When the dinner trade reached its close, Woodehous locked the front door behind him and set out to the Gentleman's Groggery for his evening repast, leaving a sign on the door that simply said, "Out to Sup."

At the Gentleman's Groggery

Though it was true that the cuisine and service at the Gentleman's Groggery did not even come close to the level expected at Traitor Pick's, let alone one of the more fashionable Waterdhavian establishments, when it was Woodehous's turn to dine, he considered one thing requisite: he would be served and enjoy the amenities of any other paying customer. The niceties at the Double G (as the locals called it) were scant, true, but the food was at least digestible, the service less than threatening, and the locale relatively convenient. By default, the Double G had become Woodehous's regular dining spot.

"Hey, Pig," Wurlitzer, the orcish bartender, called as Woodehous entered the establishment, "how's the trade at Traitor's?"

'Typical," Woodehous replied, taking a place at the bar to avoid a rather raucous group gathered at the tables. He requested, "The usual, please, my good fellow."

The bartender snorted in agreement and poured the fallen-from-grace society caterer a glass of wine. "Have you heard about the new place opening down the street? I think it's called the Cup and Lizard, or something."

"You mean the Flagon and the Dragon," Woodehous corrected.

"That's right," Wurlitzer agreed, setting a plate in front of the recently arrived customer. "I believe they're looking for experienced help. You want me to put in a good word for you?"

"You're the second person today who has offered to 'put in a good word for me,' and though your kindness is appreciated, I prefer to decline at this time. My next position must certainly be as far away as possible from this hellhole we call home," Woodehous replied.

"Skullport's not such a bad place," the ore responded defensively. "I've lived here me whole life, and although it's a slight comedown for the upper-crust likes of you, I have a feeling things are beginning to look up."

"Oh, really?" Woodehous replied sarcastically, immediately afterward hoping that he hadn't hurt Wurlitzer's feelings. The ore was the closest thing he had to a friend. "How so?"

Wurlitzer immediately began to brim with excitement.

"I was hoping you'd ask," the ore replied. "Guess who we have as a guest tonight?"

"I have no idea," Woodehous replied, in no mood for guessing games.

"It's an old friend of yours," the ore prodded. "C'mon, guess."

Realizing the bartender wouldn't give up until he did, Woodehous swallowed the sustenance that was in his mouth, wiped his lips with a napkin, and, with a shrug, named the first person that came to mind.

"I really have no idea-" he said, then offered "-the legendary gazetteer, Volothamp Geddarm?"

A look of puzzlement seized the ore visage.

"Does he also like to be called Volo?" Wurlitzer asked, obviously not familiar with the great author's full name.

Woodehous was taken aback in shock.

"You mean Volothamp Geddarm is here… tonight?" he asked incredulously.

Wurlitzer scratched his head, trying to spur on his meager mental faculties. "If you mean the guy who does those guidebooks and likes to be called Volo and was supposed to give you a good review at the Shipmaster's Hall, well, yeah."

"Where is he?" Woodehous demanded.

"Over there," the ore replied, gesturing to the raucous group at the tables. "He seems to be holding court or something. He started out telling a few really neat stories about his travels and attracted a crowd."

A cry of "Yeehah!" was heard from the other side of the room, followed by peals of laughter from various revelers.

"And the next one's even better," the same voice bellowed, an alcoholic slur evident in his voice.

"He seems to be a bit in his cups already," Woodehous observed out loud.

"Sure does," Wurlitzer agreed. "I like it when a newcomer sees fit to enjoy all of the Double G's empties."

"You mean amenities," Woodehous corrected, leaving his barstool to take a place at one of the tables along the periphery of the VIP's audience.

The ore watched in puzzlement, unaware of his own propensity for malapropisms.

Woodehous quickly scanned the numerous empty chairs that surrounded the legendary gazetteer, more than a few of the supper club's clientele had gotten their fill of the entertainment provided by the jaunty and boisterous fellow who claimed to be the greatest traveler in all Faerun.

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.