Realms of the Underdark - J. Robert King [110]
With the exception of the expensive clothes and the drunken dishevelment of his bearing, the travel writer looked just as Woodehous remembered him. A neatly trimmed beard, a jaunty beret, and a prosperous paunch, all wrapped around a gift for gab, a sly wink, and a smile. This was Volothamp Geddarm, the same gentleman whose earlier unexpected departure from the Shipmaster's Hall had cost Percival Gallard Woodehous his job, as well as several ranks on the Waterdhavian society scales. This was the man directly responsible for his current social banishment to Skullport.
"… And then there was the time I flew to the Horde-lands in a jerry-rigged Halruaan skyship…" the fellow rambled.
Oh, great, Woodehous thought, I guess I'm going to have to sit through a full set of the amazing adventures of Volo. It might be worth it if I get the opportunity to talk to him alone later on. If I play "the good audience," he just might intercede on my behalf back at the Shipmaster's Hall.
"… And then there was the time I was abducted by a group of dopplegangers off the streets of Waterdeep…"
I guess I'll just have to bide my time, Woodehous thought.
The crowd further thinned as the self-absorbed storyteller rambled on. The once-dense mob of fans and admirers had considerably dissipated itself. All were gone save for a few star-struck ores; a pair of foul-smelling dwarves, who freely helped themselves to massive quantities of the gazetteer's libations; an inebriated ogre, who had nodded off in an upright position; and a pair of thuggish drow, who listened to the storyteller like panthers listening to approaching prey.
"… And my next book is going to be really different…"
The drow pair continued to stare unblinkingly.
"… Imagine a travel guide that is so exotic…"
He really loves the sound of his own voice, Woodehous observed silently.
"… so mysterious, why I bet it's safe to say that there are some who would stop at nothing to prevent this manuscript from being published.…"
Yeah, really, Woodehous thought sarcastically, nothing but hype.
"… And I think I'll call it Volo Does Memo…"
At the mention of the title, the two drow quickly exchanged hushed words, rose from their chairs, and hastened out of the tavern, flipping a guinea to Wurlitzer to cover their tab.
"… It will be the first book with directions to and from the great city of Menzoberranzan, a virtual travelers' guide to the Underdark."
A smattering of applause followed as the audience took advantage of the traveler's pause to quaff the remainder of their brew and quickly dispersed before the storyteller could begin to rant again.
I guess the crowd knows when it has had enough, Woodehous thought, watching them disperse to the far corners of the supper club. When he turned back to the place where the storyteller had been sitting Woodehous was shocked to see that Volo had already gathered up his pack, flipped a salute and a guinea coin to the bartender in thanks for his gracious hospitality, and was already out the door, and on his way to Ao-knows-where.
"Oh, no," Woodehous cried out loud, hastening in fast pursuit of the key to his possible redemption. He was almost out the door when an orcish arm grabbed him by the collar.
"Pig, old boy," Wurlitzer said in a friendly tone that didn't mask an implied threat, "aren't you forgetting something?"
The erstwhile maitre d'/waiter/cook of Traitor Pick's quickly took half a second to fish from his pouch the first coin his fingers touched, flipped it to the bartender, and continued on his way, in earshot long enough to hear the bartender remark that three guineas in a row in tips wasn't bad for a midweek evening without paid entertainment.
Glancing in both directions down the nocturnal alleys of Skullport-and seeing his quarry neither way-Woodehous quickly chose a likely course and set off in search of the traveler. He cursed his own haste and the misfortune that had just cost him his dinner allowance for the whole week, and wholly disregarded the fact that