The Unveiling

The marketplace buzzed with its usual cacophony, a symphony of hawkers' cries, the clang of hammers from the smithy, and the general murmur of a thousand lives intersecting. Antipholus of Ephesus, his brow furrowed like a storm-tossed sea, pushed through the throng, the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on him. Adriana’s strange accusations, the sheer audacity of her claims that he had been home all morning, gnawed at his resolve. And where, by all the gods, was his gold? The chest, moments ago heavy with coin, now felt as light as a beggar’s purse. He’d sent Dromio to fetch the money, a simple errand, yet it had unravelled into this bewildering mess.

He spotted his servant, Dromio of Ephesus, near a fruit stall, haggling with a vendor with an unusual fervor. Antipholus strode towards him, his patience worn thin. “Dromio! Have you the gold? And what is this nonsense about my wife being enraged? Speak plainly, man!”

Dromio, startled, spun around, his eyes wide. “Master! The gold? What gold? You sent me to fetch… well, you sent me to fetch a kitchen wench, a fat one, to be precise. And she’s been giving me the devil’s own tongue, calling me names and threatening to have me flayed!”