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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
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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 himself 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
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