"I thought you were going to call it Volo Does Memo," Courun interrupted.

"Well, yes, and as I was…" Volo struggled to continue.

"So which is it?" Haukun demanded.

"And where is it?" Courun insisted.

Quickly regaining his composure, Volo calmly explained. "I don't get to pick the title," he asserted, "the publisher does… and as to the manuscript, don't worry about it."

"Well, give it to us," Haukun demanded.

"I don't have it with me," Volo continued, "but don't you worry. It's well hidden. No one back in Skullport will ever find it."

The two drow would-be warriors once again looked at each other and conversed in their native tongue. True, their entire retrieval of the interloping journalist would be for naught if the manuscript ever fell into another surface dweller's hands, thus undercutting the validity of their great deed and threatening their chances of vindication. The two talked for a few minutes, and finally nodded in agreement.

"If anyone asks," Haukun instructed boldly, "Courun and I destroyed your only copy of the manuscript."

"All right," Volo replied.

"And if either of you contradicts us," Courun added, "it will go extremely bad for you."

"We wouldn't think of it," Volo assured, "would we, Percy?"

"Of course not," Percy choked out, though he was quite unsure how his own fate could be made any worse than it already was.

"Fine," Courun said with a certain degree of finality. "Then let us proceed onward. I believe we're almost there."

"But of course," Volo agreed, once again helping Woodehous to his feet.

"Do you know any stories about drow maidens?" Haukun inquired as they set off down the tunnel.

"I do believe that back in Skullport I heard something about a young girl named Liriel, but I'm afraid the details have escaped me for the moment. Perhaps you would care to hear about a little intrigue that took place around Undermountain not too long ago. It was a virtual comedy of errors, an escapade of adventure, and involved two fellows by the names of Mirt and Durnan, and…"

Woodehous discreetly tried to ignore the latest tale being told by the gazetteer, who so loved the sound of his own voice. It was almost as if there were two Volos: the gregarious fool who didn't mind being captured by drow buffoons, and the savvy traveler whose exploits were legendary. Woodehous believed he had only observed this more capable fellow on the night their captors fought with the equally inept and juvenile fish-men, and he realized his only hope for escape lay with the assurances that he had been offered on that night. If they had any hope of escape, this more capable side would need to resurface… and really soon.

But, perhaps, it, too, was only some long-winded piece of fiction.

At the City's Edge

As Woodehous and Volo were roused from their sleep to begin another day's journey, the master traveler of all Faerun noticed a difference in their captors' demeanor.

"We're close to the city, aren't we?" Volo observed.

"I'm afraid so," Courun replied, a leather thong held in his outstretched hands. "I'm going to have to retie your hands now."

"We understand," Volo assented, "but, please, not too tight."

Dark slender fingers did their work, and the two captives were returned to their state of bound captivity in as painless a fashion as was possible.

Volo looked at the maitre d'/cook/waiter, and said out loud, "Now, that's not too bad, considering the circumstances." Then, in a softer voice, he added, "Whatever happens, stick with me, even if the alternative presented to you seems more desirable."

"What do you mean?" Woodehous whispered back.

"If they ask you to choose between a life of slavery, and the chance of being tortured right alongside me, choose the torture."

"Why?"

"I can only assure you of your deliverance back to Skullport if you remain by my side. By any means necessary, you must remain at my side," the master traveler insisted, biting off his last word sharply as he heard one of their drow captors once again approaching.

"You know, Pig, or Percy, or whatever you call yourself, I am really going to miss your cooking," Haukun admitted.

"Well, I appreciate the compliment," Woodehous replied, trying to maintain some dignity despite his current situation.

"You know," the drow continued, "once we turn Volo over to the matron mother, we might be able to put in a good word for you with one of the ruling households, and perhaps get you a kitchen position rather than farming duty or worse."

"Why, thank you," the maitre d'/cook/waiter replied, quickly making eye contact with his fellow captive, "but if it's all the same to you, I think I'd rather stay with my friend Volo here. Companions to the end and all that rot, if you know what I mean."

"No, not really," the drow replied, scratching his ebony forehead in puzzlement, then running his delicate digits back through his flowing white mane of hair. "But if that's what you really want, far be it from me to stand in your way. Just seems like a damned shame waste of a good cook."

"I'm sure Menzoberranzan has plenty of good cooks," Volo offered.

"Not that I recall," Haukun answered, "but it has been a long time."

The party had no sooner resumed their journey to the city when they came into contact with other travelers, the only time since the encounter with the pair of kuo-toa. A detachment of drow warriors traveling in the opposite direction waved them on, and a drow merchant with a lizard bearing his goods passed by, hardly even noticing them, lost in a conversation with an illithid companion.

"I wonder if he knows Malix," Woodehous said out loud.

"Not likely," Volo answered. "Though mind flayers are fairly common around here, not many of them maintain contact with others who have decided to make their lives on the surface."

"Oh," the former maitre d'/cook/waiter replied, wondering from which dull, boring text his fellow companion in captivity was quoting this time.

"Keep your heads down as we enter the city," Courun instructed, "and try to look oppressed and sullen."

"No problem," Woodehous replied in all sincerity.

Glancing back at the mind flayer and the merchant, Volo noticed that they seemed to be pointing to the path from which the foursome had come.

"I almost forgot," Volo said to himself. Then, out loud, he said, "Courun, I think Percy and I have to take our boots off before we get into the city."

"Why?" the captor inquired.

"Custom, I think," the gazetteer explained, making it up as he went along, "at least that's what I heard, and we wouldn't want to get things off on the wrong foot, I mean, just when you and Haukun are on the verge of returning to respectability."

Courun turned to Haukun, and asked, "Do you remember anything about captives having to be brought into the city barefoot?"

"No," Haukun answered, "but you and I have been away for a long time, and he does seem to know a lot about these types of things."

The two drow helped their captives off with their boots while the puzzled Woodehous looked at his companion for assurance.

"Believe me," the gazetteer asserted, "it's important."

Woodehous realized this last comment was strictly for his own reassurance.

Luckily for the two bound captives, the road ahead was smooth, posing little threat to the delicate soles of their feet. The former maitre d'/cook/waiter noticed that Volo took more than a passing interest in their surroundings, as if he were trying to memorize everything in a matter of seconds.

The road opened out into a huge cavern, within which the city was situated.

All four travelers were momentarily speechless in awe of its magnificence.

"Araurikaurak," Volo mouthed, his eyes wide in wonder.