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The evening of the third day crept in like a shadow, casting its eerie embrace over Hyde Park as Anthony slipped through Stanhope Gate. A glance at his watch revealed the nearness of the appointed hour for his meeting with the enigmatic stranger. With swift strides, he cut across the park, his arm free from the sling that once bound it. His pace was urgent, yet his pallid complexion and disheveled appearance startled the few souls who crossed his path, their gazes lingering with unease.
Approaching the edge of the Serpentine River, Anthony’s haunted gaze fixated on the dark waters below. “If only I could find solace in their depths,” he muttered, his voice a whisper lost in the night. “But escape eludes me. I must bear the weight of my sins, seek a way to free myself from this torment. Once I feared the unknown, now I crave its revelation.”
His contemplation was shattered by a dark form surfacing on the water, initially mistaken for a monstrous fish with eerie green fins. Closer inspection revealed a human figure, adorned in masquerade attire, its feeble struggles a testament to life clinging on. Despite moments earlier considering his own demise, instinct urged Anthony to rescue the stranger. Without hesitation, he plunged into the icy embrace, clothes clinging, and reached the struggling figure—a diminutive old man, garbed in pantomimic whimsy, a rope menacingly entwined around his neck.
Without delay, Anthony seized the leather wings of the dwarf and propelled himself back to shore, dragging the other’s limp form with him. As onlookers converged, their disbelief mingled with awe at the surreal scene before them. Oblivious to their presence, Anthony grappled with memories of the past, a sudden realization striking him. “It’s Flapdragon, my grandfather’s attendant,” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief. “But he’s long dead! Yet the resemblance is uncanny!”
His outburst puzzled the onlookers, who mistook the bizarre attire of the dwarf as a sideshow act gone awry. Hastily, they tended to the revived dwarf, administering brandy and warmth, their confusion mirrored in Anthony’s haunted eyes as he stood amidst the unfolding mystery.
“It must be Flapdragon!” exclaimed Anthony, his voice edged with disbelief and dread.
“Ah! who calls me?” cried the dwarf, his voice echoing eerily in the gathering dusk.
“I!” Anthony’s response was sharp, filled with a mix of recognition and apprehension. “Do you not recollect me?”
“To be sure!” The dwarf’s eyes widened, fixing on Anthony with an intensity that sent shivers down the onlookers’ spines. “You are——” His words trailed off ominously.
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“You have been thrown into the water, Master Flapdragon?” observed a bystander, his gaze drawn to the cord around the dwarf’s throat, a stark symbol of his recent brush with death.
“I have,” the little old man confirmed, his voice carrying the weight of ancient secrets.
“By your governor—that is, by this person?” Another bystander pointed accusingly at Anthony, suspicion and fear mingling in his tone.
“By him—no,” Flapdragon corrected, his gaze piercing through the shadows. “I have not seen that gentleman for nearly three centuries.”
“Three centuries, my little patriarch?” The disbelief was palpable in the man who had offered the dwarf brandy. “That’s a long time. Think again.”
“It’s perfectly true, nevertheless,” the dwarf insisted, his eyes gleaming with an otherworldly knowingness.
“His wits have been washed away by the water,” the first speaker interjected, attempting to dismiss the dwarf’s claims. “Give him a drop more brandy.”
“Not a bit of it,” Flapdragon retorted sharply. “My senses were never clearer than at this moment.”
“We must speak of this anon,” Anthony interjected, his tone cryptic yet urgent. “Will you convey him to the nearest tavern?” He passed money to the man holding Flapdragon, a silent plea in his eyes.
“Willingly, sir,” the man acknowledged, his expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “I’ll take him to the Life Guardsman, near the barracks—that’s the nearest public.”
“I’ll join him there in an hour,” Anthony replied, his gaze already turning toward the looming darkness.
As Anthony vanished into the gloom, the man lifted Flapdragon in his arms, a task made heavier by the dwarf’s dripping form. They moved toward the barracks, leaving behind an atmosphere heavy with unanswered questions and foreboding shadows.
Alone on the bench, Anthony was consumed by a darkness that matched the encroaching night. His thoughts were a labyrinth of secrets and fears, swirling like the impending storm. Just as despair threatened to engulf him, a hand rested on his shoulder, a touch that felt like a harbinger of unknown perils lurking in the shadows.
upon him.
“Possession of the girl I saw three days ago,” the stranger’s demand was as cold as death itself. “The iron-merchant’s daughter, Evaline. She must be mine.”
“Never!” Anthony’s defiance rang out, his resolve firm. “Never will I surrender her to you.”
“Beware how you tempt me to exert my power,” the stranger’s warning carried an ominous weight. “She must be mine—or face dire consequences.”
“I defy you!” Anthony’s words were a challenge, though his heart raced with fear. “I will never consent to such evil.”
“Fool!” The stranger’s grip tightened on Anthony’s arm, his gaze burning with a wrathful intensity. “Bring her to me ere the week be out, or dread my vengeance!”
With those words, the stranger shrouded himself in his cloak, melting into the darkness behind the looming statue. A sudden gust of wind moaned through the park, heralding the arrival of heavy rain that drummed a menacing rhythm against the earth. Yet Anthony remained rooted to the bench, his mind a whirlwind of dread and determination, knowing that a dark and treacherous path lay ahead.