"No risk."
"But I saw you flip the coin with the guard."
"You did."
"So?"
Volo tossed the confused Passepout the coin, and said, "Flip it, and call it."
Passepout flipped, and called, "Kings."
The coin came up kings.
"Again," Volo insisted.
Again Passepout flipped the coin, this time calling "Dragons."
It came up dragons.
Volo snatched the coin from the befuddled Passepout's palm and then handed it back to him.
"Examine the faces of this lucky coin," he instructed.
Passepout looked down, and low, the faces were blank, with neither a king nor a dragon evident on the golden surface.
Volo snatched back the coin again and put it in his pouch.
"See? Think nothing of it," he said, picking up the pace as they strolled along the Promenade.
"How did you do that?" asked the now-eager-to-please bond servant.
"I am also the author of Volo's Guide to All Things Magical."
"Wonderful."
"Not to mention the most famous traveler in all of the Realms."
"Of course."
"But we must hurry. The dark will soon be upon us, and the warmth of a good tavern beckons. Our destination lies just a few doors down."
Chapter 3
At the Dragon's Jaws inn or as a matter of pride a bet is made
The Dragon's Jaws Inn, located on the Promenade was, as usual, bursting to the seams with patrons out for an evening frolic. Under the steady eye of bartender Milo Dudley, drinks were being served, rooms reserved, and schedules posted for the evening's activities of ax throwing and halfling tossing. Milo ran a tight ship and was at least fifty percent of the reason for the inn's success. No fight went longer than its repair bill outweighed its entertainment value, no paying customer was turned away for want of accommodation nor discouraged from returning by any lapse in satisfaction or quality. Before a mug was empty, Milo was at hand with a refill. Before a patron had passed out from overindulgence, Milo had already arranged a spot to sleep it off, and before an unwanted indiscretion had taken place, Milo was already there to discourage any unwanted advances. Innkeeper, bartender, referee, and bouncer, Milo always had his dwarfish hands full… and enjoyed every minute of it.
The other fifty percent of the tavern's success was undoubtedly the work of the actual proprietor, Gnorm the gnome. A former adventurer who had once left town with a bunch of drunken dwarves in search of a dragon's hoard to plunder, he returned four years later with enough booty to finance the inn for nigh unto a few hundred years, and support his own hobbies and habits as well. Gnorm never did any actual work he left that up to Milo, the less than adventurous brother-who-stayed-behind of one of Gnorm's dwarven colleagues who never made it back from the dragon's den that was the source of Gnorm's prosperity. Instead Gnorm functioned as a sort of goodwill ambassador, glad-hander, and life of the party for the inn. It was entirely possible that casual patrons might be unaware that this jovial fellow for whom they had just bought a drink was actually the proprietor of the establishment, and the retired gnome liked to keep it that way.
To employees and patrons alike, he was just good old Gnorm.
Volo and Passepout had no sooner approached the threshold of the establishment when the door was thrown open for them by the ever-on-the-ball Milo, who bestowed upon them his enthusiastic greetings.
"Oh, Master Volo! You have returned to once again honor our establishment with your presence. Now, before you undo the drawstrings on your purse, I must warn you that your money will do you no good here. You are a guest of the house and entitled to any bounty it can provide," gushed the majordomo dwarf. "Mindy! Sara! Prepare a room upstairs for Master Volo and his, uh… "
"Companion?" Passepout offered.
"Bond servant," Volo instructed.
"… and his bond servant, of course, and make sure the furniture's sturdy. There's nothing half-ling about this boy, no sirree," he continued with a slight chuckle, as if sharing some secret joke. "And Wolfgang, set up a new table over in Molly's area. I remember she was always your favorite waitress, and its location will give you a perfect view of the evening's competition without necessarily placing you in the line of fire. After all, no one enjoys the impact of a misfired halfling during their dinner."
"As always, you amaze me, Milo," Volo offered. He handed his packs to the waiting arms of one of the porters who would carry them to the bed chamber that had moments ago been reserved for them. "How do you do it?"
Milo shook his head as if to dismiss the implied compliment, answering, "Eo knows, someone has to," then quickly adding with a wink, "… and, Mister Volo, is there any truth to the rumor that your next publication will be a guide to Cormyr? Not that I would concern myself with such things."
"Right on top of things, as usual, Milo," Volo answered, "not that the Dragon's Jaws Inn has anything to worry about. Everyone knows it's the best-run establishment in all Cormyr, with no small thanks to you and its gregarious proprietor."
"From your lips to Eo's ears."
"Speaking of which, is the proprietor in?"
"Oh, no, Mister Volo," Milo answered, with just a hint of sarcastic disapproval. "It's way too early for Himself to arrive. Not that we couldn't use an extra set of hands with all the pilgrims coming through, and the War Wizards gathering. Of course, not that he would lend us those hands to begin with… but I am sure that he will be in soon and that he will be overjoyed that you have agreed to accept our hospitality. Now, enough of this blocking the doorway with chitchat and mutual admiration. I am sure that you and, uh…"
"His name is Passepout, son of Catinflas and Addled."
"That's Catinflas and Idle, the famous thespians," Passepout corrected, then, realizing his alleged station, added, "Master."
"Quite," conceded Volo, as if the distinction were unnecessary.
"Uh, yes," hastened Milo, not wishing to come between a master and his servant. "I am sure that you must be hungry from your long journey. Do you wish separate accommodations in the stable for your stout companion? I am sure that we can arrange a place for him in the stables, though judging from his build I fear the safety of the horses given the evidence of his appetite."
"No, no. Passepout stays with me," Volo answered.
"Wonderful," Passepout whispered under his breath, spying a roast that appeared to be being taken to the table that was to be their destination.
"As you wish, Master Volo," Milo conceded. "Tarry no longer. Molly awaits with two tankards of ale and a roast."
And with that the travelers were escorted to their place of honor, so that Milo could return to the other concerns of the house-however, not without instructing Molly to keep their tankards full and plates piled high.
The way to any critic's heart, the majordomo thought, was obviously through his stomach, or some other appetite that Molly could no doubt satisfy.
Passepout had just finished his third roast, and Molly was safely and cozily ensconced on Volo's lap, when the tavern's din was broken by a familiar herald.
"Hello, everybody."
"Gnorm!" the crowd roared.
"Time's a-wasting, and my throat is parched," declared the phantom proprietor.
Milo instantly appeared at his side, a full tankard in hand, which Gnorm proceeded to empty as the innkeeper whispered in his ear about their recently arrived honored guests.
Refilled tankard in hand, Gnorm hastened over to their table.
"Volo, you vagabond devil," he saluted, quickly adding, "no, don't get up. I see you have your lap filled. And you must be Passepout, son of Catinflas and Idle, the famous thespians."
"Oh! You've heard of them!" Passepout beamed from behind his grease-stained cheeks.
"Nope," Gnorm answered. Taking a chair and turning back to Volo, he continued, "So what do you think of what we've done to the place since last you've come this way?"
"What can I s
ay?" Volo answered, gesturing Molly to forgo her throne for a few moments so that the circulation could return to his legs, and he and Gnorm could talk for awhile, all the while assuring her that her seat would be saved. "You've improved on perfection."
"Worthy of, let's say, four pipes and five tankards in that guide of yours?" the phantom proprietor queried.
"Oh, at least," the proud gazetteer replied.
"I owe it all to Milo," Gnorm offered. "I don't know what I would do without that dwarf. He's better than a wife, and that's no easy accomplishment, I'm telling you. Little did I realize when I promised his brother Thorn that I would make sure his kid brother was never wanting that I would be inheriting the best tavern keeper a sot such as myself could ever want."
Volo took his feet and raised his tankard high. "Then let us propose a toast. To Milo, the best tavern keeper, and the Dragon's Jaws, the best tavern in all of Cormyr."
"Hear! Hear!" Passepout concurred through cheeks bulging with mutton.
Once tankards had been guzzled and refilled, Gnorm replaced Volo in the toaster's stance.
"And I propose a toast to the master traveler of them all. Let us all drink to the master himself, Volo."
"Hear! Hear!" Passepout concurred, reveling in his good fortune at falling in with such wonderful company.
"Hear! Hear!" cheered the crowd, who downed their tankards, and quickly resumed their more private patters.
As the porters cleared the way for the halfling toss, the honored guests began to feel the pressure of the crowd closing in on them. A burly figure cloaked in black with staff in hand brusquely hastened past Passepout, rudely knocking the portly thespian into his plate of food, as he made his way to the shadows of a nearby table.
Passepout, who always considered himself an actor and not a fighter, scowled to himself but let the incident pass, so as to avoid a physical altercation.
Other tavern-goers also pressed in on the formerly private party of Gnorm, Volo, and his servant.
A young wench, who seemed to have her eye on the place of honor formerly held by Molly, approached the master traveler and gushed, "It's such a pleasure to meet the real Volo, the greatest traveler in all the Realms."
Volo's chest began to puff out, proud as a partridge.
"And I've always wanted to meet the real Marcus Wands," she added.
"Excuse me?" Volo replied, chest deflating, expression slightly perplexed.
"That's your name, isn't it?" she queried. "I know, you prefer to be called Marco."
"My dear, uh… " Volo answered with a momentary pause to scan her ample cleavage, "… lady, my name is Volothamp Geddarm. Volo to my friends and acquaintances, and I alone, and no other, am the master traveler of all Faerun."
The buxom blonde, puzzled, continued her assertions, not realizing that in doing so she was not currying the favor of the guest of honor. "But I had heard that Marco Volo was the greatest traveler in all the Realms."
"An imposter, a braggart and a liar," Volo responded, losing patience.
Another patron joined in the discussion, perhaps wanting to curry the blonde's favor, asserting, "I too have heard of the travels of wondrous Marcus Wands. Perhaps there are two great travelers in the Realms?"
Partially due to the quantities of ale that had been quaffed, and partially due to the magnitude of ego that had evolved within Volo over the years, the master traveler lost his temper.
"I alone am the master traveler of the Realms," he boasted, "and anyone who says otherwise is wrong."
The cowled figure with the staff stood up and from the shadows interjected, "Can you prove it?"
Volo turned to address this most recent assailant of his character, not able to make out any of the figure's features due to the spare lighting of the corner. "Of course, I can," he boasted.
"Would you be willing to submit to a test?" the cloaked one replied.
"Any test," Volo declared, "provided the tester is man enough to face me in the light, rather than hiding in the shadows.
"Then a test it shall be," agreed the figure, who emerged from the shadows and threw back the cloak that had been obscuring his famous bearded visage, black staff firmly in hand.
The cheering crowd, which had formerly been enthralled by the halfling-toss championships and had been managing to ignore Volo's arguments of ego, could not help but change the focus of its attention to the six-foot-tall, well-muscled figure that had emerged from the shadows, the torchlight flickering off the distinctive streak of gray that bisected his goatee.
Even Passepout interrupted his meal.
Milo quickly approached the figure.
"Khelben Arunsun," he addressed in the manner reserved for his special guests. "A thousand pardons. Had I known you were here, you would have received a much better table. I must be slipping in my old age," he offered, trying to defuse the situation as best he could.
The learned mage ignored him and continued to glare at Volo.
"You must be in town for the meeting of the Council of War Wizards," Milo continued to matter. "Imagine the Lord Mage of Waterdeep here…"
"Silence!" the imposing figure commanded, and nary a sound was heard in the inn. Approaching Volo with all the intensity of a jungle cat cornering its prey, he pressed, "Well, so-called master traveler, a test it shall be. Do you really believe yourself to be the greatest traveler in the Realms?"
"Yes, my lord," replied Volo, trying to maintain an uneasy balance between pride and deference for the archmage. "There is no question about it. I am the best, the most able, the greatest."
"A simple grand tour of Faerun and beyond from west to east should be of no difficulty, then. Eh, master traveler?"
"None whatsoever, as I've done it many times before," Volo boasted, exaggerating ever so slightly.
"So you say, but what proof do you have?"
"My reputation and my word!"
"Perhaps you, and not Marcus Wands, is the liar… and what is the word of a liar?"
"Volothamp Geddarm is a man of his word," Passepout interjected, then quickly retreated into silence, stung by Khelben's baneful glare.
"So you say, but have you been a witness to these exploits?" Khelben interrogated.
"Well, no, you see, I'm new at this bond servant thing. I'm really Passepout, son of Catinflas and…"
"Silence!" Khelben ordered again. The thespian recoiled. "A liar I cannot abide, so you must prove yourself, Master Volo." The mage reached into his cloak and withdrew a bag of gems and a folded piece of parchment. "To prove your claims, you must, with this poor and portly excuse for a human being, thespian or otherwise, travel this globe, never setting foot on the same piece of land twice until you have circled all of Toril. Here!"
The archmage tossed the bag of gems to Passepout and the parchment to the traveler.
All eyes in the inn were now on Volo and he required a great deal of concentration to maintain the pompous and self-assured appearance that he believed the greatest traveler of the Realms had to project. Appearance matters, he thought, damn it!
"In that bag," the mage instructed, "are the legendary gems of the necromancer Kalen Verne. Together with that parchment, they will provide evidence of your travels. When each gem changes from green to red, it must be discarded in the place that the color change occurs. That spot will then appear on the map of Toril that will appear on the parchment, documenting your journey."
"A simple enough task," Volo offered, still maintaining the facade of self-assuredness, "… but I am a bit busy right now. You see, I have this book on Cormyr to write, and…"
"Silence!" Khelben demanded a third time. "Should you remain in one place for more than twelve hours, the magics that lie within the jewels shall consume you. Should you leave one of the jewels in a location before its color has changed, the magics that lie within shall consume you." Then, pausing to shift his eyes to Passepout, he added, "Should the map and the jewels part company, or leave the custody of those who now bear them…"
"I kn
ow," Passepout dolefully responded, cursing the luck that he had formerly claimed as good, "the magics within shall consume us."
"Correct," the archmage replied.
The crowd awaited Volo's response.
In his mind there was no alternative. His pride and ego could accept no less, and the preservation of his reputation demanded it.
"Molly, my dear," Volo called for all to hear. "Our packs and cloaks. I'm afraid that I will have to take a rain check on further festivities of the evening. If this is what it takes to prove my claim to fame once and for all, so be it. Passepout and I shall return here once our journey is completed, and we will bestow to the Dragon's Jaws Inn the map for all to see, as evidence of the exploits of Volothamp Geddarm, and his traveling companion, the distinguished entertainer Passepout, son of Catinflas and Addled."
"That's Idle," the companion corrected.
Turning back to the archmage, Volo extended his hand and said, "If this is what it takes, Master Arunsun, so be it. Let us part as gentlemen until we meet again with proof in hand."
"As gentlemen," Khelben agreed, "so be it."
The archmage accepted the hand of the world traveler and gave it one quick shake.
A chill went through Volo's entire being, which he attributed to the feeling of power that effervesced from the archmage of Waterdeep. Quickly recovering his senses, he declared, "Come, Passepout, let us be on our way. Gnorm, Milo, lovely Molly, we shall return!"
Hoisting a pack upon his back, ready to meet the challenge, Volo jaunted out into the Suzail night, followed by the burdened Passepout, who dreaded the adventure that surely lay before them.
Chapter 4
On the road or The Trials and Tribulations of Always Being Hungry
"But, Master Volo, I'm just a lowly thespian, not a world traveler like yourself. I have never been out of Cormyr, let alone Faerun…"
"Don't fret, brother of the road Passepout," assured Volo to his obviously discouraged companion. "Think of all the world as a stage, and you yourself merely a player with exits and entrances, and a bit more than the normal proscenium distance between stage left and stage right."
Once Around the Realms (single books) Page 2
