Looking for Marco Polo by Alan Armstrong

shifted in the creaking chair, there was another rumble, then the rhythm of sleep again.
    “The donkey was tired and hungry,” Boss whispered. “He twitched his huge ears and tossed his harness bells. He could smell the other animals and their food. He stomped and shifted as he waited for the door to open. His load was heavy; the straps chafed.
    “His master pulled at the bell rope and called out, ‘I’m Marco Polo, let me in!’
    “Nothing happened.
    “My forebear cocked his head and looked at his master. He was used to seeing people jump and shout
‘Obbedisco!’
—I obey—when Marco ordered. But no!More tugs on the bell cord, more yells. The door stayed barred.
    “The donkey began to bray for help. A donkey’s cry is awful to hear, a whine as it winds up, then a hoarse scream like an engine breaking apart.
    “This donkey’s cry was desperate. The animals inside heard and understood. The roosters squalled, house dogs barked, the goats, sheep, horses, and donkeys all joined in, kicking at their stalls. Neighbors opened their shutters and looked out.
‘Che cosa?’
they yelled. ‘What’s going on?’ The town watchmen came with their lanterns.
    “My great-great was panting now, standing with his paws apart, teeth showing. His paws were huge,” Boss said, lifting up one of his.
    “‘Who are you?’ the watchmen demanded, crowding forward with their lamps. ‘What are you doing here?
Go
away or we will jail you for disturbing the peace!’
    “The dog rumbled. The watchmen edged back.
    “The donkey brayed on, louder and louder, ‘I am fainting! I am dying! Help me!’
    “Suddenly a curious stable boy pushed the side door open a crack to see what was going on.
    “The donkey charged in, knocking the boy down. Marco and the others followed into the stable and warehouse that was the first floor of Casa Polo.

    “By now the whole house was up. Torches flared as men and women in nightshirts stood yelling from the balcony, waving open blades and knobbed clubs. The Polos held up their hands to show they had no weapons.
    “They had the dog, though, and, if I do say so myself, he was magnificent. He looked huge, his ruff up, teeth showing. Nobody came near as he stood beside his master.”
    Boss’s ruff was up all the way now, his big tail switching like a heavy rope.
    “‘Listen!’ cried Marco. ‘I am Marco Polo, one of your people. Where is my aunt? If she doesn’t recognize my father, she will know me by this scar,’ he said, pushing back his hair to show a dent in his left temple. ‘I fell down those stairs and slashed my head on the corner of that chest. Does no one remember? Where is my aunt?’
    “‘She was a big, laughing, black-haired woman. She had a white line here on her lip, where it turned up from a fall she took—does no one remember? Where is she?’
    “No one answered. They didn’t want to believe the wild-looking strangers below were the missing Polos.”
    “Why?” Mark interrupted. “Weren’t they glad to have their family back?”
    “They thought it was a trick,” Boss explained. “The Polos had been gone so long they were as good as dead. Their property had been given away. If those strangers really were the Polo men, the folks standing on the balcony would have to give everything back—eventhe house they were living in—so they didn’t want to believe Marco and his father and uncle had actually returned.
    “‘The Polos were merchants,’ growled the biggest man on the balcony. ‘They had money when they left. Have you got money?’
    “‘No,’ said Marco. ‘But I have the pass of gold that allowed us to travel through the lands of silk and spices at no charge and without injury. Surely if all those we passed coming here trusted and protected us on the strength of it, you should give us a chance to prove who we are!’
    “With that, he drew from his coat a flat stick of gold marked with strange characters. It looked like what you’d stir a can of paint