'Yes he did, milady,' Passepout replied, acknowledging that the speaker was a much better catch for the evening than the barmaid would be any day. 'We have an appointment with him… but he's not home.'
'What sort of an appointment?' she pressed.
'Very important business,' he replied, 'but nothing to worry your pretty little head about. It will have to wait. So, in the meantime, why don't we get to know each other a little better?'
'I don't think so.'
Passepout continued undaunted. 'I am Passepout the legendary thespian, and this is the honorable Volothamp Geddarm, best-selling author of guides to Waterdeep, the North, and All Things Magical.'
'I recollect El telling me about that one,' she interrupted.
Passepout pulled himself up short, remembering his master's comment about the old mage's reaction to the aforementioned book of magic.
'You know Elminster?' he asked sheepishly.
'Yes, I do,' she replied, 'and I don't remember him telling me that he was expecting anyone, and I know he wouldn't appreciate strangers calling at the tower-probably as much as I enjoy the company of braggarts in my local tavern.'
'I meant no offense,' the thespian replied, trying to backpedal as fast as possible.
'I'm Storm Silverhand,' she boomed, 'and what business do you have with Elminster?'
'Storm Silverhand!' Volo exclaimed, breaking out of his stupor of self-pity. 'I am Volothamp Geddarm, master traveler of the Realms.'
'So he claims,' Storm replied, 'but I've heard of more than one fellow falsely claiming the Volo moniker.'
Volo rolled his eyes. Again he was confronted with doubt and confusion due to that imposter Marcus Wands. Reputation matters, he thought, damn it!
'I am the real Volo,' he replied, keeping his tones as measured as possible, 'the one and only. I have come to Shadowdale in hopes that Elminster would be able to help me with a problem, but now that I think about it, it was all just foolishness on my part. He's probably back in Suzail at the War Wizards' meeting.'
'You know about the meeting?'
'Sure. Vangerdahast has convened the college for some reason or other.'
Storm considered the two strangers for a moment. There was always the possibility that they were not who they claimed to be, particularly the fat one… but Elminster would not want her to turn away someone who was really in need, nor would the merchants of Shadowdale want to risk alienating a famous gazetteer like Volo from writing kindly of their area. Either way, they looked harmless enough and posed little threat to a hardened warrior such as herself.
'For the time being, I will accept whom you say you are. If you have a problem, perhaps I can help. Let's go back to my farm, away from the crowds of Shadowdale's only tap house, so that we can talk.'
'Sure,' Volo agreed, picking up his pack. 'Lead on.'
Passepout scrambled to set his own pack in place and quickly fell in beside his master.
'Did you hear that. Master Volo?' he whispered. 'Away from the crowd, she said. I think she likes me.'
Yet again, Volo just rolled his eyes.
The chill from Storm's initial manner soon wore off in the confines of her farmhouse, where she fed the two worn and discouraged travelers ample portions of typical Shadowdale fare, washed down with freshly brewed Shadowdale ale. Between munches, draughts, and numerous expressions of gratitude, the gazetteer and the thespian told their tale.
'That doesn't really sound like Khelben,' she observed, throwing another log on the fire, as the chill of the evening made its presence known.
'It was Blackstaff, all right,' Passepout interjected. 'I would have known him anywhere.'
'Quite,' Storm replied in a tone usually reserved for parents of opinionated and obstreperous children, then turned her attention back to Volo. 'Well, it's obvious that your magics have been dampened by something. Maybe something happened when you tried to scry the gate at Myth Drannor. Sometimes the areas of wild magic cause an overload, a sort of mage hangover, you might say.'
'My magics had left prior to Myth Drannor. I should have been aware of our camp's intruder the night before,' he replied. 'No, I'm sure it is something that must have happened to me back in Suzail, something linked to the gems, the bond, and the wager.'
'If you ask me,' Passepout interrupted, 'it's just another case of a mage throwing around his powers, to have some fun with the less enchanted ones.'
Volo ignored his servant's comments and continued with his train of thought.
'Now that I think back, I distinctly remember a chill passing through me as I shook his hand. 1 didn't think much of it at the time, but now…'
'No offense meant,' Storm apologized in advance, 'but it still doesn't sound like the Khelben Arunsun I know. He's more tolerant of braggarts than I am.'
'What do you mean by that?' Volo asked.
'Well, you do seem to stake a lot on your reputation.'
'It's well earned, and nobody ever questioned it before that rogue Marcus Wands started calling himself Marco Volo.'
'I know, but it's not as if anyone actually called you a liar.'
'Well, no.'
'And it's not like you were forced to accept the challenge.'
'I had to. There is only one master traveler of the Realms?'
'And you weren't tricked into accepting the challenge?'
Volo hedged for a moment. 'Well, actually, I do recall accepting it before hearing what it was to be.'
'So even if the challenge had been that you must travel with a servant, dropping markers along the way, never retracing your steps, and never using your magical arts, you would have still theoretically agreed to it.'
'Well, yes, I reckon so,' Volo agreed, and then chuckled. 'I guess I should keep my big mouth closed until I've heard all the details of a deal.'
'This doesn't change the fact that Volo has been tricked,' the thespian demanded. 'How can Khelben expect us to pass this test without the help of Volo's magical arts?'
'Is that true, Volo?' Storm asked gently. 'Is that the real reason for your reputation as a master traveler? Is it all just another magic trick?'
'No,' he replied, a grin spreading on his lips. 'Of course not. It just makes this harder.'
'But not impossible,' Storm added.
'No, not impossible,' Volo conceded.
At the night grew long, Passepout once again became cranky and was about to suggest that they return to the Old Skull Inn when he realized that the ploy that he had used to prevent Volo from returning to Elminster's tower now prevented them from returning to the inn-and the arms of an appreciative serving wench who would probably like nothing better than to partake in an assignation with a famous thespian. Eyeing his hostess, he realized that maybe another alternative existed.
'You know, Storm,' he declared in his most man-of-the-world voice, 'life gets lonely on the road.'
'I know,' she replied in a respectful monotone.
'Particularly for a thespian such as myself who is used to the presence of many adoring funs.'
'Of course,' she replied in the same tone.
'And Master Volo is wonderful company… don't get me wrong… but I was wondering if…'
'You could spend the night snuggling up close to a more feminine warm body.'
'You read my mind,' he replied, leaning in close.
'No problem, it was easy,' she answered, getting to her feet and helping him to his. 'I was going to offer you one of the guest rooms, but I realize now that simply won't do.'
'Great minds do think alike.'
'Uh, yes,' she replied, leading him to the door.
Puzzled, Passepout asked, 'Where are we going? Some little hideaway cottage?'
'We are going nowhere,' she succinctly replied. 'You are going to the barn. Mystia and Mandy are waiting
