GhostOfHeraclitus fan club archive

Derpmind asked Bad Horse:

Is it true, Baron Bad Horse, that you not only bested two score professionals, but escaped the convention with thirteen new hats?

GhostOfHeraclitus replied:

No, sir you are--

--no! It can no longer be kept a secret. It's time the world knew! I've had the details given to me by a trusted associate, whose name I cannot possibly divulge, except to say it is one regarded with uniform respect and admiration in all the courts of Europe.

Baron Bad, I've been given to understand, not only bested two score professionals (not one of them French--a true gentleman would not count a victory in a battle of wits against an unarmed opponent) but also won such admiration from several crowned heads of Europe who were in attendance--incognito of course, but simply everyone knew--and such was their respect for his proficiency with the cutting remark and the sharply stabbing question, that they saw fit to give him extraordinary gifts including, it is said, an exquisite tricorn of black sable, decorated with jet and obsidian.

All admired this truly extraordinary hat, when a rival--a small bitter man who was not French, for all that everyone suspected it--made an indiscreete comment about how only that gifted hat saved the good Baron from ignominy. You see, the Baron had arrived to the convention hatless which, this was, remember, during the time of Prince Gumpert's Obligatorischehuttragenschaft policy, which meant that appearing without some sort of hat was the height of gauche and possibly punishable by forceful bissonomy. This was not to fault the good Baron, or to imply any stain on his character, he had started off his trip to the convention for scientific romance wearing a perfectly serviceable black silk hat of fine manufacture, but lost it in Barcelona during an abominable affair with the one-eyed circus knife-thrower, the panther, and the Bishop's niece. The world--alas!--is not yet ready to hear the details, but I can divulge that parts of Montjuïc still smell faintly of vanilla.

Well, such an insult could not stand unchallenged, and Baron Bad Horse challenged all comers to play once more, but this time using their hats as stakes. Well, few were willing to risk ignominy--not to mention bissonomy--especially against so skilled an opponent of the Gentleman's Game, but since no Frenchmen were in attendance, all accepted gladly. The battle was joined, and the standard of play was such that it is said that nothing in Europe had equaled it since. By the evening's end Baron Bad Horse was the only one to be wearing anything on his head at all, even though he had been forced to wager away two corners of his magnificent hat. However, such was his personal charm, the glory of his victory, not to mention thirteen brand new hats he held at his side as trophies of battle--latter he would have them bronzed and mounted--that the new look was immediately copied and even to this day the particularly rakish and fashionable are known to sport this 'unicorn' style.

Or so I heard it. You'll have to forgive my imposition here, but the good Baron doesn't like to talk about this event. Understandable, of course, utterly understandable. Even the most bloodless recital of the bare facts of the matter would sound as the most extravagant hubristic boast, after all, and Baron Bad Horse is nothing if not modest.