The elaborate golden calligraphy
Upon the glossy black business card
Read,
Horace Ashcombe
Apothecary and Collector
of Forgotten Remedies.
“Do you find it satisfactory?”
Malcolm Coldbottom
Enquired.
Horace smiled,
Turning the card
Slowly between his fingers,
Allowing the warm Nocturna lamplight
To dance
Across the embossed
Gold lettering.
“Magnificent, Malcolm.
Quite magnificent.”
“I thought the gold leaf
Captured your profession.”
“It captures my ego
Rather splendidly.”
Malcolm chuckled.
“I should hope
The remedies
Are as effective
As the business card.”
“Oh, considerably more so.”
Horace slipped the card
Into his waistcoat pocket,
Then leaned back,
His eyes
Already carrying
The familiar sparkle
That warned
A story
Was about to begin.
“You know,
This card
Would have been
Most useful
In the Himalayas.”
Malcolm raised
A curious eyebrow.
“The Himalayas?”
“Oh yes.
Ghastly place.
Beautiful,
But absolutely determined
To freeze
One to death.”
He accepted
A fresh cup of tea
From Gideon Rook,
Who quietly smiled,
Having heard
Several versions
Of this tale before.
“I had travelled there
In search
Of a flower.”
“What sort of flower?”
“The Snowmane Blossom.”
Malcolm frowned.
“I don’t believe
I’ve ever heard
Of it.”
“Very few have.”
Horace nodded gravely.
“It grows
Only upon
The highest cliffs,
Where the air
Is so thin
That even eagles
Question
Their life choices.”
“And what made it
Worth such a climb?”
Horace lowered
His voice.
“The Yeti.”
Malcolm blinked.
“The Yeti?”
“They cultivate
The blossom.”
“For medicinal purposes?”
“Oh no.”
Horace sipped his tea.
“They eat it.”
Malcolm looked
Entirely bewildered.
“They eat it?”
“For the hair.”
“The hair?”
Horace nodded
With complete conviction.
“Magnificent stuff.
Keeps their coats
Exceptionally thick.
Otherwise
The poor creatures
Would freeze solid.”
Malcolm considered this
For a long moment.
“I must confess,
I had never before
Concerned myself
With the grooming habits
Of Yetis.”
“A common oversight.”
Horace replied solemnly.
“I very nearly
Lost three toes
And a perfectly respectable moustache
Obtaining the specimen.”
“You actually found
The flower?”
“I did.”
“And brought it home?”
“I cultivated it.”
“You succeeded?”
“Splendidly.”
Horace reached
Into his leather satchel,
Producing
A tiny green bottle,
Its elegant label reading,
Ashcombe’s Alpine Elixir
Restores The Natural Vigour
Of One’s Hair.
“I’ve sold it for years.”
Malcolm examined
The bottle carefully.
“It has become quite popular.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Tell me honestly.”
Malcolm smiled.
“Does it work?”
Without saying
A single word,
Horace removed
His black silk top hat,
Bent into
A theatrical bow,
And revealed
A perfectly smooth,
Utterly gleaming,
Bald head.
“Why…
Of course
It does.”
For a heartbeat,
Malcolm simply stared.
Then burst
Into uncontrollable laughter.
Horace joined him,
His booming laugh
Echoing cheerfully
Across Nocturna.
Several nearby members
Looked over,
Smiled,
And returned
To their conversations.
For at Nocturna,
The line between
Scholarship,
Adventure,
And complete nonsense
Had always been
Wonderfully blurred.
