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 say?' 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.
