Anthology - Once Around the Realms

"Well, maybe we are," Volo replied.

"It will cost you," the dwarf interjected.

"We will be willing to fairly compensate the sky-ship's owner for the charter."

"Good!" the dwarf replied. He quaffed the last of the ale and jumped to his feet, tossing a piece of parchment on the table. "Come to that address tomorrow at precisely midday… and come alone. If I see more than the two of you there, I will leave."

"We'll be there," Volo assured. "Tomorrow, then." And with that, the dwarf left. "I hope he bathes tonight," said Passepout. "So do I," agreed the master traveler, "but somehow I doubt it."

The two travelers slept late the following morning, but left the inn with more than enough time to reach the appointed place of their rendezvous with the dwarfish airship broker.

" 'Meet me at the abandoned boathouse at the farthest end of the Hale shipyard, signed Jonas Grumby' " read Volo from the parchment that had been left on the table. "I guess Jonas Grumby is our aromatic dwarven friend."

"Aromatic nothing. He just plain stank!" said the thespian. "I don't know if I'll be able to stand being cooped up with him for an around-the-world flight."

They arrived at the shipyard with time to spare. With the exception of a teenage barefooted beachcomber who was feeding the sea gulls, no one seemed to be around for miles. Likewise, no airship was in sight either, only the broken-down boat-house, which looked as if it were ready to cave in on itself.

"Hey! Over here!" Jonas yelled from the door of the boathouse. "Get inside! Quick!"

"All indications point to Captain Grumby here not necessarily being a businessman used to doing things on the up and up," Volo whispered to the thespian as they approached the boathouse. "We'll have to be careful. We can't afford to buy a pig in a poke."

"No!" Passepout replied in mock shock. "I thought he was as honest as Cadderly the cleric."

"Enough of your whispers," Grumby scolded. "An airship is what you want, an airship is what I have. See!"

Grumby pointed inside the door. The ramshackle boathouse was only a front, with walls propped up by poles in the sand. Inside, resting on the broad beams of its hull, was a two-masted airship with the name Minnow painted on the side.

Volo ventured farther into the pseudo-boathouse and walked around the ship with a critical eye.

"As I recall," Volo commented, "Halruaan airships have three masts of flexible wood to hold their windsails in place. This, uh, ship has only two masts, and no sails at all."

"That is true," Jonas replied, as if his answer sufficed.

"Now, I realize that the ship is powered by the spell rod, which seems to be in place, and not the sails, but, again if I remember correctly, weren't the sails used for steering?"

"Yes," replied the dwarf, whose odor from the night before had not improved.

"So," Volo persisted, "Tiow do you steer it?"

"All of that can be explained later. Do you think she suits your needs?"

"Is she airworthy?"

"I guarantee it!" the dwarf assured.

"Mister Volo," Passepout interrupted, taking his former master aside, "I don't trust him."

"Neither do I," the master traveler replied, "but we don't seem to have much of a choice."

Just then a new voice joined the conversation within the boathouse.

"Excuse me, I was wondering if perhaps there were any openings for a mate's position. I have sailing experience."

The voice belonged to the young beachcomber who had been feeding the sea gulls at the shoreline. He was human, of indeterminate mid-teen age, with skin the color of an acquired tan. His clothes were ragged, his frame thin, probably from too many missed meals, and his feet were calloused and dirty from having gone without shoes for a fair amount of time. He was also quite handsome in a rugged sort of way and physically fit, with the bright blue eyes of a person who did not overindulge in ale or any other intoxicating or debilitating substance.

"Scram!" Jonas yelled. "This is a private matter."

"No, stay." Volo countered the obstreperous dwarf's order. There was something vaguely familiar about the lad, Volo thought, and another body to help on the ship might come in handy if Grumby tried anything. Even if the kid didn't have enough experience to fly the ship, he could probably take care of the tasks that the dwarf no doubt expected his passengers to tend to.

"Do you want the charter or not?" the dwarf persisted. "I don't care what you do with the overgrown urchin. He can come along or stay behind. My price is based on slag commission."

"Slag commission?" Volo queried.

Passepout again took the master traveler aside.

"He thinks we're smugglers," the thespian replied. "Slag commission means he can lay claim on one third of the revenues from the sales of whatever we are transporting."

Volo thought for a moment and went back to the dwarf. "That seems reasonable," the master traveler replied, "but what will we do for a contract?"

"No contract is necessary. I'm a shrewd judge of character, and I can tell you must be smuggling something real dear," Grumby replied, taking out a gunnysack that was inscribed with various glyphs. "Just grab hold of the sack, and agree that I am entitled to one third of the proceeds of whatever you are smuggling. Agreed?"

"And you in turn agree to fly us for an indeterminate period until our, uh, transaction is completed. Agreed?"

"Agreed," replied Grumby.

"Then I agree, also," replied Volo, taking hold of the gunnysack.

The dwarf and Volo were bathed in a black aura, which quickly dissipated.

"There," the dwarf replied, "we have a contract, enforceable by the god of thieves, Mask himself. If either of us backs out, he forfeits his life. Now, what will I be hauling?"

"Just us," Volo replied.

"No," Grumby answered, losing patience, "the loot, the slag. What are you smuggling?"

"We're not smuggling anything," Passepout answered.

"But we agreed to slag commission!" the dwarf persisted.

"Yes," Volo agreed, "and one third of our ill-gotten gain is now yours. Unfortunately, as we lack any slag, I'm afraid that your take for this charter is therefore nothing."

"No!" the dwarf screamed, horrified that he had been swindled.

"And by your own devices, you are now bound to fulfill our charter or risk the ire of Mask," added Volo.

"No, I mean it can't be… aaggh," the dwarf raged, and then all of a sudden regained his composure. "You win. You got me, Wands. Where are we going?"

"Wands?" Volo replied, shocked to hear the name of the imposter who was indirectly responsible for his current plight.

"Yeah," Grumby replied, "that's your real name, isn't it? I mean, I heard the fat guy call you Volo back at the inn. Volo, also known as Marco Volo, also known as Marcus Wands, scoundrel, scalawag, rogue, smuggler, and thief."

"I'm afraid that you're mistaken," the master traveler replied. "I am Volothamp Geddarm, the master traveler of all Faerun and gazetteer author of the best-selling Volo's Guide series."

"Never heard of you," the churlish dwarf replied.

"I am the original Volo, the one whom Wands was impersonating."

"You don't say," replied Grumby, scratching the ill-kept thatch that was his beard.

Well, that explains a lot of things, Volo thought to himself. Maybe Wands has enhanced my reputation in ways that are beneficial in the right circumstances, and circles.

"So, Giddyup…"

"That's Geddarm… but just call me Volo."

"All right, Mister Just-Call-Me-Volo," the dwarf replied with a malicious gleam in his eye, "so where are we bound?"

"First to Kara-Tur, and from there farther east," Volo replied.

"Well, a bargain is a bargain for as long as it's a bond," the dwarf replied, resigned to the arrangement. "Just give me few minutes to get things ready, and well be off."