Badger Trowelsworthy, you see, is a creature of habit. In any drinking establishment - even this small cafe in rural Belgium - he will always take a seat at the optimal vantage point from which to have a good view of all exits and of the barmaid's decolletage. After a while your eyes just locate that spot every time you enter a saloon.
I went to the bar to obtain a measure of Fortification and asked Emil about his guest. He lowered his voice and whispered that Don Paleta had arrived from Paraguay just before dawn.
I sat down without waiting for an invitation.
"Lord Trowelsworthy. I am surprised to see you take less care with your aliases these days".
"Perhaps because the world takes less care in hunting for me. My obituary after all was published one year ago today."
I raised my glass in salute and acknowledged that it was one of the better ones he had written. Various small talk ensued. Badger Trowelsworthy has always displayed great interest in my family, in particular my grandson who he refers to as "That Most Promising Scamp". In exchange for a few amusing anecdotes of youthful doings I am granted the privilege of asking of him one or two questions of a personal nature.
"Yes, about that obituary. It claims you were born in 1910, but that your birth certificate was an obvious forgery. If I could see the real document what date would I find on it?"
"Oh, it would be somewhat earlier".
"A bold, if not bald faced claim. Yet here you sit before me, visibly a vigorous fellow in his early sixties. How do you reconcile that with being well over one hundred years old?"
For a brief moment, and only because I was looking for it, the usual Trowelsworthian expression of bemused vigilance was replaced by something.....indescribable. He murmured something to the effect of: "The Gypsy Woman drove a hard bargain but a True One", and would say no more on the matter.
He made a subtle gesture and instantly Emil presented him with another drink. This ability to telepathically communicate with barkeeps fascinates me and one day I must expend a precious Question or two to explore it....
"I must say your Lordship, rural Flanders seems a bit, well, rustic for your usual tastes."
He took a sip before answering. "Yes, but it was not always thus. A century ago the attention of the entire world was on this spot. The fate of Empires hung perfectly balanced as the outcome of the Great War was determined right here. Oh, it was a busy place. The uniforms of many armies were to be seen in the predecessor of this establishment. I know, I wore several different ones at various times."
"Oh, my. A turncoat Trowelsworthy!. That seems a bit outre' even for you!"
"Well, m' lad, bear in mind that all the Great Powers and most of the Second Stringers had declared me persona non grata by then. It seemed mere poetic justice. And besides, my intentions were Pure. It would have been inappropriate for the personal treasury of King Albert to be spirited off to a foreign capital, be it Berlin or Paris. No, far better that it remain here, buried in proper Belgian soil."
"Ah, I see. So it would be our little excavation on the edge of the village that has brought you here. I suppose you would like me to keep a close eye out for something interesting?"
"Would you be so kind?"
"I would not. I have come to know you too well. Your reason for coming here must be to divert attention from some other location you would like to visit with, shall we say, more discretion."
He smiled as he finished his drink in one great draught. He tossed out on the table several garishly tinted banknotes of a currency I did not recognize as he bid me farewell.
"Tim, it is such a shame you likely have only a few more decades for further improvement, because you have in your own right the makings of a Most Promising Scamp."
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