"It was Blackstaff, all right," Passepout interjected. "I would have known him anywhere."
"Quite," Storm replied in a tone usually reserved for parents of opinionated and obstreperous children, then turned her attention back to Volo. "Well, it's obvious that your magics have been dampened by something. Maybe something happened when you tried to scry the gate at Myth Drannor. Sometimes the areas of wild magic cause an overload, a sort of mage hangover, you might say."
"My magics had left prior to Myth Drannor. I should have been aware of our camp's intruder the night before," he replied. "No, I'm sure it is something that must have happened to me back in Suzail, something linked to the gems, the bond, and the wager."
"If you ask me," Passepout interrupted, "it's just another case of a mage throwing around his powers, to have some fun with the less enchanted ones."
Volo ignored his servant's comments and continued with his train of thought.
"Now that I think back, I distinctly remember a chill passing through me as I shook his hand. 1 didn't think much of it at the time, but now…"
"No offense meant," Storm apologized in advance, "but it still doesn't sound like the Khelben Arunsun I know. He's more tolerant of braggarts than I am."
"What do you mean by that?" Volo asked.
"Well, you do seem to stake a lot on your reputation."
"It's well earned, and nobody ever questioned it before that rogue Marcus Wands started calling himself Marco Volo."
"I know, but it's not as if anyone actually called you a liar."
"Well, no."
"And it's not like you were forced to accept the challenge."
"I had to. There is only one master traveler of the Realms?"
"And you weren't tricked into accepting the challenge?"
Volo hedged for a moment. "Well, actually, I do recall accepting it before hearing what it was to be."
"So even if the challenge had been that you must travel with a servant, dropping markers along the way, never retracing your steps, and never using your magical arts, you would have still theoretically agreed to it."
"Well, yes, I reckon so," Volo agreed, and then chuckled. "I guess I should keep my big mouth closed until I've heard all the details of a deal."
"This doesn't change the fact that Volo has been tricked," the thespian demanded. "How can Khelben expect us to pass this test without the help of Volo's magical arts?"
"Is that true, Volo?" Storm asked gently. "Is that the real reason for your reputation as a master traveler? Is it all just another magic trick?"
"No," he replied, a grin spreading on his lips. "Of course not. It just makes this harder."
"But not impossible," Storm added.
"No, not impossible," Volo conceded.
At the night grew long, Passepout once again became cranky and was about to suggest that they return to the Old Skull Inn when he realized that the ploy that he had used to prevent Volo from returning to Elminster's tower now prevented them from returning to the inn-and the arms of an appreciative serving wench who would probably like nothing better than to partake in an assignation with a famous thespian. Eyeing his hostess, he realized that maybe another alternative existed.
"You know, Storm," he declared in his most man-of-the-world voice, "life gets lonely on the road."
"I know," she replied in a respectful monotone.
"Particularly for a thespian such as myself who is used to the presence of many adoring funs."
"Of course," she replied in the same tone.
"And Master Volo is wonderful company… don't get me wrong… but I was wondering if…"
"You could spend the night snuggling up close to a more feminine warm body."
"You read my mind," he replied, leaning in close.
"No problem, it was easy," she answered, getting to her feet and helping him to his. "I was going to offer you one of the guest rooms, but I realize now that simply won't do."
"Great minds do think alike."
"Uh, yes," she replied, leading him to the door.
Puzzled, Passepout asked, "Where are we going? Some little hideaway cottage?"
"We are going nowhere," she succinctly replied. "You are going to the barn. Mystia and Mandy are waiting for you."
"Mystia and Mandy?" he queried. He knew Storm had six sisters but couldn't recall the names Mandy and Mystia being among them.
Storm elaborated, removing any doubt of the females' identities, "My horse Mystia and my donkey Mandy will more than keep you warm."
"But the barn?"
"Yes!"
"What about the smell?" he insisted as she ushered him out the door.
"Don't worry," she replied, "they'll get used to it."
With that she closed the door and turned her attentions back to the master traveler, who had been conspicuously silent during this exchange.
Volo had fallen asleep, at the fireside, his head on his pack, his cloak as his blanket, and a smile on his lips.
He's probably already solved his immediate problem. The loss of his magics won't stop the master traveler.
Storm carried herself off to bed, vowing that she would be up in plenty of time to fix them a true innkeeper's breakfast.
After all, tomorrow they would be back on the road.
Chapter 8
In addition to Mystia and Mandy, the barn was also the home of other creatures, many noisy and nocturnal. Specifically, Storm never mentioned to Passepout about Roget the rooster, who decided to introduce himself to the ill-slept thespian with the dawn's early light.
Less than thrilled to be awakened by fowl crowing, Passepout stretched, brushed himself off, and headed back to the house. Well, at least there's breakfast, he thought as he tried to remove the kinks that had set into his joints during the chill of the past night.
The door had been unbolted from the night before, and a fresh fire raged in the hearth. Volo seemed to have been up for hours, despite his rested condition, his disposition was bright and sunny. In front of him were various charts and maps, plus the parchment that had been given to him when the thespian received the bag of jewels.
"Oh, you're already up, good Passepout," he said sunnily. "I was just about to call you. Storm had mentioned that you desired accommodations other than her guest room."
"Something like that," the thespian grumbled, wondering if his master had slumbered in the bower that Passepout had assumed was to be for himself.
"I don't even remember you leaving. I must have fallen asleep in midconversation, or something. But the hearth kept me warm, and the crackling of the flames serenaded me the way my mother used to, and now I feel well-rested and ready to go."
"Great," the thespian replied, less than enthusiastically.
"I've been studying the parchment that Khelben gave me."
"Where's breakfast?"
"Storm's fixing it. It should be ready momentarily. Now look at the parchment," Volo ordered. "Notice how the vague outlines of the lands that we've passed through have become clearer as the red dots that represent the discarded gems become more numerous."
"Great," Passepout replied. "A map whose detail of a place is only usable once we've left there."
Volo ignored the remark. "Notice the zigzag route we followed from Suzail to here. Up to Myth Drannor, over to Shadowdale…"
"I was there. Remember?" the thespian interrupted, loud enough to be heard over the rumblings of his stomach.
"Quite. Now if I remember correctly, we weren't told not to double back…"
"But…"
"Shush!" Volo continued as before. "We were told never to 'set foot' on the same land more than once. See, here is the dot for Elminster's tower, and when we leave here another dot should appear right around here."