J. King: Realms of the Underdark

"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).

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 assured 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 assistant.

"Send whoever it is away," he ordered in a gruff yet disinterested tone. "I have work to do, and I do not wish to be disturbed."

"But, boss," she insisted, "he claims to have a message from one of your authors."

"Who?"

"A Mr. Geddarm."

Justin chuckled to himself, thinking, it's about time!

"All right," the publisher assented, "send him in."

Miss Silverstein hastened out of the publisher's private office and returned in nary a minute with a pale-skinned fellow who looked as if he hadn't seen the sun in a long time. The man handed him a parchment pouch that had become the signature of a Volo correspondence.

Quickly opening it, Justin read:

Justin,

Your gracious indulgence has been appreciated.

I am off to Mulmaster to finish the Moonsea guide.

Before you stands your next "great find," with an idea for a surefire best-seller. Work your traditional marketing magic on him, and success is assured for all.

Talk to you soon. Keep the gelt coming, care of my friends at the Shipmaster's Hall.

Best, Volo

Justin chuckled in gentle amusement. Volo was okay, the book would soon be on the way, and, therefore, all was right with the world. He quickly scanned the missive again, and then turned his attention to the pale gentleman standing before him.

"Volo's usually a pretty good judge of the marketing potential for a new book idea," Justin conceded out loud. "What's the hook?"

Percival Gallard Woodehous took a breath, as if to call upon all of his stores of courage, and started his pitch. "It's a cookbook, you see, involving a variety of subterranean fungi. Highly nutritious, tasty, and perfect for those interested in losing a few pounds. I've tentatively titled it The Underdark Diet."

Justin fought to hold back a smile and not give away any unnecessary enthusiasm that might drive the pale fellow's price up.

"I see," said the publisher in as even a tone as he could muster. "Continue," he instructed, leaning back and savoring the relief of having found the savior for next year's list.