Otello felt his anger moving slowly through his blood, making his whole body rage. He had been summoned to see the council again and they had left him standing in the antechamber. Just standing there. Like a servant.
His captain was due to report to him mid-morning and of course Disdemona would now be there alone with him. He ground his teeth and felt a dull bitter taste in the back of his mouth. He would have liked to turn his head and spit, but instead he stood there, maintaining control over his body. Not showing his anger to anyone about him. The way he had not shown any anger when Disdemona told him that she did not trust his ensign and preferred to be under the care of the captain. Exactly as his ensign had predicted.
He knew, of course, that if he so wished he could pull out the small dagger concealed in the small of his back and cut the throats of the two men at the doors in front of him, and just march in, demanding the council address him.
But he just stood there. Waiting.
Eventually the door opened and some courtier or underling asked him to come forward. He pushed his way past and stepped into the council chamber. He looked around at the seven men, refusing to let his vision linger on the three empty seats. Some of them, like Signor de Abbacio and Signor Hermino stared at him with hungry disdainful looks. Signor Montecchi wouldn’t even meet his eyes.
The Duca looked like he had aged several years in a few days. He greeted Otello politely and said he had to convey the council’s displeasure that another councillor had been lost.
“Why play with words?” Signor de Abbacio cut in. “Signor Tradonico, our brother on the council, has been cruelly assassinated. Cut down. His blood spilled on the streets of our city. And Signor Candiano was slain in his own bed! Proof again that the Othmen are trying to kill us all, and proof that the general is unable to do anything to protect us.”
Signor Hermino led several of the councillors in slapping their palms on the table to indicate their agreement. And their displeasure. Otello said nothing. He had walked into ambushes before and refused to be drawn into this one further.
“You have been charged with protecting us!” Signor de Abbacio said, pointing his finger at Otello.
The Moor turned to look at him and met his eyes. Know thy enemy, he thought.
“We put our trust in you,” the signor continued. “You swore to protect us from the Othmen’s enchantment and their blades, but have done neither.” Then he stood up and leaned forward, his finger pointing more stridently. “I think we could be as well protected if we had asked Othmen mercenaries to do it.”
Otello felt the anger in his blood rising to a boiling point. He knew just how easy it would be to reach out and crush the man’s windpipe. Or push his fingers into his eyes, digging out the jelly lumps. Or drag him over the table by his hair and smash his head onto the marble floor. He ran over in his mind how easy it would be to kill all seven men here. That’s how he’d like to dispatch Signor de Abbacio – with his bare hands. Then he would draw out the small stiletto hidden in his leather jerkin and step across to Signor Hermino. He’d stab him in the throat and let him bleed to death, trying to call for assistance. The man was a bully and probably a coward. Then he’d turn to de Abbacio’s other supporters, Signors Monegano and Tegalliano. He’d stick them in the lungs. Let them die over several days, bleeding internally. Signors Montecchi and Faliero he’d stick in the eyes. They weren’t too bad and would die quickly.
The Duca, however, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with.
“Our general is entitled to defend himself from your accusations,” said the Duca, in a soft voice.
Yes, he’d leave the old man be, Otello thought.
Signor de Abbacio sat back down again and said, “Of course. Of course. I was just wanting to make sure he was aware of the severity of our concerns.”
Otello turned to face the Duca and bowed his head a little in acknowledgment of his authority.
“How do you defend yourself?” the Duca asked him.
Otello kept facing the Duca and said, “I would lay down my life for the council and the city. You know that.”
The Duca inclined his head a little. “We do not doubt your loyalty,” he said.
“We doubt your effectiveness,” said Signor de Abbacio.
Still Otello did not turn his head to look at him. “I need time. I will destroy these assassins. And I will rid our waters of these demons. But I need time.”
“How much time?” asked Signor de Abbacio. “Enough time for the council to be destroyed and for the last Seers to be slain so that our whole city sinks into the sea. Will you then stand before us and say that you still need just a little more time? Water is already lapping at our ankles and you ask for more time. The blood of our brothers flows in that water and you ask for more time.”
“I can defeat all our enemies given a little more time,” Otello said.
“I can feel the eyes of these accursed assassins on me at all times,” Signor de Abbacio said. “I can feel the talons of these beasts pressing at my entrails.” He smacked his palm on the table. “We have no more time.”
Otello did not answer him. Signor de Abbacio folded his arms and said, “We should summon a Djinn-slayer.”
Now Otello turned to fully regard the man. “They are treacherous dogs, trained by the Othmen. Better to trust a scorpion than to trust a Djinn-slayer,” he said.
“But we have lost trust in you, general,” said Signor de Abbacio.
“We should summon the Djinn-slayer,” said Signor de Abbacio’s lackey, Signor Hermino.
“We must vote on this,” said the Duca. “It is truly a dangerous proposition.”
“Dangerous times demand dangerous actions,” said Signor de Abbacio.
The Duca looked uncomfortable, but said, “All in favour raise your hands.”
Signor de Abbacio and Signor Hermino led the vote, thrusting their hands up high and turning to look at those members of the council they knew would vote with them. Slowly two more hands went up. Signor de Abbacio smiled widely.
“I believe that four votes is now a majority of the council,” he said smugly.