"I almost forgot," Volo said to himself. Then, out loud, he said, "Courun, I think Percy and I have to take our boots off before we get into the city."

"Why?" the captor inquired.

"Custom, I think," the gazetteer explained, making it up as he went along, "at least that's what I heard, and we wouldn't want to get things off on the wrong foot, I mean, just when you and Haukun are on the verge of returning torespectability."

Courun turned to Haukun, and asked, "Do you remember anything about captives having to be brought into the city barefoot?"

"No," Haukun answered, "but you and I have been away for a long time, and he does seem to know a lot about these types of things."

The two drow helped their captives off with their boots while the puzzled Woodehous looked at his companion for a.s.surance.

"Believe me," the gazetteer a.s.serted, "it's important."

Woodehous realized this last comment was strictly for his own rea.s.surance.

Luckily for the two bound captives, the road ahead was smooth, posing little threat to the delicate soles of their feet. The former maitre d'/cook/waiter noticed that Volo took more than a pa.s.sing interest in their surroundings, as if he were trying to memorize everything in a matter of seconds.

The road opened out into a huge cavern, within which the city was situated.

All four travelers were momentarily speechless in awe of its magnificence.

"Araurikaurak," Volo mouthed, his eyes wide in wonder.

"No," Courun corrected, "Menzoberranzan."

"I was just using its dwarven name," Volo replied, adding absently, still in awe of its splendor, "It's just as I pictured it."

"You mean, as you remembered it," Woodehous corrected, asking, "don't you?"

"Whatever," the master traveler replied absently, ". . . and I am here now."

Menzoberranzan The city itself filled the entire cavern. Volo had been slightly mistaken when he called the city Araurikaurak. In reality that was the name of the cavern, quite literally translated from dwarven as Great Pillar Cavern. Legend had it that the entire open area was formerly the lair of a gigantic spider, but given the proclivity of the drow for adoration of all things arachnoid, the validity of this legend was more than open to discussion.

From their vantage point just outside and above the city, they were able to look down on the wonders of the entire subterranean complex.

Woodehous noticed a lake at the lower end of the cavern, and whimsically asked, "I wonder how the fishing is?"

"If you are lucky, you might find out," Courun replied. "That's Donigarten, where the slave pens are maintained. In the nearby dung fields, I am sure you would find ample fungi and mushrooms to season the nautical fare you'd fish."

From this distance, the former maitre d'/cook/waiter could just make out some of the slaves paddling around the lake on rafts, some leading beasts of burden, others little better than beasts of burden themselves. This was not an existence to be envied.

At the highest part of the city floor stood the Tier Breche, home of the Academy, where drow received their training. The prospects of life in the slave pens for Woodehous was every bit as abhorrent to him as the memories that flooded back to the two drow warriors upon once again seeing the place of their education.

To the other side of the city floor was the Qu'ellarz'orl, a plateau separated from the lower city by a grove of giant mushrooms. This was where the n.o.ble houses were located, and where Courun and Haukun expected to regain their rightful places. Numerous flashes of faerie fire in the houses indicated that there were several parties going on, commemorating various celebrations of one sort and another.

"Soon, they will be throwing parties for us," Courun replied with a haughtiness that was quite unbecoming.

Looming above the entire city cavern was the pillar Narbondel, whose change in glow indicated the pa.s.sing time of the day. Its smooth yet rough surface gave an appearance that could not have been fostered by means other than the pure refining forces of nature itself. This was the only structure in the entire city that had not been remade by the skillful digits and sure hands of drow artisans.

Volo stood in awe of the exotic beauty of the place. Though he had traversed the entire world of Toril, he had never looked upon a city to compare withthis one. True, he had never been to Netheril or Cormanthyr, whose beauty was the stuff of legends, but both of those cities were long dead before he had been born. Menzoberranzan was still very much alive and in its glory, even if that glory was pervasively evil.

The four travelers lost track of how long they had been standing on the ledge, and probably would have continued to stare off in awe had they not been interrupted by two representatives of the Dark Dominion, who prided themselves on knowing how to deal with unwanted interlopers.

"What are you.doing here?" the senior patrolman demanded in clipped Drowish, which Volo was barely able to understand. "What are you doing with these two surface dwellers?"

"They are our prisoners," Courun and Haukun replied in proud unison. "And we have come to turn them over to the matron mother."

Pointing at Volo, Courun continued his spiel. "This one here," he stated with pride, "is a blemish to the honor of our beloved Lloth. He has dared to violate her domain and would have made it the object of mockery for all the surface dwellers had we not stopped him."

The two patrolmen looked at each other and exchanged signals in the silent language of the drow. Neither was amused, nor did they know what to do with the party at hand. Finally, the senior one returned his attention to Courun and Haukun.

"Of what house do you belong?" the patrolman demanded.

"House Salato," the two proud drow warriors replied, once again in unison. [ The guards laughed, and Woodehous distinctly heard Volo murmur, "Uh, oh,"

under his breath. ; "That house hasn't been around in over a century," the senior patrolman advised. "It was wiped out after an unsuccessful bid for power. You'd better come along with us."

A look of panic raced across the two drow warriors' faces.

"Salato . . . gone?" they cried. In unison, they screamed, and then took off in opposite directions.

Woodehous felt Volo's suddenly unbound hand grasp his tightly.

"We'll let the jade spiders track them down," the older patrolman decided.

"Let's bring in these two surface dweller prisoners and take any credit that is due i for their capture for ourselves."

"But where did they go?" the other patrolman inquired, for the two prisoners were no longer there, as if they had both just vanished into thin air.

Back to the Double G "Pig, where have you been?"

Woodehous immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Wurlitzer, the orcish bartender.

"What are you doing here?" Woodehous asked in amazement.

"Working," the ore replied, "just like you used to do before you were fired from Traitor Pick's for not showing up for work after your dinner break."

The former maitre d'/waiter/cook quickly looked around, and to his astonishment found himself back in the Gentleman's Groggery in Skullport, his companion, the legendary Volothamp Geddarm, by his side.

"How . . . ?" Woodehous tried to sputter out a question.

"... long have you been away?" the ore completed. "A while. Long enough for Traitor Pick's to get a new cook. He's not bad either, but I'm sure everyone will agree that he's no Pig Woodehous."

"No ... I ..." Woodehous continued to sputter, not fully understanding what must have happened.

"Why don't you bring us two mugs of your finest, my good fellow," Volo interrupted.

"Of course, good sir," Wurlitzer replied. Remembering the guinea tip that Volo had left during his last visit to the Double G, he quickly set off to fetch the requested refreshments.

"What happened?" Woodehous demanded, relieved to be back in civilization, but confused, nonetheless."We're back in Skullport," the master traveler replied matter-of-factly.

"I know that," Woodehous said, ". . . but how?"

"We teleported," Volo explained. "I picked up a few tricks on my last trip around Toril, and one of them involved the teleporting properties of necromancer gems."

"Necromancer gems?"

"Yes, thank you," the master traveler replied, interrupting his explanation to acknowledge Wurlitzer's drink service. "Necromancer gems are wonderful travelers' aids. Large ones act as temporary portals, such as the one I left here when our journey began, and the one I carried with me. Smaller ones, on the other hand, ; can be ground into a dust that will leave a luminescent I trail that is only visible to the eye of a trained mage."

"That's why we had to take our boots off before entering the city," Woodehous observed. : "Of course," Volo concurred. "After all, it would have been absurd to expect all drow to be as dense as Courun and Haukun."

"But why did you want to leave a trail?"

"So I could find my way there and back again."

"But what about your first time? The one you wrote your book about... the book that got us into this mess?" ; "This was my first trip to Menzoberranzan," the master traveler confessed.

"I'd never been there before. The book was just a hoax-bait to rile the righteous demeanor of some drow and make him take me to the great city, to satisfy Lloth's honor."

"There is no Volo Does Menzo?"

"Well, not just yet," the gazetteer replied, ". . . but soon there will be.

Let us finish our drinks, and I will ; fill you in on my plans."

The two travelers finished their drinks, and then followed them up with two bowls of stew and another mug of grog, each. When they were both feeling reasonably comfortable, Volo paid the bill, and directed Woodehous to accompany him for the rest of the explanation. i "Now we must retrace our steps from that memorable night not too long ago,"

the traveler instructed. "Observe."

Volo removed the gem of luminescence from its place in the thong around his neck, attached another multi-faceted gem to its base, and then returned it to its resting place in the pocket on the thong.

"Certain trained mages can follow this trail with a naked eye," Volo lectured, immediately reminding Woodehous of Malix's reference to a path of glowing dust, "but I prefer to use this."

Volo focused the gem's luminescence on the path before him. What had once been bare and unblemished rock was now adorned with a pair of glowing footsteps.

"Now, after a good night's rest, I can journey back to the city of the drow, in disguise, of course, complete my research, and-poof!-VbZo's Guide to the Underdark becomes a reality, complete with directions there and back again from Skullport. Do you want to join me on this little trip? I a.s.sure you it will be much easier than last time."

"No, thank you," Woodehous replied. "I've had my fill of adventure for a lifetime."

"Well," replied the master traveler, "the least I can do is give you a letter of recommendation. If I recall correctly, you were a victim of circ.u.mstance back at the Shipmaster's Hall in Waterdeep. I'm sure a letter from me could smooth things over with the powers that be. Restauranting genius such as yours should not go to waste. Though I am sure I've lost some weight these past few weeks, I've never felt less than gastronomically satisfied, and I owe it all to you."

"Thank you, good sir," the pale thin gentleman replied, realizing that what he had sought at their journey's beginning, he had just obtained without even asking for it, perhaps making the whole escapade worthwhile after all.

Think nothing of it, "the gazetteer replied. "Come, let us find ourselves a room for tonight. Tomorrow, I will provide you with your letter, and I will beon my way."

The two travelers fested like boon companions, and slept late the following morning. True to his word, Volo gave Woodehous a letter addressed to the proprietor of the Shipmaster's Hall, before he made his way back down the alley from whence their adventure had started. The former soon-to-be maitre d'/cook/waiter decided to accompany the greatest traveler of all Faerun to the outskirts of Skullport to bid him one last farewell before he recommenced his journey through the Underdark.

With gems in hand and disguise in his pack, Volo set off down the alleyways.

Woodehous followed close behind.

Woodehous remembered the narrowing pa.s.sageway, and the sudden series of sharp right turns, and was equally surprised as Volo when they found themselves facing a dead end.

"I don't understand," the master traveler said. "The footprints just stop here. There is no evidence of a portal, or a secret pa.s.sageway, or anything-just a blank wall."

Just then, a voice vaguely familiar to Woodehous piped in. "Looking for something?" the voice asked. "Oh, it's you, Pig. Long time no see." The voice belonged to Knytro the dwarf, Woodehous's former patron from Traitor Pick's.

"We're looking for a pa.s.sageway out of town," Volo replied. "I'm sure there used to be one here."

"Oh, indeed there was," Knytro replied, "up until a few days ago when I filled it in. A quake farther down the line made the whole tunnel unstable, so I closed it down. I dug it, so it's my right to fill it in, and I did. But don't worry, there are plenty of other subterranean roads leading out of town. One is pretty much as good as another."

Woodehous felt sorry for his companion in captivity. True, other tunnel trails existed, but none of them were marked with the glowing dust to lead the way.

Volothamp Geddarm was left back at Square One.

"Oh, well," the master traveler replied. "Maybe this volume was just not meant to be. I still have Volo's Guide to the Moonsea to complete, and I'm a little behind on that, so I feel a little guilty about leaving Justin-my publisher-in the lurch after having promised him a surprise best-seller for his next list."

"Oh, well," Woodehous concurred. "There doesn't seem to be much you can do about it. Let's go back to the inn we stayed in last night. Maybe they'll let me borrow the use of their kitchen so I can fix you a conciliatory dinner."

"Can I tag along?" the dwarf requested. Tve really missed your slop. For my guineas, there isn't a better cook in the entire Underdark."

"Indeed," replied the master traveler, "that sounds like a cracker of a solution. Who needs the Shipmaster's Hall. Certainly not you. You should return to Waterdeep for a position more befitting your talents. Rip up that letter. I will give you another one in its place, one that will be far more profitable for everyone involved."

"After we eat, of course," Knytro clarified, having inserted himself into the soon-to-be dining group.

"Of course," the master traveler replied. "Of course."

Woodehous was excited by the apparent zeal of the master traveler, and paused just for a moment to reflect on their adventure together. "What do you think will happen to Courun and Haukun?"

"I don't rightly know," the master traveler admitted. "As the sole survivors of an overthrown house, both of them are marked by drow law for extermination.

Still, some say Ao does watch out for simpletons, and I have to believe that applies to the drow as well as to surface dwellers. But enough dwelling on the past. Great plans await, for me in Mulmaster, and for you in Waterdeep. But, first, a meal!"

"That's what I've been waiting for," Knytro interjected. "No one makes slop like Pig."

"That's Percy," Volo corrected.

"Whatever," Woodehous added with a chuckle as they all set out for the inn.

The End (Almost).POSTSCRIPT Back at the Publishing House Justin Tym had every reason to be joyous. Volo's Guide to Shadowdale was outperforming all of the previous books in the series, perhaps helped by an unexpected introduction from the mage of Shadowdale himself, causing more than just the publisher to wonder what his favorite gazetteer had on Elminster, to elicit a favor of such magnitude. Cormyr: A Novel was also selling through at an exceptionally nice rate, despite the efforts of rival publisher Delbert Reah to cause confusion in the marketplace by releasing an inferior volume called Cormyr: A History by Green Grubbwood (an alias if there ever was one), with a cover treatment more than a bit similar to the one on Justin's volume.

TWL's sale were at an all-time high, and its position as the top publisher in all of the City of Splendors-if not all of Faerun, for that matter-was safely a.s.sured for yet another year.

All was rosy, Justin thought to himself as he looked out over the irregular rooftops that stretched along the labyrinthine corridors of the city, a single floor below his office's window. Still, there was no word from Volo.

"Uh, boss?" said Miss Elissa Silverstein, an exceptionally youthful flaxen blonde who had recently replaced Miss Latour as Tym's right hand. "There is someone here to see you."

Justin turned his chair away from the window to face his nubile a.s.sistant.