The ensign had been trying to concoct an excuse to get close to Disdemona for most of the day. He’d had more success in concocting the Othmen potion that he was feeding Otello in his drink to fuel his madness and jealousy. It had been a valuable find at the island of the Guild. But Otello had been withstanding it. A lesser man would have long ago succumbed to it fully, and have been putty in his hands, unable to resist the poisonous whispers he had been feeding him.
He needed something more. He needed to ignite those fires of madness and jealousy in him, the way a barrel of oil could be ignited by as simple a thing as a candle flame. And his flame would be a simple strawberry-engraved kerchief. If only he could get his hands upon it.
But Disdemona wore it close to her breast, almost never being without it. And that would take a master of distraction and the subtle hands of a thief to procure. Fortunately he knew where to obtain both – but finding an opportune moment would be a lot harder. That was until the Othmen ship arrived. The story went around the city faster than any of the council’s decrees ever had. A single ship had arrived. Six ships had arrived. An Othmen fleet had arrived. A single small boat was making its way to the city. A single Othmen was riding a Djinn into the city. A half-human half-Djinn Othmen had emerged from the waters in the harbour, demanding a truce. Declaring war. Surrendering lands the Othmen had captured from the Floating City. Seeking a trade treaty. Wishing to form an alliance against the Mongol empire. Wishing to end their conflict through hand-to-hand combat of champions.
Everybody wanted to see what the Othmen looked like. They were afraid and they were intrigued. The ensign knew it would be like the way people were drawn to the scene of a violent accident. And Disdemona would be no less likely to want to see this Othmen than any other citizen of the city. More so, most likely, since the Othmen were the part of her husband’s life that she was least likely to ever understand – and if she found she needed to understand her husband more than at any other time, she would be drawn to see this Othmen as he arrived at the city.
The ensign gathered two men to him, who went by the names of the rat and toad, and they made their way to the Bridge of Sighs, where the curious and horrified would have to cross to find a safe viewing vantage in one of the houses around the harbour. Only those who had friends whose houses actually overlooked the harbour would actually have a chance of witnessing anything, he knew, and that meant more nobility would be on the streets and plazas, to visit a long-neglected friend or relative, than had been out and about in many weeks.
It would be a good day to be a pick-purse, he mused, knowing that if he did not have the two men in his employ they would be busy enough on their own. The first man, the rat, was a small thin fellow with fingers that could reach into the deepest pocket undetected, and the other, the toad, was a stout ugly fellow, handy in picking fights and ending them with a hidden blade. Both regularly sold their services and their silence.
The ensign had them assemble just in front of the bridge and he made his way up onto its arch, where he could observe the crowd and sight Disdemona. The crowd pushing their way past him was strong, but he growled at those who jostled him so that people stepped around him. The populace pushing past him were little more than sheep, he thought. People like him had a right to rule them and if not for a trick of fate, having him born to a lesser family, he knew he would have been a ruler of men. He should have been the one giving the commands that the sheep followed, not men like the Duca or Otello.
He turned his head and spat into the canal. The Moor wasn’t even a believer. He was a heathen. And black skinned. Every time he touched the beautiful pale skin of Disdemona there should have been an outrage across the city. But that time would come.
He scanned the crowd for her. The city was alive today, its citizens like a garland of different-coloured flowers moving about, bringing the cold stone and brickwork to life. The people were all buzzing with talk of the Othmen. Merchants were leaving their stalls and school teachers were leaving their classes. Servants were finding excuses to leave their households and others snuck away. Strangers on the narrow streets were asking each other what they had heard or knew, and the ensign occasionally told a passing citizen that he had it on good authority that the city guard had declared they would cut off the heads of any Othmen who stepped foot on the Floating City, and they would be able to witness the deaths of many Othmen today. But only if they hurried to beat everyone else.
He scanned the crowd again and then he saw her, moving her way through the crowd with just one handmaiden beside her. He made a quick hand signal to the two men to let them know she was approaching and saw them readying themselves. The ensign wished it was himself who was going to put his hand into her bodice and grab the kerchief, but he knew he would not be able to do so without grabbing, and cruelly squeezing, her pale breast. Since she had spurned him he had dreamed many nights of violently having his way with her. But he would hang for that. Far better that she suffered at the hands of her own husband the Moor.
The ensign took his passions out on cheap whores, paying them more for their bruises. He had tried to seduce one of Disdemona’s handmaidens for a time, thinking he would use her to get to her mistress, but she had rebuffed him too. He would bide his time to be avenged on her as well.
He looked to the rat and the toad and looked back to Disdemona, as if this was a chessboard before him and he was moving all the pieces around so it would play out just as he wished. First the toad would jostle her violently and then turn to apologize, while the rat would dart a hand in and steal the kerchief. The toad could then stand there with his bare hands open if she felt something. The feeling of knowing this made him grin like a lunatic. He was filled with the elation of it.
If they were as good as they claimed he would not even know the moment it happened, but he doubted it. Then she was in front of the bridge, being squeezed by the crowd, her handmaiden pushed back a little behind her. She was moving her hands about, trying to get the people to stand back from her, but the crowd would not be parting for her today.
He saw the toad move to step in front of Disdemona, and then suddenly a hooded figure blocked his path. The toad tried to push him aside, but the man did something to the toad and he disappeared beneath the crowd. Then he saw the hooded figure step across to block the rat, and he too disappeared from sight. He blinked rapidly and shook his head a little. What was happening? This was not how it should be playing out.
He now saw Disdemona move onto the bridge, with the crowd pushing her along, and the hooded figure was gone. He felt his elation turning to dread. Then he heard a squeal as someone in the crowd called out, “Murder!” And he watched the crowd part around two places where men obviously lay on the ground, dead. It would be the rat and the toad.
He was confounded. What had just happened? And before he could regain his composure, Disdemona was standing before him and was then pressed into him by the surging panicked crowd. She didn’t even recognize him as she tried to turn her head and find her handmaiden. He looked down into her handsome chest, pressed against his, and felt his hands rising towards it.
The crowd pressed again, with more calling out ‘Murder,’ and she was pressed so tightly against him that he was bent back over the railing of the bridge. He could have bent down and placed his head between those breasts and suckled like a babe. He could have grasped them in both hands and squeezed. He could have put his arms around her and pulled her tight to him. But then the crowd had surged again and she was pushed past him, squashed into another man, and then another.
He watched her as she was jostled across the bridge and spilled out onto the other side, and then saw her reach into her bosom for that strawberry-embroidered kerchief, perhaps to press it to her mouth and stifle her distress. He saw the consternation on her face when her hand came away as empty as his own had. The look on her face may have mirrored his own, and then the crowd carried her out of sight.