The disagreement was quickly turning into a shoving match between the two pairs.

"What are they saying now?" Woodehous inquired.

"He just called Haukun a son of an illithid," Volo translated. "They should come to blows any moment now."

The drow and the kuo-toa began to use their spears as quarterstaves in a battle that had not yet escalated to lethality.

"I foresee a few bruises and contusions exchanged, but no death blows," Volo observed. "We can go back to sleep."

A thought crossed the maitre d'/waiter/cook's mind.

"Why don't we take this opportunity to escape?" Woodehous asked with great urgency. "Our captors are distracted, and we never know when another opportunity will present itself."

"Don't worry about that," Volo replied, returning his head to the pillow of his pack."You could never find your way back to the surface on your own, and my mission is nowhere near completed yet."

"What mission?" Woodehous blurted, his voice a trifle too loud.

"Hush!" Volo demanded, quickly looking over to make sure that their captors had not heard him. Luckily they were still beating each other with the shafts of their spears.

No doubt, hair pulling and scale scratching would soon follow.

"Just trust me for now," the master traveler instructed. "I a.s.sure you I have no intention of spending my remaining days as a slave or worse in some Ao-forsaken city of the drow, nor do I intend to abandon you to that fate.

Just trust me. I have a plan. Now go back to sleep."

Volo turned over, closed his eyes, and was soon snoring, leaving a puzzled Woodehous, wide-eyed and wide awake to contemplate this recent revelation of facts.

The following morning, the drow captors were far from gentle in bringing their captives to consciousness so they could resume the long trek beneath the surface of Toril. There was no sight of the kuo-toa, and Courun and Haukun looked the worse for it, their deep ebony skin mottled with bruises and swelling.

"What happened?" Volo asked innocently. "You look as if you've been attacked."

"The Underdark is laden with danger," Courun replied. "Haukun and I had to fight off an entire army of fierce kuo-toa warriors to save your sorry skins."

"Thank you," the gazetteer replied.

"We didn't save them for you," Courun replied churlishly. "Lloth prefers to render her punishments and torture. It was our responsibility to save you for her, rather than let you fall into the fishy hands of her enemies."

"Or fins, for that matter," Volo replied under his breath.

"What did you say?" the drow captor demanded.

"I said, 'Unto the finish, you are the master,' " the quick-thinking gazetteer replied.

"Well, let us be off," the bruised drow ordered. "We still have many days'

journey ahead of us."

"As you wish, Master" Volo replied. He helped Woodehous to his feet as they proceeded onward along the road to Menzoberranzan.

The words day and night lost all meaning to Volo and Woodehous as their journey continued. Darkest night bled into darkest night as they traveled onward between infrequent stops for rest and nourishment. No matter where they chose to dine, the former maitre d'/cook/waiter always rose to the occasion, fixing the foursome a meal fit for a lord of Waterdeep. Subterranean moss salad, fermented fungus ca.s.serole, and even spiced filet of cloaker (courtesy of an extremely luck Courun, who happened to accidentally run one through with his spear before it had managed to attack the group) kept their bellies fulland spirits incongruously high for a party of captors leading their captives to their doom.

Volo quickly became aware that the drow were actually beginning to feel sorry for Woodehous and himself. What sorry dark elves these two had turned out to be.

"You know," Courun confided, "if it were solely up to us, we would probably let you go, but you understand, of course.. . . You are the only means we have of clearing our names and restoring our reputations to their rightful grandeur."

"Of course," Volo replied, "a drow has to do what a drow has to do. I bet you're looking forward to going home again. Menzoberranzan is probably filled with pleasant memories for both of you."

To himself, Courun recalled his childhood and adolescence, the sense of inadequacy, the beatings, the taunting by his sisters, and the third-cla.s.s existence of a lowborn male in a maliciously matriarchal society, then said out loud, "Uh, sure. There's no place like home."

Woodehous could not fail to notice the lack of conviction in his captor's voice, and quickly stole a look at Haukun, whose face exhibited a similar cast of remembered oppression.

"During one of my travels, I met a drow in exile ... a fellow by the name of Do'TJrden," Volo offered.

"The house name is familiar," Courun offered. "I believe it is one of the minor ones."

"He was a very melancholy fellow, and probably also missed his home. How long have you been away?" Volo asked.

"I've lost track," Courun replied absently. "Many years, maybe longer."

"Well," Volo noted, "a lot of things can happen in that long a time. I'm sure things might have gotten better."

"That's right," Haukun replied righteously, "and we are returning as heroes, and devoted champions of Lloth."

"No, we mustn't forget that," Volo agreed. "We mustn't forget that, indeed."

Hoping to break the melancholy mood, the master traveler of the Realms began to regale his companions with tales of his exploits, including the time he circ.u.mnavigated the globe. Unfortunately the two drow captors showed little interest. Their entire existence had been spent in the Underdark, and they had little inclination toward places outside their own spheres of influence.

"We can sample the best you surface dwellers have to offer in Skullport,"

Haukun boasted. "Beyond that, I see little reason to expose myself to the d.a.m.ned 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 cla.s.ses."

"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 theconversation. "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 t.i.tle," he a.s.serted, "the publisher does . . . and as to the ma.n.u.script, 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 ma.n.u.script 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 ma.n.u.script."

"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 a.s.sured, "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 a.s.surances 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'sjourney, 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 a.s.sented, "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 circ.u.mstances." 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 a.s.sure 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 d.a.m.ned 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, the only time since the encounter with the pair of kuo-toa. A detachment of drow warriors traveling in the opposite direction waved them on, and a drow merchant with a lizard bearing his goods pa.s.sed by, hardly even noticing them, lost in a conversation with an illithid companion.

"I wonder if he knows Malix," Woodehous said out loud.

"Not likely," Volo answered. "Though mind flayers are fairly common around here, not many of them maintain contact with others who have decided to make their lives on the surface."

"Oh," the former maitre d'/cook/waiter replied, wondering from which dull, boring text his fellow companion in captivity was quoting this time.

"Keep your heads down as we enter the city," Courun instructed, "and try to look oppressed and sullen."

"No problem," Woodehous replied in all sincerity.

Glancing back at the mind flayer and the merchant, Volo noticed that they seemed to be pointing to the path from which the foursome had come.