"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 the allotted time for his dinner break had long since expired.

After more precious time had passed, Woodehous wondered aloud, "Which way did he go?" The question was born more out of exasperation than practicality, since Woodehous had long since given up noticing any of the other alley wayfarers of the Skullport twilight scene.

"Which way did who go, Pig?" inquired a voice from behind.

The now-former maitre d'/cook/waiter of Traitor Pick's quickly turned around and was confronted by the tentacled visage of one of his now-former patrons.

"Oh, it's you, Malix," Woodehous replied.

"Correct," replied the mind flayer mage, who had taken a fancy to Woodehous's recipe for duergar deep-dish. "I repeat the question. Which way did who go?"

"Volothamp Geddarm."

"You mean the loudmouthed storyteller from the Double G? He went thataway," Malix replied, one of his facial tentacles pointing down a dark alley. "Just follow the path of glowing dust. He must have stepped in something along the way. And beware! He was being followed by two unsavory-looking drow."

"Thanks, Malix," Woodehous replied, taking off into the shadows in the indicated direction.

"Don't thank me," Malix instructed, calling after him. "Just finish up your business and get back to work. I have a hankering for some dessert, and the faster you finish, the sooner my craving will be sated."

Woodehous raced down the narrow alley even though he couldn't see the path of glowing dust Malix had indicated. His diligence was soon rewarded. The alley ahead made a sharp turn to the right, narrowing down to a single body's width, and then right again, and opened onto an apparent dead end shrouded in total darkness.

He barely heard someone cry out "No," before he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, upon which he was immediately drowned in the pitch-black ocean of unconsciousness.

Walking in Darkness

Woodehous had no idea how long he had remained unconscious, and barely noticed coming around. He was poked and prodded to his feet, and then partly led, partly dragged through a narrow tunnel of darkness. The passage was lit occasionally by four marbles of purplish glow that bounced in step with his apparent captors.

Soon he felt the tunnel widen around him, and noted the absence of Skullport's telltale sea breeze. They seemed to be following a steady incline downward. His wrists had been tied together in front of him, and connected to a noose that had been cinched tight around his neck. The noose was in turn connected to some sort of leash, with which he was being led as he stumbled forward into the darkness.

Woodehous soon realized he was not the only unwilling member of the subterranean party.

"C'mon, you guys," implored a voice Woodehous recognized as Volo's, "can't you give us a break? We've been walking for hours. Can't we rest a bit?"

"All right," replied a mouth located just below two of the dancing purple orbs. "Skullport is now far behind us, and it would be foolish of you to imagine you could find your way back, anyway. You may sit and rest a bit."

"May I reach into my traveling pouch?" the famous gazetteer requested. "I have a gem that gives off a bit of illumination, which might make things a little easier for those of us not gifted with such acute night vision."

"All right," the voice replied, "but no funny stuff. Though I have every intention of taking you alive to Menzoberranzan, that does not preclude me from certain nonlethal treatments of your person that I am sure you would find quite unpleasant."

"Funny stuff? I wouldn't think of it," Volo replied.

Woodehous heard a rustling like fingers fishing in a purse, which was followed by a flash that required him to quickly shut his eyes. Slowly he reopened them, squinting toward the illumination. He turned away from the source of the light and took a few seconds to gaze at the surroundings, which slowly came into view as his eyes grew accustomed to the luminescence.

The group was in a cavern with walls formed of what appeared to be black glass, smooth and flat. If the telltale shadows of their party of four hadn't been cast upon the walls, there would have been an illusion of infinite darkness, the void of starless space.

"You look kind of familiar," Volo said to his fellow captive. "Do I know you?"

Woodehous returned his attention to the source of the illumination, realizing that the question had been directed at him. The light showed that Volo's hands and neck were similarly bound. "You probably don't remember me, but…" the former maitre d'/cook/waiter started to answer.

Volo snapped his fingers and quickly interrupted.

"You used to work at the Shipmaster's Hall back in Waterdeep," said the gazetteer. "I never forget a face. What in Ao's name were you doing in Skullport?"

Woodehous was at a loss for words. He wanted to blame the writer for all of his woes: his loss of social status, his banishment to that culinary pit in Skullport, the besmirching of his reputation… But such accusations would have all been for naught, given their current situation.

"I worked there," Woodehous replied, "at Traitor Pick's…"

Volo snapped his fingers, once again interrupting. "You must be Pig. I've heard wonderful things about your cooking. I can't wait to try it. How did you wind up working there?"

"Thanks for the compliment," the beleaguered gourmet replied, now resigned to the fact that he would probably be known by that horrible moniker until his dying day-whose possible proximity was beginning to cause him great consternation."My full name is Percival Gallard Woodehous. I lost my job at the Shipmaster's Hall through circumstances beyond my control, and I needed a job."

"Quit your yammering!" one of the drow captors ordered, kicking Woodehous in the side and cuffing Volo alongside the head. "Rest while you can, and you'd best do it quietly. It's a long walk to Menzoberranzan."

"Sorry," the gazetteer apologized. "I just figured that since it was going to be such a long trip, we might want to get to know each other a bit. Now I assume both you and your equally dark-skinned companion are probably two of Lloth's famous warriors."

"We will be, once we bring you in," the captor boasted proudly. "Soon everyone in Menzoberranzan will know the names of Courun and Haukun as the lone protectors of the privacy of the Spider Queen. No surface dweller has ever dared violate the sanctity of her domain, let alone document such visitations in a travel guide."

"You caught me red-handed," Volo conceded. "I hadn't even had the chance to turn the manuscript over to my publisher yet."

"And you never shall," said the drow known as Courun. "You are our ticket out of exile."

"And what am I?" Woodehous inquired, quickly receiving another kick to the ribs.

"Just another slave bound for the work pits," said the drow known as Haukun, "and believe me, it's not a pleasant place."

"That's why we left," Courun inserted. "Had we stayed around, that would have been the most favorable fate available to us."