Once Around the Realms (single books)

by Brian Thomsen

  "Well, not quite," answered Volo indulgently. "It's a city that was originally settled by wizards."

  "Big difference," the thespian replied. "I guess I better count my fingers after shaking hands with any of the citizens."

  Volo scratched his head, puzzled at his companion's blind prejudice.

  "I really don't understand why you feel this way toward wizards," he said, vocalizing his confusion. "You know that I have magical abilities… well, uh… at least I used to."

  "But for every kindhearted Mister Volo," Passepout said, "there is a dastardly Lord Khelben just waiting to take advantage of his powers, and take advantage of you."

  "What about the four mages on the way here," Volo countered. "What about them?"

  Passepout just shook his head and refused to listen to reason.

  "I think the old sage said it best," the thespian replied. " 'To trust is good, but not to trust is better,' and as far as I'm concerned, that goes double for mages!"

  Volo chuckled.

  "Despite your prejudice," the master traveler countered, "you have a lot in common with the people of Halruaa. Why, I remember reading some- where that someone once referred to it as the most paranoid country in all of the Realms, and that you couldn't walk three feet without some sort of divination spell being cast over you. It's a nation rampant with courtesy and politeness based on fear, and a strict set of laws to insure order, with justice and punishment meted out faster than a lich can lurch."

  "Which reminds me," the thespian interrupted. "Just exactly why are we here?"

  Volo resumed his strut through the city streets, calling back to his companion, who was scrambling to catch up.

  "If one shortcut fails, try another," the master traveler answered. "Surely we don't expect to walk all the way to Kara-Tur, do we?"

  The Porter's Shop was an inn located at the corner of William and Henry. The four mages who had been part of the caravan resided there between trips abroad for study.

  "Welcome! Welcome!" said the eldest of the four, his much-prized amulet still hanging around his neck. "We are so glad that you could drop by. One never knows when one might need two burly bodyguards such as yourselves."

  The other three mages laughed at the absurdity of the fourth's joke.

  Passepout became offended, but, as per Volo's direction, kept his mouth shut.

  "The pleasure is all ours," Volo replied, using his best reviewer-at-large persona. "Do you own this inn?"

  "Of course, and for helping us in the Shaar, we are more than willing to offer you, without charge, accommodations for the duration of your stay. Let me call our porter to fetch your things to a room. Oh, Henry!" the youngest of the four called.

  "That won't be necessary," Volo replied before he could repeat the appellation. "I'm afraid that we are in a bit of hurry, and I was hoping that you might be able to point us in the right direction of where we could possibly rent an airship."

  "An airship," the eldest repeated, scratching his chin whiskers.

  "An airship!" Passepout exclaimed, remembering in terror Volo's query of the cleric who cured his motion sickness, about its effectiveness on airsickness as well.

  "An airship," Volo repeated. "You see, we have to cover a great deal of land in the least time possible."

  "How much land?" inquired one of the previously silent wizards.

  "All of Toril," Volo replied. "I agreed to a foolish bet out of pride and vanity, and must now live up to my part of the bargain."

  "From what I understand," the youngest replied, "the airships are only supposed to travel within Halruaa airspace. They are the property of the archmages and require frequent recharging."

  "I realize that," the master traveler pressed, "but I have also heard rumor of a supposed black market of mages who have, shall we say, fallen from grace, who might be willing to rent out one if it were made worth their while."

  "I'm afraid that we can't be of any assistance in those sorts of matters. We of the city of Halarahh are an honest and orderly citizenry," said the youngest.

  "The place you want to go is farther south," the eldest interrupted. "Khaerbaal. It's a wild town."

  "Hush!" the youngest scolded. "We don't want to lead these young men astray."

  "We realize that we would be taking a risk," Volo countered.

  "We do?" Passepout interrupted.

  "We do," Volo repeated, "but we also realize that we have very few options."

  "Then try Khaerbaal, and go with Mystra."

  "Go with Mystra," all four mages said in unison.

  "We shall," Volo answered, and taking the still-stunned Passepout by the hand, led him out of the inn.

  No sooner had they turned the street corner when they ran into the eldest of the mages, who had teleported there to intercept them in private.

  "Don't ever tell my brothers that I told you this, but try the deserted shipyards down by the Bay of Taertal. Occasionally an archmage will junk an old airship there when he's acquired a new one. In many cases, it is still charged enough for a few more months of flying. Go with Mystra."

  Upon completing his blessing, the old mage disappeared, leaving Volo and Passepout looking at each other on the street corner.

  "Well…" Volo announced to his companion.

  Passepout interrupted.

  "I know," the thespian replied, "we're burning daylight. On to the Bay of Taertal."

  "Yes!" Volo agreed enthusiastically, "On to the Bay of Taertal!"

  "Eo save us," Passepout muttered, following the master traveler to the harbor, where they would book passage to their next destination.

  It was a rocky ride southward along Lake Halruaa. The ship hugged the shore out of necessity as the wind and strong current continually threatened to throw it off course. The experienced crew was more than a match for the elements that continually confronted them, and the voyage went off as usual, without any mishap. What the crew did not lack in skill, they made up for in lack of hospitality. Volo and Passepout were booked in steerage, and locked below deck for the entire trip so they would not get in the way of the busy sailing experts. Food was passed down to the two travelers by means of a hatch in the deck, which also afforded them their only glimpse of sunlight for the entire voyage.

  With three voyages under his belt, Passepout was unsure which he preferred the least: the one with seasickness, the one with pirates, or the one in steerage. He prayed that this would be his last seagoing venture and that the dreaded upcoming airship journey would be easier… but of course, he doubted that it would be.

  As the two travelers finally enjoyed the luxury of standing upright, feeling direct sunlight on their faces and firm ground beneath their feet, Passepout decided to query the master traveler on his plans.

  "So we are going to try to rent an airship?" the thespian remarked.

  "It will make things much easier, and our journey much quicker," Volo replied. "Look at it this way: We've already determined that our sole restriction is that we can't set foot on the same place more than once. Therefore flying over it shouldn't be a problem. Our sea voyages have also shown that the gems will still mark the passage of distance, even when they are not on land."

  "I think I've probably thrown more gems overboard than I've dropped on land so far," commented the thespian, who felt the bag of gems getting progressively heavier as time went on, despite the reduction in the number of gems.

  "I'm sure you're mistaken, dear son of Idle and Catinflas," Volo corrected, taking a quasi-parental tone with the thespian/novice traveler.

  "Whatever."

  "Don't be discouraged. Once we rent an airship, we'll be flying east in no time. Just think of the sights we'll see. We could pass over Dambrath. True, men aren't exactly welcome there, but who says we have to land? We can always view the legendary Bay of Dancing Dolphins with its entertaining inhabitants from above… or perhaps you would prefer stopping by Luiren, the land of the halflings. We could pick up some of their remarkable cheese and stout. I've sample
d both, and paid a pretty penny for the pleasure, too. I ordered them through Aurora's Whole Realms Catalogue and…"

  "Stop," Passepout insisted. "You're making me hungry."

  "Then we shall eat," Volo replied.

  "Just so long as it's not fish!"

  "I guess the lack of variety of the steerage menu has gotten to you, my friend," Volo replied. "So let's go find us some real land-lover food!"

  Volo and the thespian discovered a tavern, not too far from the shipyard, that boasted good food, strong ale, and accommodating hostesses. The manager of the establishment recognized the master gazetteer by his reputation and needed no prodding to roll out the red carpet in the hope of securing a good review in the guide that the master traveler claimed to be working on.

  Well-supped and entertained, the master traveler and his thespian companion planned to enjoy a few tankards of ale before turning in, and perhaps secure a few leads on an airship available for rental.

  Chapter 11

  Khaerbaal and on into the air or Up, Up, and Away Off Course

  "I understand that you are looking for a slightly used skyship for charter," a dwarf whispered to the two travelers, who were just about to turn in for the night.

  "Maybe we are," Volo replied.

  "Another round of ale," Passepout bade the serving wench.

  "I think I have something that might interest you," the dwarf continued, taking a place between the two travelers. "Mind if I join you?"

  "Be our guest, care for a drink?" Passepout replied, fully cognizant that their tab was being comped in exchange for possible good review consideration.

  "Don't mind if I do," the dwarf replied. With the dwarf sitting between them, the two travelers quickly noticed the aroma of dwarf body odor that comes when one chooses to ignore common sense and normal dwarf hygiene.

  Passepout quaffed another tankard of ale, hoping it would dull his olfactory senses.

  "Been working hard?" Volo inquired, seeking possible justification for the dwarfs body stench.

  "Nope," replied the dwarf, downing a tankard and wiping the foam from his beard-and-mous-tache-framed mouth with his soiled shirtsleeve. "That is, unless you consider making deals to be hard work."

  "What type of deals?" Volo pressed.

  "Oh, just deals," the dwarf replied, helping himself to a refill on his tankard. "Now, your company and hospitality are wonderful, and I'm sure both of you are truly great fun to be around, but time is money. Are you interested in a skyship charter or not?"

  "Well, maybe we are," Volo replied.

  "It will cost you," the dwarf interjected.

  "We will be willing to fairly compensate the sky-ship's owner for the charter."

  "Good!" the dwarf replied. He quaffed the last of the ale and jumped to his feet, tossing a piece of parchment on the table. "Come to that address tomorrow at precisely midday… and come alone. If I see more than the two of you there, I will leave."

  "We'll be there," Volo assured. "Tomorrow, then." And with that, the dwarf left. "I hope he bathes tonight," said Passepout. "So do I," agreed the master traveler, "but somehow I doubt it."

  The two travelers slept late the following morning, but left the inn with more than enough time to reach the appointed place of their rendezvous with the dwarfish airship broker.

  " 'Meet me at the abandoned boathouse at the farthest end of the Hale shipyard, signed Jonas Grumby' " read Volo from the parchment that had been left on the table. "I guess Jonas Grumby is our aromatic dwarven friend."

  "Aromatic nothing. He just plain stank!" said the thespian. "I don't know if I'll be able to stand being cooped up with him for an around-the-world flight."

  They arrived at the shipyard with time to spare. With the exception of a teenage barefooted beachcomber who was feeding the sea gulls, no one seemed to be around for miles. Likewise, no airship was in sight either, only the broken-down boat-house, which looked as if it were ready to cave in on itself.

  "Hey! Over here!" Jonas yelled from the door of the boathouse. "Get inside! Quick!"

  "All indications point to Captain Grumby here not necessarily being a businessman used to doing things on the up and up," Volo whispered to the thespian as they approached the boathouse. "We'll have to be careful. We can't afford to buy a pig in a poke."

  "No!" Passepout replied in mock shock. "I thought he was as honest as Cadderly the cleric."

  "Enough of your whispers," Grumby scolded. "An airship is what you want, an airship is what I have. See!"

  Grumby pointed inside the door. The ramshackle boathouse was only a front, with walls propped up by poles in the sand. Inside, resting on the broad beams of its hull, was a two-masted airship with the name Minnow painted on the side.

  Volo ventured farther into the pseudo-boathouse and walked around the ship with a critical eye.

  "As I recall," Volo commented, "Halruaan airships have three masts of flexible wood to hold their windsails in place. This, uh, ship has only two masts, and no sails at all."

  "That is true," Jonas replied, as if his answer sufficed.

  "Now, I realize that the ship is powered by the spell rod, which seems to be in place, and not the sails, but, again if I remember correctly, weren't the sails used for steering?"

  "Yes," replied the dwarf, whose odor from the night before had not improved.

  "So," Volo persisted, "Tiow do you steer it?"

  "All of that can be explained later. Do you think she suits your needs?"

  "Is she airworthy?"

  "I guarantee it!" the dwarf assured.

  "Mister Volo," Passepout interrupted, taking his former master aside, "I don't trust him."

  "Neither do I," the master traveler replied, "but we don't seem to have much of a choice."

  Just then a new voice joined the conversation within the boathouse.

  "Excuse me, I was wondering if perhaps there were any openings for a mate's position. I have sailing experience."

  The voice belonged to the young beachcomber who had been feeding the sea gulls at the shoreline. He was human, of indeterminate mid-teen age, with skin the color of an acquired tan. His clothes were ragged, his frame thin, probably from too many missed meals, and his feet were calloused and dirty from having gone without shoes for a fair amount of time. He was also quite handsome in a rugged sort of way and physically fit, with the bright blue eyes of a person who did not overindulge in ale or any other intoxicating or debilitating substance.

  "Scram!" Jonas yelled. "This is a private matter."

  "No, stay." Volo countered the obstreperous dwarf's order. There was something vaguely familiar about the lad, Volo thought, and another body to help on the ship might come in handy if Grumby tried anything. Even if the kid didn't have enough experience to fly the ship, he could probably take care of the tasks that the dwarf no doubt expected his passengers to tend to.

  "Do you want the charter or not?" the dwarf persisted. "I don't care what you do with the overgrown urchin. He can come along or stay behind. My price is based on slag commission."

  "Slag commission?" Volo queried.

  Passepout again took the master traveler aside.

  "He thinks we're smugglers," the thespian replied. "Slag commission means he can lay claim on one third of the revenues from the sales of whatever we are transporting."

  Volo thought for a moment and went back to the dwarf. "That seems reasonable," the master traveler replied, "but what will we do for a contract?"

  "No contract is necessary. I'm a shrewd judge of character, and I can tell you must be smuggling something real dear," Grumby replied, taking out a gunnysack that was inscribed with various glyphs. "Just grab hold of the sack, and agree that I am entitled to one third of the proceeds of whatever you are smuggling. Agreed?"

  "And you in turn agree to fly us for an indeterminate period until our, uh, transaction is completed. Agreed?"

  "Agreed," replied Grumby.

  "Then I agree, also," replied Volo, taking hold of the gunnysack. />
  The dwarf and Volo were bathed in a black aura, which quickly dissipated.

  "There," the dwarf replied, "we have a contract, enforceable by the god of thieves, Mask himself. If either of us backs out, he forfeits his life. Now, what will I be hauling?"

  "Just us," Volo replied.

  "No," Grumby answered, losing patience, "the loot, the slag. What are you smuggling?"

  "We're not smuggling anything," Passepout answered.

  "But we agreed to slag commission!" the dwarf persisted.

  "Yes," Volo agreed, "and one third of our ill-gotten gain is now yours. Unfortunately, as we lack any slag, I'm afraid that your take for this charter is therefore nothing."

  "No!" the dwarf screamed, horrified that he had been swindled.

  "And by your own devices, you are now bound to fulfill our charter or risk the ire of Mask," added Volo.

  "No, I mean it can't be… aaggh," the dwarf raged, and then all of a sudden regained his composure. "You win. You got me, Wands. Where are we going?"

  "Wands?" Volo replied, shocked to hear the name of the imposter who was indirectly responsible for his current plight.

  "Yeah," Grumby replied, "that's your real name, isn't it? I mean, I heard the fat guy call you Volo back at the inn. Volo, also known as Marco Volo, also known as Marcus Wands, scoundrel, scalawag, rogue, smuggler, and thief."

  "I'm afraid that you're mistaken," the master traveler replied. "I am Volothamp Geddarm, the master traveler of all Faerun and gazetteer author of the best-selling Volo's Guide series."

  "Never heard of you," the churlish dwarf replied.

  "I am the original Volo, the one whom Wands was impersonating."

  "You don't say," replied Grumby, scratching the ill-kept thatch that was his beard.

  Well, that explains a lot of things, Volo thought to himself. Maybe Wands has enhanced my reputation in ways that are beneficial in the right circumstances, and circles.

  "So, Giddyup…"

  "That's Geddarm… but just call me Volo."

  "All right, Mister Just-Call-Me-Volo," the dwarf replied with a malicious gleam in his eye, "so where are we bound?"

  "First to Kara-Tur, and from there farther east," Volo replied.