just might intercede on my behalf back at the Shipmaster's Hall.
'… And then there was the time I was abducted by a group of dopplegangers off the streets of Waterdeep…'
I guess I'll just have to bide my time, Woodehous thought.
The crowd further thinned as the self-absorbed storyteller rambled on. The once-dense mob of fans and admirers had considerably dissipated itself. All were gone save for a few star-struck ores, a pair of foul-smelling dwarves, who freely helped themselves to massive quantities of the gazetteer's libations, an inebriated ogre, who had nodded off in an upright position, and a pair of thuggish drow, who listened to the storyteller like panthers listening to approaching prey.
'… And my next book is going to be really different…'
The drow pair continued to stare unblinkingly.
'… Imagine a travel guide that is so exotic…'
He really loves the sound of his own voice, Woodehous observed silently.
'… so mysterious, why I bet it's safe to say that there are some who would stop at nothing to prevent this manuscript from being published.…'
Yeah, really, Woodehous thought sarcastically, nothing but hype.
'… And I think I'll call it Volo Does Memo…'
At the mention of the title, the two drow quickly exchanged hushed words, rose from their chairs, and hastened out of the tavern, flipping a guinea to Wurlitzer to cover their tab.
'… It will be the first book with directions to and from the great city of Menzoberranzan, a virtual travelers' guide to the Underdark.'
A smattering of applause followed as the audience took advantage of the traveler's pause to quaff the remainder of their brew and quickly dispersed before the storyteller could begin to rant again.
I guess the crowd knows when it has had enough, Woodehous thought, watching them disperse to the far corners of the supper club. When he turned back to the place where the storyteller had been sitting Woodehous was shocked to see that Volo had already gathered up his pack, flipped a salute and a guinea coin to the bartender in thanks for his gracious hospitality, and was already out the door, and on his way to Ao-knows-where.
'Oh, no,' Woodehous cried out loud, hastening in fast pursuit of the key to his possible redemption. He was almost out the door when an orcish arm grabbed him by the collar.
'Pig, old boy,' Wurlitzer said in a friendly tone that didn't mask an implied threat, 'aren't you forgetting something?'
The erstwhile maitre d'/waiter/cook of Traitor Pick's quickly took half a second to fish from his pouch the first coin his fingers touched, flipped it to the bartender, and continued on his way, in earshot long enough to hear the bartender remark that three guineas in a row in tips wasn't bad for a midweek evening without paid entertainment.
Glancing in both directions down the nocturnal alleys of Skullport-and seeing his quarry neither way- Woodehous quickly chose a likely course and set off in search of the traveler. He cursed his own haste and the misfortune that had just cost him his dinner allowance for the whole week, and wholly disregarded the fact that the allotted time for his dinner break had long since expired.
After more precious time had passed, Woodehous wondered aloud, 'Which way did he go?' The question was born more out of exasperation than practicality, since Woodehous had long since given up noticing any of the other alley wayfarers of the Skullport twilight scene.
'Which way did who go, Pig?' inquired a voice from behind.
The now-former maitre d'/cook/waiter of Traitor Pick's quickly turned around and was confronted by the tentacled visage of one of his now-former patrons.
'Oh, it's you, Malix,' Woodehous replied.
'Correct,' replied the mind flayer mage, who had taken a fancy to Woodehous's recipe for duergar deep-dish. 'I repeat the question. Which way did who go?'
'Volothamp Geddarm.'
'You mean the loudmouthed storyteller from the Double G? He went thataway,' Malix replied, one of his facial tentacles pointing down a dark alley. 'Just follow the path of glowing dust. He must have stepped in something along the way. And beware! He was being followed by two unsavory-looking drow.'
'Thanks, Malix,' Woodehous replied, taking off into the shadows in the indicated direction.
'Don't thank me,' Malix instructed, calling after him. 'Just finish up your business and get back to work. I have a hankering for some dessert, and the faster you finish, the sooner my craving will be sated.'
Woodehous raced down the narrow alley even though he couldn't see the path of glowing dust Malix had indicated. His diligence was soon rewarded. The alley ahead made a sharp turn to the right, narrowing down to a single body's width, and then right again, and opened onto an apparent dead end shrouded in total darkness.
He barely heard someone cry out 'No,' before he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, upon which he was immediately drowned in the pitch-black ocean of unconsciousness.
Walking in Darkness
Woodehous had no idea how long he had remained unconscious, and barely noticed coming around. He was poked and prodded to his feet, and then partly led, partly dragged through a narrow tunnel of darkness. The passage was lit occasionally by four marbles of purplish glow that bounced in step with his apparent captors.
Soon he felt the tunnel widen around him, and noted the absence of Skullport's telltale sea breeze. They seemed to be following a steady incline downward. His wrists had been tied together in front of him, and connected to a noose that had been cinched tight around his neck. The noose was in turn connected to some sort of leash, with which he was being led as he stumbled forward into the darkness.
Woodehous soon realized he was not the only unwilling member of the subterranean party.
'C'mon, you guys,' implored a voice Woodehous recognized as Volo's, 'can't you give us a break? We've been walking for hours. Can't we rest a bit?'
'All right,' replied a mouth located just below two of the dancing purple orbs. 'Skullport is now far behind us, and it would be foolish of you to imagine you could find your way back, anyway. You may sit and rest a bit.'
'May I reach into my traveling pouch?' the famous gazetteer requested. 'I have a gem that gives off a bit of illumination, which might make things a little easier for those of us not gifted with such acute night vision.'
'All right,' the voice replied, 'but no funny stuff. Though I have every intention of taking you alive to Menzoberranzan, that does not preclude me from certain nonlethal treatments of your person that I am sure you would find quite unpleasant.'
'Funny stuff? I wouldn't think of it,' Volo replied.
Woodehous heard a rustling like fingers fishing in a purse, which was followed by a flash that required him to quickly shut his eyes. Slowly he reopened them, squinting toward the illumination. He turned away from the source of the light and took a few seconds to gaze at the surroundings, which slowly came into view as his eyes grew accustomed to the luminescence.
The group was in a cavern with walls formed of what appeared to be black glass, smooth and flat. If the telltale shadows of their party of four hadn't been cast upon the walls, there would have been an illusion of infinite darkness, the void of starless space.
'You look kind of familiar,' Volo said to his fellow captive. 'Do I know you?'
Woodehous returned his attention to the source of the illumination, realizing that the question had been directed at him. The light showed that Volo's hands and neck were similarly bound. 'You probably don't remember me, but…' the former maitre d'/cook/waiter started to answer.
Volo snapped his fingers and quickly interrupted.
'You used to work at the Shipmaster's Hall back in Waterdeep,' said the gazetteer. 'I never forget a face. What in Ao's name were you doing in Skullport?'
Woodehous was at a loss for words. He wanted to blame the writer for all of his woes: his loss of social status, his banishment to that culinary pit in Skullport, the besmirching of his reputation… But such accusations
