The Mage in the Iron Mask - Brian Thomsen [83]
"All Chesslyn has to do is turn us in to the city watch, and you'll do the rest?" the master traveler asked.
"Now, Volo," Chesslyn began, "you know I can take care of-"
"That is all," Honor assured. "If there was a way that we could engineer this coup without your assistance we would, but unfortunately we are a bit shorthanded at the moment, and a blind old man and a decrepitly ancient wizard can't do it all themselves. You and Passepout are our inside reinforcements. Unless we are able to remove the mask from Rassendyll here, all will be lost. No one will learn that he is the High Blade's brother, and he will die a miserable death, choking on his own beard."
Volo looked at Rassendyll, then at Chesslyn, and then at Passepout, before saying, "All right, we're in."
Passepout looked at Rassendyll anxiously, but didn't protest, though Chesslyn did hear him mutter a sarcastic, "wonderful" under his breath.
Mason then went over a preliminary map of the keep to acquaint Volo and Passepout with the intricacies of the architecture. The two were then washed and bathed by the able-handed Poins and Hal, fed, and dispatched to Mulmaster in the custody of an old crone with a crossbow who sounded, to the very discerning ear, suspiciously like Chesslyn Onaubra.
* * * * *
On the Road Back to Mulmaster:
"Why do you and I have to be the reinforcements?" Passepout asked his boon companion. "Why couldn't Fullstaff have sent Poins, Hal, Hotspur, or any of his other lackeys?"
"Probably," the master traveler of all Toril answered, "because he didn't want to risk anything happening to them."
Volo and Passepout's hands were tied to the saddles of their horses in such a way that unless they sat perfectly upright and still, they would fall off and be dragged under the hooves of the surefooted stallions of the stable of Honor Fullstaff, whose servants did the binding, in Honor's words, to make their captivity convincing.
Chesslyn's long sword was hidden on a pack mule that followed closely behind so as not to arouse the suspicions of the guards at the gate, and in its place was a modified crossbow.
Along the way, Volo passed the time with stories of exploits similar to his own that he had picked up in various taverns around Toril. Chesslyn's weapon at hand reminded him of one that he had heard recently.
"I remember an article a while back that I read about a man with a crossbow who searched all Faerun in hopes of finding the meaning of life, but instead found love, laughs, and friendship," he began.
"What was it's title?" Chesslyn asked.
"On the Road with Crossbow, Hope, and Lamour."
"Lamour?" she queried.
"It means female love interest in some foreign tongue."
"Oh," she replied wistfully.
Volo could almost make out the towers of Mulmaster peeking up in the distance, and rashly chose this moment to make his move.
"Speaking of love, laughs, and friendship," he said quickly, slurring over the first "l" word, "when this is all over I was wondering if maybe you and I could spend a little more time getting to know each other."
"What do you have in mind?" she asked coyly.
"Maybe dinner?" he asked carefully.
"I have an even better idea," she countered, "how about…"
The tete-a-tete of the two travelers was interrupted by a loud snore issuing forth from the unconscious Passepout, who, despite the bumpy road had somehow managed to fall asleep in the saddle. Chesslyn and Volo turned in his direction, and in doing so noticed an advance squad of Hawks approaching, no doubt a patrol for the city watch.
Chesslyn put a finger to her lips, indicating discretion, and whispered, "Later."
It was the last word to pass between them, as the oncoming Hawks took possession of the two prisoners, promising their old crone captor that she would be notified when the reward for their capture could be picked up.
The two Hawks