Volo noticed the auburn-haired staff bearer telling her comrades a story that invoked reams of laughter, which they quickly suppressed once they noticed his presence. His curiosity at the reason for their joviality and for Passepout's late-night stirrings was soon satisfied, when he saw the thespian at breakfast. Somehow during the night, his rotund bond servant had acquired a black eye, and a proclivity toward blushing whenever the redhead was around.
Oh, well, thought the traveler, such are the risks of the inept Casanova.
Vowing to himself never to mention what might have transpired, Volo helped his companion with his pack, keeping pace with him as they journeyed toward Shadowdale, subtly massaging the thespian's fragile, damaged ego.
By lunch, the embarrassment of less than twelve hours ago seemed to be forgotten, and the thespian's earlier braggadocio had returned, much to the chagrin of the rest of the company.
Chapter 7
'I will miss your company, master traveler,' sighed Catlindra Serpentar.
'And I yours,' replied Volothamp Geddarm.
'I hope you solve your problem,' she added.
'In matters of magic, Elminster knows all,' replied the departing traveler.
'You mean we're going to see Elminster' interrupted Passepout, destroying the poignancy of the friends' farewell.
Cat kissed Volo on the forehead and with a dry wink rejoined her company along the road that would bypass Shadowdale.
Volo sighed for a moment and started down the road to Shadowdale proper.
'But, Master Volo,' Passepout persisted, 'I've always heard that Elminster is a bit of a curmudgeon and not really fond of unexpected visitors. And given the way we didn't exactly hit it off with Khelben, I don't think we can afford to get on the wrong side of another archmage.'
Volo just shook his head.
'You can't believe everything you hear,' he replied. 'I'm sure he'll be glad to see us.'
The sign read, Trespassers May Be Polymorphed.
'We're not trespassers… I mean… you've been here before,' said the very concerned Passepout, who had no desire to pursue his acting career as a trained seal or some such other animal.
'Afraid not,' Volo replied.
'But you have met Elminster before, haven't you?' the thespian persisted.
'Sort of.'
'What do you mean, sort of?'
'He wrote introductions to some of my guides.'
'Like Volo's Guide to All Things Magical?'
'Well, no,' Volo hedged. 'Now that you mention it, he was slightly miffed at me for that one.'
'But that was a long time ago,' the thespian demanded. 'Right?'
'Sure was,' Volo agreed, paused for a moment, and continued, 'Now that you mention it, that was probably the last time we had business together. I hope he doesn't hold a grudge.'
'Eo save us!' Passepout prayed.
At last they arrived at the most famous residence in the Dales, Elminster's tower.
The sign read: Enter At Your Own Risk — Have You Notified Your Next of Kin?
Passepout did a one-eighty and took off back the way they had come, saying, 'Darn it! I knew I forgot something. And it has been a while since I dropped a line to my dear parents. After all, what will Idle and Catinflas do without me?'
Volo reached back, grabbed his bond servant by the collar, and turned him around,
'Do you want to risk separating, given Khelben's spell?' Volo calmly asked.
'I guess not,' Passepout reluctantly agreed.
'And don't you want me to get my magics back, so that we can divest ourselves of these accursed gems, complete our world tour, and get back to the city comforts of the Dragon's Jaws Inn?'
'Most assuredly, Master Volo.'
'Well then,' Volo pressed, 'ring the bell.'
Gently the thespian pulled the bell cord. Its tintinnabulation carried throughout the dale. If anyone were home, they would have undoubtedly have heard it-as would anyone else within a mile radius.
No one came to the door.
'Again,' Volo ordered.
Again the chimes sounded, but still no one came to the door.
That's odd,' said the master traveler. 'It's not unusual for Elminster to be away, but I would have expected Lhaeo to be around. Perhaps we should force the door, maybe look around some.'
'But, Master, shouldn't we find a place to spend the night?' Passepout implored, trying to distract the traveler.
'We're not too far from the Old Skull Inn,' Volo answered.
'Well, why don't we check in for the night and perhaps ask around for news about their whereabouts? It is getting late, after all, and you did promise me a night under a roof.'
'So I did,' Volo replied absently. '1 guess we can check back tomorrow.'
'Sure,' agreed Passepout, discreetly dropping a red gem on the doorstep. 'Sure,' he repeated.
To himself he thought, 'I'll wait until after dinner to remind Master Volo about not retracing our steps. We'll state to find a solution at someplace more friendly with fewer warnings'.
Jhaele Silvermane, proprietor of the Old Skull Inn, was a fine judge of human nature and a shrewd observer of new faces to Shadowdale who just happened to stop by her taproom. Given the Zhent troubles of the past few years, she was always on her guard and prone to 'accidentally' overhearing conversations among new patrons. It was no surprise that she listened in on the two new arrivals, and even less of a surprise that she sent a messenger to Storm Silverhand when she recognized the mentions of Khelben and Elminster.
'But, Master Volo,' Passepout implored, 'we can't go back to Elminster's tower. You remember what Khelben said about retracing our steps.'
'Why didn't you remind me of that when we were at the tower?' Volo blustered, having lost his temper with the rotund thespian for the first time.
'I forgot… and I was hungry… and think the raven-haired barmaid likes me… and 1 didn't think Elminster would appreciate us waiting inside, given all the warnings, and such.'
The master traveler sighed, and conceded, 'You're probably right. Normally I would have relied on my magics to alert me to any booby traps or such.'
'What will we do now T
'I don't know,' Volo replied. 'Since my magic has gone away, I feel helpless. If only Elminster had been home. He would have been able to crack this magic-dampening cloud that seems to be following me around.'
Passepout eyed the crowd at the taproom, trying to find the barmaid whom he was sure that he had impressed with his tales of the theater and of his exploits on the road as Volo's right-hand man. Though he obviously felt sympathy for his master's plight, he couldn't help but wish that more magic users could experience how an average guy has to get by. It would serve them all right.
The raven-haired bartender was nowhere to be seen, and had he not known better he might have thought that she was avoiding him.
'Excuse me,' offered a recently arrived patron, 'did your friend mention Elminster?'
The speaker was a tall, good-looking young lady with silvery, long hair held back from her face by a tiara of silver, and the brightest blue-gray eyes Passepout had ever seen.
