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Anthony followed the Tinker through the dimly lit alleys of Great Windmill Street, a sense of dread gnawing at him. The Tinker led the way with Ginger and the Sandman trailing close behind. They reached a shadowy establishment known as the Black Lion. The flickering lantern outside cast ominous shadows on the cracked walls, adding to the foreboding atmosphere.
Once inside, Ginger handed over his canine companions to the landlord, a man with a face as rough as the bark of an old tree. The landlord nodded, recognizing Ginger, and ushered the group into a secluded back room. The air inside was thick with the scent of stale ale and pipe smoke. Anthony threw himself into a rickety chair, while Ginger positioned himself near the door, ensuring no escape.
“Now, what do you want with me?” Anthony demanded, his voice edged with impatience.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the Tinker replied, his tone dripping with malice. “First, it’s worth mentioning that a certain pocket-book has been found.”
Anthony’s eyes widened. “You’re the scoundrels who ambushed me in the old house on Vauxhall Road!”
“That’s right,” the Tinker said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “We found your pocket-book and made some truly horrifying discoveries. It was enough to make our hair stand on end. You’re quite the fiend, aren’t you? Seems you’ve been making away with young women every decade. Your last victim was in 1820, the one before that in 1810, and so on.”
“Hanging’s too good for the likes of you,” the Sandman spat. “If we turn you in, you’re certain to swing.”
“That pretty lady we saw earlier isn’t your next target, is she?” Ginger sneered.
“Silence!” Anthony thundered, his anger barely contained. “What do you want?”
“A hundred pounds each will buy our silence,” the Tinker stated flatly.
“We should be asking for double that,” the Sandman growled. “Considering the monstrous crimes you’ve committed, we’re doing you a favor by asking so little. We don’t commit wholesale murder.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ginger muttered, casting a nervous glance around.
“You might think we don’t know your full story,” the Tinker continued, “but let me jog your memory. Ever hear of a man who murdered Doctor Morehouse, the renowned alchemist of Queen Elizabeth’s time? And after drinking the elixir the doctor brewed for himself, he’s lived ever since. Know anyone like that?”
Anthony stared at him, disbelief etched across his face. “What nonsense are you spouting?”
“It’s no nonsense,” the Tinker said confidently. “We have a witness—a living witness.”
“What witness?” Anthony demanded.
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“Remember the dwarf who served Doctor Morehouse?” the Tinker replied. “He’s still alive. We call him Old Parr, given his great age.”
“Where is he? What’s become of him?” Anthony pressed, desperation seeping into his voice.
“Oh, we’ll produce him in due time,” the Tinker said slyly. “But tell me, sir, now that we understand each other, do you agree to our terms? Give us the money, and we won’t trouble you further.”
“The pocket-book must be returned to me if I agree,” Anthony insisted. “And you must find the dwarf.”
“Well, that might be tricky,” the Tinker hedged. “But the pocket-book will never be used against you, you have my word.”
“I must have it, or you get nothing from me,” Anthony declared firmly.
“Here’s a piece from the pocket-book,” Ginger said, pulling out a worn slip of paper. “Want to hear what it says? ‘How many crimes have I to reproach myself with! How many innocents have I destroyed! And all owing to my fatal compact with—’”
“Give me that paper,” Anthony shouted, lunging at Ginger to snatch the damning evidence.
At that critical moment, as Ginger recoiled from Anthony’s grasp, the door behind them creaked open silently. A hand, pale and ghostly, slipped through the crack and snatched the paper from Ginger’s grasp. The door shut with a quiet but decisive click before anyone could react.
“Hey! What just happened?” Ginger exclaimed, bewildered. “The paper’s gone!”
“It’s the hand again!” the Sandman gasped, eyes wide with terror. “Check the passage! Quick!”
Ginger hesitated but eventually opened the door a crack and peered into the dim hallway. “There’s no one here. Must be the devil himself. I’m done with this!”
“Stop being a coward!” the Tinker scolded, though his voice wavered. “No matter what, the gentleman won’t leave until he agrees to pay us three hundred pounds.”
“You won’t scare me that easily,” Anthony shot back, his voice steely. “I can summon help with a mere stamp of my foot, and you’ll be overpowered.”
“Don’t provoke him,” Ginger whispered urgently, tugging at the Tinker’s sleeve. “I’m out of here. No amount of money is worth this.” He slipped out of the room, visibly shaken.
“I’ll see what’s up with Ginger,” the Sandman mumbled, slinking after his companion.
The Tinker, now alone with Anthony, glanced around nervously, his bravado faltering. Shadows seemed to creep closer, whispering fears into his ears.
“Here, take this purse, and leave me be!” Anthony hurled a pouch of coins at the Tinker.
The Tinker caught it reflexively but immediately placed it back down. “I’m no saint, but I won’t sell my soul to the devil,” he muttered before fleeing.
Left alone, Anthony slumped into a chair, burying his face in his hands. His mind whirled with dread and despair. When he finally looked up, a tall figure in a black cloak loomed beside him, a sinister smile curling his lips.
“You again?” Anthony’s voice trembled.
“Naturally,” the stranger replied smoothly. “I’m here to ensure your safety. Those men meant you harm, but worry no more. I have your pocket-book and the incriminating slip of paper.” He produced both with a flourish. “Now, let us discuss more pressing matters. You just parted from Evaline. You’ll see her again this evening.”
“Perhaps,” Anthony muttered.
“You will,” the stranger insisted, his tone commanding. “Remember, your ten-year limit is nearly up. If you do not renew it, the consequences will be dire, and you know them well. With the means to renew in your possession, why hesitate?”
“I refuse to sacrifice her,” Anthony replied, his voice firm.
“You have no choice,” the stranger sneered. “I command you to bring her to me.”
“I will not,” Anthony retorted, defiance burning in his eyes.
“Defiance is futile,” the stranger said, his voice like ice. “A new moon has risen. When it reaches its first quarter, Evaline shall be mine. Until then, farewell.”
With those chilling words, the stranger vanished through the door, leaving Anthony in the oppressive silence, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and resolve.