Taking liberties with Baron P

 

Peter put down his glass of claret. “Sir, I’m sorry to tell you this but I hear that awful namesake of mine has been at it again.” 

     “Really?” Baron Parzifal sat up in his chair. “You mean spreading terrible stories about me?”
     “Yes, I’m afraid so. In Shadows and Pagodas he perniciously described our first adventure together when we travelled all the way from Paris to darkest Siam in search of that mysterious treasure of yours. And now he’s re-telling the story in fragments.”
     The Baron frowned. “Fragments?”
     Peter leant across the table and whispered, ““Yes, sir. Fielding has started posting succulent morsels of his novel to tempt readers as yet unfamiliar with our adventures. And he has even included what they call photographic images. In order – as he rather colourfully claims – to spice these fragments up and prick the readers’ interest yet further!”
    “Merde!”
    “But it gets worse, sir. I hear he’s now given away the actual location in modern north-east Thailand where we found your treasure!”
     The Baron began to slowly drum his fingers on the table edge. “First there’s this scurrilous novel,” he said. “In which I’m portrayed as some sort of demented scoundrel, cheating all and sundry then dragging them across the known world in search of a fabulous treasure and hidden knowledge. That literary piece of assassination has caused me no end of embarrassment, I can tell you. The police, the Australians and the Inquisition all asking damned awkward questions – poking around, prying from the backstreets of Toledo to the public conveniences of Timbuktu. Even the Emperor disowned me. And now Fielding’s raking up the whole damned business again. Next thing you know, he'll be telling God knows who about that unfortunate misunderstanding with Queen Cleopatra. This is all hugely annoying, Peter!”
     “Yes, indeed, sir.”
     “Honestly, I mean do I look like the sort of person who goes around the globe lying, cheating and stealing things that don’t belong to him?”
     Peter ran a finger around the rim of his glass. “Er, well, no.”
     “Quite.”     
     The two men lapsed into silence. The sound of a billiard ball being struck.
     Then the Baron suddenly stood up, downed his claret, donned his hat and drew his rapier.
     “Where on earth are you going, sir?”
     “I’m going to find that damned Fielding fellow and when I do I’m going to run him through!” 
     With that the Baron strode out of the cafe.
     "But wait, sir!" called out Peter. "I don't think I've got enough money to pay our bill!"