with.
“‘This is
the paiza
the Great Khan gave us when we left his city, Khanbaliq, the capital of all China,’ Marco said. ‘It lets everyone know we are guests of the emperor. The falcon seal at the top means we are his most preferred people.
“‘Here!’ he said, tossing it up to the gravel-voiced man who seemed to be in charge.
“This man weighed it, bit it, then tossed it back.
“‘Fake!’ he said with a sneer.
“He motioned to the others on the balcony. ‘They’re thieves!’ he yelled. ‘Drive them out!’
“My forebear inched toward the stairs, crouched low, his jaws slobbering.
“He did the slobbering for effect,” Boss explained. “Our breed doesn’t slobber.”
The rats snickered.
“So why does the doctor have to wipe your face when you go into the signora’s café?” Leo teased.
Boss drew himself up. “That’s drooling, not slobbering. Never mind them,” he said, turning to Mark. “Are you still with me?”
“Yes,” Mark whispered.
“Good,” said the dog. “As the men started down the stairs, my great-great lunged at them, snarling and snapping, shredding the leader’s nightshirt with a swipe of his paw.
“There were screams and stumbling. The men retreated.
“Then silence.
“In that instant Marco remembered the identifying thing that
you
mentioned: Marco, too, once had trouble breathing.
“‘My nurse!’ he shouted. ‘She was famous in our family for saving my life when I gagged on gristle and turned blue. She was old and weak, but she shoved me to the floor and then hoisted me up feetfirst andpounded my back until I coughed out the piece that was choking me.
“‘The neighbors all heard the story. The priest told it in church as a miracle. Surely you remember me now!’ he cried. ‘I’m the boy who was choking and couldn’t breathe.’
“Slowly the oldest house servants began to nod. ‘Yes,’ said one, ‘that must be Marco, and that
vecchio
—that old one—his uncle, and that one, there, his father.’
“The deep-voiced man on the balcony—the guy in the ripped nightshirt who was going to clobber the intruders—puckered up his face. His eyes began to water.
“Slowly he lowered his club.
“
‘Miracolo! Miracolo!
—Miracle! Miracle!’ he whispered. ‘Welcome home!’
“He was Marco’s cousin, the one who had inherited the most and now would have to give it all up.
“‘A feast!’ he ordered.
“He and Marco had played together as children in the campo out front. They had rowed in the regatta together and teased the neighbor girls. He remembered now. He smiled through tears. The two men embraced.
“‘Food!’ the others called. ‘Wine!’
“‘My dog and my donkey!’ Marco said. ‘First I see to them.’
“With his own hand Marco fed his dog chunks of cold veal from the kitchen. The donkey got fresh green hay and grain with salt and honey. Marco hugged his animals for a long moment, then kissed them. ‘But for you two,’ he whispered, ‘we’d still be in the alley.’”
Boss sat up. He towered over Mark.
“So now you see how it was,” he whispered. “But for my great-great’s bravery that night, those people would have murdered Marco.
“When you think about it, they had every reason to. First this rough-looking guy busts into their fortress, then he claims to be its true owner. What would you do? The dog saved them.”
Boss went on: “If my forebear hadn’t helped Marco get inside that house and—risking his own neck—held off those people long enough for Marco to prove who he was, no one would ever have heard of Marco Polo or his travels, and there’d never have been that book.”
The dog paused and shook himself. It felt like an earthquake on the bed.
Boss looked over at the rats. Their tails were switching as one.
“Okay so far,” said Count Leo. “Hurry up!
Go
on!”
Boss took a deep breath and began again. “Only when the first birds called did the household go to sleep,” he said.
“‘This is
the paiza
the Great Khan gave us when we left his city, Khanbaliq, the capital of all China,’ Marco said. ‘It lets everyone know we are guests of the emperor. The falcon seal at the top means we are his most preferred people.
“‘Here!’ he said, tossing it up to the gravel-voiced man who seemed to be in charge.
“This man weighed it, bit it, then tossed it back.
“‘Fake!’ he said with a sneer.
“He motioned to the others on the balcony. ‘They’re thieves!’ he yelled. ‘Drive them out!’
“My forebear inched toward the stairs, crouched low, his jaws slobbering.
“He did the slobbering for effect,” Boss explained. “Our breed doesn’t slobber.”
The rats snickered.
“So why does the doctor have to wipe your face when you go into the signora’s café?” Leo teased.
Boss drew himself up. “That’s drooling, not slobbering. Never mind them,” he said, turning to Mark. “Are you still with me?”
“Yes,” Mark whispered.
“Good,” said the dog. “As the men started down the stairs, my great-great lunged at them, snarling and snapping, shredding the leader’s nightshirt with a swipe of his paw.
“There were screams and stumbling. The men retreated.
“Then silence.
“In that instant Marco remembered the identifying thing that
you
mentioned: Marco, too, once had trouble breathing.
“‘My nurse!’ he shouted. ‘She was famous in our family for saving my life when I gagged on gristle and turned blue. She was old and weak, but she shoved me to the floor and then hoisted me up feetfirst andpounded my back until I coughed out the piece that was choking me.
“‘The neighbors all heard the story. The priest told it in church as a miracle. Surely you remember me now!’ he cried. ‘I’m the boy who was choking and couldn’t breathe.’
“Slowly the oldest house servants began to nod. ‘Yes,’ said one, ‘that must be Marco, and that
vecchio
—that old one—his uncle, and that one, there, his father.’
“The deep-voiced man on the balcony—the guy in the ripped nightshirt who was going to clobber the intruders—puckered up his face. His eyes began to water.
“Slowly he lowered his club.
“
‘Miracolo! Miracolo!
—Miracle! Miracle!’ he whispered. ‘Welcome home!’
“He was Marco’s cousin, the one who had inherited the most and now would have to give it all up.
“‘A feast!’ he ordered.
“He and Marco had played together as children in the campo out front. They had rowed in the regatta together and teased the neighbor girls. He remembered now. He smiled through tears. The two men embraced.
“‘Food!’ the others called. ‘Wine!’
“‘My dog and my donkey!’ Marco said. ‘First I see to them.’
“With his own hand Marco fed his dog chunks of cold veal from the kitchen. The donkey got fresh green hay and grain with salt and honey. Marco hugged his animals for a long moment, then kissed them. ‘But for you two,’ he whispered, ‘we’d still be in the alley.’”
Boss sat up. He towered over Mark.
“So now you see how it was,” he whispered. “But for my great-great’s bravery that night, those people would have murdered Marco.
“When you think about it, they had every reason to. First this rough-looking guy busts into their fortress, then he claims to be its true owner. What would you do? The dog saved them.”
Boss went on: “If my forebear hadn’t helped Marco get inside that house and—risking his own neck—held off those people long enough for Marco to prove who he was, no one would ever have heard of Marco Polo or his travels, and there’d never have been that book.”
The dog paused and shook himself. It felt like an earthquake on the bed.
Boss looked over at the rats. Their tails were switching as one.
“Okay so far,” said Count Leo. “Hurry up!
Go
on!”
Boss took a deep breath and began again. “Only when the first birds called did the household go to sleep,” he said.
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