, to not reveal that I was ambassador from a kingdom that no longer existed, a former slave to the king of Britain and royal consort to his daughter, late queen of nearly a third of Europe. “I’m a troubadour. Traveling to England. Our ship hit a reef and sank.”
    “I didn’t hear of a ship sinking.”
    “Well, it was far, wasn’t it. Thus explaining why I was in the water for so bloody long before I washed up—where am I?”
    “You’re on the island of La Giudecca, at the home of Shylock the moneylender. I’m Jessica, his daughter.”
    “And I’m your father,” said a tower of lint in the corner of the room.
    “Holy Flaming Fuck-Moses! What’s that?” You think that you have run out of fear, that you are beyond surprise. As it turns out, no.
    It moved.
    “Oh, that’s the blind beggar Gobbo,” said Jessica. “He helped me get you up here. Borrowed a chisel and hammer from the smith to break the chains off you.”
    I began to make out the shape of a bent old man who was uniform in color from head to toe, where covered by rags and where not, a shade I can only describe as, well, filth.
    “I knew I’d find you,” said Gobbo.
    “I’d never have rescued you if it hadn’t been for old Gobbo recognizing you as his son and lending a hand.” Jessica raised her eyebrows and nodded for me to go along with it.
    “Charmed,” said I. “Didn’t think to intervene during the circumcision, then, Da?”
    “What circumcision?”
    “Can’t imagine why your son abandoned you,” I said under my breath. Then to Jessica: