see little reason to expose myself to the damned sun and daylight.'
Volo tried a different tack to distract the captors.
Drawing on his research for his famous suppressed work, Volo's Guide to All Things Magical-and fully aware that all drow were required to take part in some magic training-the gazetteer tried to regale them with stories of different enchantments, artifacts, and phenomena that he had come across.
'Wait a minute,' Courun interrupted, 'do you mean that you are a wizard?'
'Well, no,' Volo answered carefully, cautiously, and deceitfully, 'I've just done a lot of research on it. That's all.'
'It's hard stuff,' Courun admitted. 'I never was much good at those classes.'
'If it hadn't been for our cheating on tests,' Haukun added, 'Courun and I would have been drider bait, for sure.'
Not wishing to further tip his hand on his innate abilities, Volo once again changed the subject.
'Well, I bet you two are plenty expert on other things,' the gazetteer observed.
'Like catching nosy writers,' Courun said smugly.
'Uh, yes,' Volo agreed. 'But I was thinking more specifically of the goings-on in the Underdark itself. I did a lot of research before my first trip down here, and I am telling you, nothing beats firsthand experience.'
'You can say that again,' Woodehous agreed, trying to reenter the conversation. 'It's like trying to learn how to cook without ever setting foot in a kitchen.'
The maitre d'/cook/waiter's simile was lost on the two drow captors, so Volo continued his train of conversation.
'When I started studying the Underdark,' Volo explained, 'I had no idea there was so much going on. I had never even heard of a duergar, or a svirfneblin, or of thaalud, or of the great cities of Eryndlyn, Llurth Dreier, or Sshamath, and, of course, Menzoberranzan. I just knew I had to go there.'
'And you did,' Woodehous inserted.
'Uh, right,' Volo continued with a quick glare at his fellow captive, signaling him to hold his tongue, 'and that's why I felt I just had to do the Guide to the Underdark.'
'I thought you were going to call it Volo Does Memo,' Courun interrupted.
'Well, yes, and as I was…' Volo struggled to continue.
'So which is it?' Haukun demanded.
'And where is it?' Courun insisted.
Quickly regaining his composure, Volo calmly explained. 'I don't get to pick the title,' he asserted, 'the publisher does… and as to the manuscript, don't worry about it.'
'Well, give it to us,' Haukun demanded.
'I don't have it with me,' Volo continued, 'but don't you worry. It's well hidden. No one back in Skullport will ever find it.'
The two drow would-be warriors once again looked at each other and conversed in their native tongue. True, their entire retrieval of the interloping journalist would be for naught if the manuscript ever fell into another surface dweller's hands, thus undercutting the validity of their great deed and threatening their chances of vindication. The two talked for a few minutes, and finally nodded in agreement.
'If anyone asks,' Haukun instructed boldly, 'Courun and I destroyed your only copy of the manuscript.'
'All right,' Volo replied.
'And if either of you contradicts us,' Courun added, 'it will go extremely bad for you.'
'We wouldn't think of it,' Volo assured, 'would we, Percy?'
'Of course not,' Percy choked out, though he was quite unsure how his own fate could be made any worse than it already was.
'Fine,' Courun said with a certain degree of finality. 'Then let us proceed onward. I believe we're almost there.'
'But of course,' Volo agreed, once again helping Woodehous to his feet.
'Do you know any stories about drow maidens?' Haukun inquired as they set off down the tunnel.
'I do believe that back in Skullport I heard something about a young girl named Liriel, but I'm afraid the details have escaped me for the moment. Perhaps you would care to hear about a little intrigue that took place around Undermountain not too long ago. It was a virtual comedy of errors, an escapade of adventure, and involved two fellows by the names of Mirt and Durnan, and…'
Woodehous discreetly tried to ignore the latest tale being told by the gazetteer, who so loved the sound of his own voice. It was almost as if there were two Volos: the gregarious fool who didn't mind being captured by drow buffoons, and the savvy traveler whose exploits were legendary. Woodehous believed he had only observed this more capable fellow on the night their captors fought with the equally inept and juvenile fish-men, and he realized his only hope for escape lay with the assurances that he had been offered on that night. If they had any hope of escape, this more capable side would need to resurface… and really soon.
But, perhaps, it, too, was only some long-winded piece of fiction.
At the City's Edge
As Woodehous and Volo were roused from their sleep to begin another day's journey, the master traveler of all Faerun noticed a difference in their captors' demeanor.
'We're close to the city, aren't we?' Volo observed.
'I'm afraid so,' Courun replied, a leather thong held in his outstretched hands. 'I'm going to have to retie your hands now.'
'We understand,' Volo assented, 'but, please, not too tight.'
Dark slender fingers did their work, and the two captives were returned to their state of bound captivity in as painless a fashion as was possible.
Volo looked at the maitre d'/cook/waiter, and said out loud, 'Now, that's not too bad, considering the circumstances.' Then, in a softer voice, he added, 'Whatever happens, stick with me, even if the alternative presented to you seems more desirable.'
'What do you mean?' Woodehous whispered back.
'If they ask you to choose between a life of slavery, and the chance of being tortured right alongside me, choose the torture.'
'Why?'
'I can only assure you of your deliverance back to Skullport if you remain by my side. By any means necessary, you must remain at my side,' the master traveler insisted, biting off his last word sharply as he heard one of their drow captors once again approaching.
'You know, Pig, or Percy, or whatever you call yourself, I am really going to miss your cooking,' Haukun admitted.
'Well, I appreciate the compliment,' Woodehous replied, trying to maintain some dignity despite his current situation.
'You know,' the drow continued, 'once we turn Volo over to the matron mother, we might be able to put in a good word for you with one of the ruling households, and perhaps get you a kitchen position rather than farming duty or worse.'
'Why, thank you,' the maitre d'/cook/waiter replied, quickly making eye contact with his fellow captive, 'but if it's all the same to you, I think I'd rather stay with my friend Volo here. Companions to the end and all that rot, if you know what I mean.'
'No, not really,' the drow replied, scratching his ebony forehead in puzzlement, then running his delicate digits back through his flowing white mane of hair. 'But if that's what you really want, far be it from me to stand in your way. Just seems like a damned shame waste of a good cook.'
'I'm sure Menzoberranzan has plenty of good cooks,' Volo offered.
'Not that I recall,' Haukun answered, 'but it has been a long time.'
The party had no sooner resumed their journey to the city when they came into contact with other travelers,
