by Mark Anthony
"But where did they go?" the other patrolman inquired, for the two prisoners were no longer there, as if they had both just vanished into thin air.
Back to the Double G
"Pig, where have you been?"
Woodehous immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Wurlitzer, the orcish bartender.
"What are you doing here?" Woodehous asked in amazement.
"Working," the ore replied, "just like you used to do before you were fired from Traitor Pick's for not showing up for work after your dinner break."
The former maitre d'/waiter/cook quickly looked around, and to his astonishment found himself back in the Gentleman's Groggery in Skullport, his companion, the legendary Volothamp Geddarm, by his side.
"How…?" Woodehous tried to sputter out a question.
"… long have you been away?" the ore completed. "A while. Long enough for Traitor Pick's to get a new cook. He's not bad either, but I'm sure everyone will agree that he's no Pig Woodehous."
"No… I…" Woodehous continued to sputter, not fully understanding what must have happened.
"Why don't you bring us two mugs of your finest, my good fellow," Volo interrupted.
"Of course, good sir," Wurlitzer replied. Remembering the guinea tip that Volo had left during his last visit to the Double G, he quickly set off to fetch the requested refreshments.
"What happened?" Woodehous demanded, relieved to be back in civilization, but confused, nonetheless.
"We're back in Skullport," the master traveler replied matter-of-factly.
"I know that," Woodehous said, "… but how?"
"We teleported," Volo explained. "I picked up a few tricks on my last trip around Toril, and one of them involved the teleporting properties of necromancer gems."
"Necromancer gems?"
"Yes, thank you," the master traveler replied, interrupting his explanation to acknowledge Wurlitzer's drink service. "Necromancer gems are wonderful travelers' aids. Large ones act as temporary portals, such as the one I left here when our journey began, and the one I carried with me. Smaller ones, on the other hand, can be ground into a dust that will leave a luminescent trail that is only visible to the eye of a trained mage."
"That's why we had to take our boots off before entering the city," Woodehous observed.:
"Of course," Volo concurred. "After all, it would have been absurd to expect all drow to be as dense as Courun and Haukun."
"But why did you want to leave a trail?"
"So I could find my way there and back again."
"But what about your first time? The one you wrote your book about… the book that got us into this mess?"
"This was my first trip to Menzoberranzan," the master traveler confessed. "I'd never been there before. The book was just a hoax-bait to rile the righteous demeanor of some drow and make him take me to the great city, to satisfy Lloth's honor."
"There is no Volo Does Menzo?"
"Well, not just yet," the gazetteer replied, "… but soon there will be. Let us finish our drinks, and I will fill you in on my plans."
The two travelers finished their drinks, and then followed them up with two bowls of stew and another mug of grog, each. When they were both feeling reasonably comfortable, Volo paid the bill, and directed Woodehous to accompany him for the rest of the explanation.
"Now we must retrace our steps from that memorable night not too long ago," the traveler instructed. "Observe."
Volo removed the gem of luminescence from its place in the thong around his neck, attached another multi-faceted gem to its base, and then returned it to its resting place in the pocket on the thong.
"Certain trained mages can follow this trail with a naked eye," Volo lectured, immediately reminding Woodehous of Malix's reference to a path of glowing dust, "but I prefer to use this."
Volo focused the gem's luminescence on the path before him. What had once been bare and unblemished rock was now adorned with a pair of glowing footsteps.
"Now, after a good night's rest, I can journey back to the city of the drow, in disguise, of course, complete my research, and-poof! — Volo's Guide to the Underdark becomes a reality, complete with directions there and back again from Skullport. Do you want to join me on this little trip? I assure you it will be much easier than last time."
"No, thank you," Woodehous replied. "I've had my fill of adventure for a lifetime."
"Well," replied the master traveler, "the least I can do is give you a letter of recommendation. If I recall correctly, you were a victim of circumstance back at the Shipmaster's Hall in Waterdeep. I'm sure a letter from me could smooth things over with the powers that be. Restauranting genius such as yours should not go to waste. Though I am sure I've lost some weight these past few weeks, I've never felt less than gastronomically satisfied, and I owe it all to you."
"Thank you, good sir," the pale thin gentleman replied, realizing that what he had sought at their journey's beginning, he had just obtained without even asking for it, perhaps making the whole escapade worthwhile after all.
Think nothing of it, "the gazetteer replied. "Come, let us find ourselves a room for tonight. Tomorrow, I will provide you with your letter, and I will be on my way."
The two travelers fested like boon companions, and slept late the following morning. True to his word, Volo gave Woodehous a letter addressed to the proprietor of the Shipmaster's Hall, before he made his way back down the alley from whence their adventure had started. The former soon-to-be maitre d'/cook/waiter decided to accompany the greatest traveler of all Faerun to the outskirts of Skullport to bid him one last farewell before he recommenced his journey through the Underdark.
With gems in hand and disguise in his pack, Volo set off down the alleyways. Woodehous followed close behind.
Woodehous remembered the narrowing passageway, and the sudden series of sharp right turns, and was equally surprised as Volo when they found themselves facing a dead end.
"I don't understand," the master traveler said. "The footprints just stop here. There is no evidence of a portal, or a secret passageway, or anything-just a blank wall."
Just then, a voice vaguely familiar to Woodehous piped in. "Looking for something?" the voice asked. "Oh, it's you, Pig. Long time no see." The voice belonged to Knytro the dwarf, Woodehous's former patron from Traitor Pick's.
"We're looking for a passageway out of town," Volo replied. "I'm sure there used to be one here."
"Oh, indeed there was," Knytro replied, "up until a few days ago when I filled it in. A quake farther down the line made the whole tunnel unstable, so I closed it down. I dug it, so it's my right to fill it in, and I did. But don't worry, there are plenty of other subterranean roads leading out of town. One is pretty much as good as another."
Woodehous felt sorry for his companion in captivity. True, other tunnel trails existed, but none of them were marked with the glowing dust to lead the way. Volothamp Geddarm was left back at Square One.
"Oh, well," the master traveler replied. "Maybe this volume was just not meant to be. I still have Volo's Guide to the Moonsea to complete, and I'm a little behind on that, so I feel a little guilty about leaving Justin-my publisher-in the lurch after having promised him a surprise best-seller for his next list."
"Oh, well," Woodehous concurred. "There doesn't seem to be much you can do about it. Let's go back to the inn we stayed in last night. Maybe they'll let me borrow the use of their kitchen so I can fix you a conciliatory dinner."
"Can I tag along?" the dwarf requested. I've really missed your slop. For my guineas, there isn't a better cook in the entire Underdark."
"Indeed," replied the master traveler, "that sounds like a cracker of a solution. Who needs the Shipmaster's Hall. Certainly not you. You should return to Waterdeep for a position more befitting your talents. Rip up that letter. I will give you another one in its place, one that will be far more profitable for everyone involved."
"After we eat, of course," Knytro clarified, having inserted him
self into the soon-to-be dining group.
"Of course," the master traveler replied. "Of course."
Woodehous was excited by the apparent zeal of the master traveler, and paused just for a moment to reflect on their adventure together. "What do you think will happen to Courun and Haukun?"
"I don't rightly know," the master traveler admitted. "As the sole survivors of an overthrown house, both of them are marked by drow law for extermination. Still, some say Ao does watch out for simpletons, and I have to believe that applies to the drow as well as to surface dwellers. But enough dwelling on the past. Great plans await, for me in Mulmaster, and for you in Waterdeep. But, first, a meal!"
"That's what I've been waiting for," Knytro interjected. "No one makes slop like Pig."
"That's Percy," Volo corrected.
"Whatever," Woodehous added with a chuckle as they all set out for the inn.
The End (Almost).
POSTSCRIPT
Back at the Publishing House
Justin Tym had every reason to be joyous. Volo's Guide to Shadowdale was outperforming all of the previous books in the series, perhaps helped by an unexpected introduction from the mage of Shadowdale himself, causing more than just the publisher to wonder what his favorite gazetteer had on Elminster, to elicit a favor of such magnitude. Cormyr: A Novel was also selling through at an exceptionally nice rate, despite the efforts of rival publisher Delbert Reah to cause confusion in the marketplace by releasing an inferior volume called Cormyr: A History by Green Grubbwood (an alias if there ever was one), with a cover treatment more than a bit similar to the one on Justin's volume. TWL's sale were at an all-time high, and its position as the top publisher in all of the City of Splendors-if not all of Faerun, for that matter-was safely assured for yet another year.
All was rosy, Justin thought to himself as he looked out over the irregular rooftops that stretched along the labyrinthine corridors of the city, a single floor below his office's window. Still, there was no word from Volo.
"Uh, boss?" said Miss Elissa Silverstein, an exceptionally youthful flaxen blonde who had recently replaced Miss Latour as Tym's right hand. "There is someone here to see you."
Justin turned his chair away from the window to face his nubile assistant.
"Send whoever it is away," he ordered in a gruff yet disinterested tone. "I have work to do, and I do not wish to be disturbed."
"But, boss," she insisted, "he claims to have a message from one of your authors."
"Who?"
"A Mr. Geddarm."
Justin chuckled to himself, thinking, it's about time!
"All right," the publisher assented, "send him in."
Miss Silverstein hastened out of the publisher's private office and returned in nary a minute with a pale-skinned fellow who looked as if he hadn't seen the sun in a long time. The man handed him a parchment pouch that had become the signature of a Volo correspondence.
Quickly opening it, Justin read:
Justin,
Your gracious indulgence has been appreciated.
I am off to Mulmaster to finish the Moonsea guide.
Before you stands your next "great find," with an idea for a surefire best-seller. Work your traditional marketing magic on him, and success is assured for all.
Talk to you soon. Keep the gelt coming, care of my friends at the Shipmaster's Hall.
Best, Volo
Justin chuckled in gentle amusement. Volo was okay, the book would soon be on the way, and, therefore, all was right with the world. He quickly scanned the missive again, and then turned his attention to the pale gentleman standing before him.
"Volo's usually a pretty good judge of the marketing potential for a new book idea," Justin conceded out loud. "What's the hook?"
Percival Gallard Woodehous took a breath, as if to call upon all of his stores of courage, and started his pitch. "It's a cookbook, you see, involving a variety of subterranean fungi. Highly nutritious, tasty, and perfect for those interested in losing a few pounds. I've tentatively titled it The Underdark Diet."
Justin fought to hold back a smile and not give away any unnecessary enthusiasm that might drive the pale fellow's price up.
"I see," said the publisher in as even a tone as he could muster. "Continue," he instructed, leaning back and savoring the relief of having found the savior for next year's list.
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