"Do something!" Volo implored of his panic-stricken companion, but Passepout could not hear him clearly with the crashing of the surf against the ships, and the crows and howls of the two crews.
Passepout knew he heard something, but didn't know what, so he assumed it was another order… so once again he jumped.
Crack!
The plank between the two ships could not take the combined weights of the two duelists, and the sudden extra force of gravity pushing down on it when Passepout landed. It obeyed the laws of gravity and responded.
The plank cracked, split, and broke, and the thespian and the pirate fell into the briny blue water between the two ships.
A millisecond of silence, followed by a splash, and a spout of displaced water came crashing down on the crews of the two ships.
Volo struggled to make out the two duelists fighting in the water.
Passepout was trying to tread water, and Ahib was slashing down with his hook, splash, then nothing.
Both men went under, with nary an air bubble.
Volo despaired at the loss of his friend.
Passepout bobbed to the surface, sputtering, and spit out seawater.
Volo cheered, "Passepout! You're alive!"
"But not for long! Help! I can't swim!" replied the chubby thespian, saved from drowning by his extreme natural buoyancy.
"Calm down!" ordered Nordhoff. "We'll throw you a line!"
"Hurry!" Passepout screamed, taking in a full mouthful of seawater, which he spit out to add, "… and a pair of pants, too!"
The weight of the pirate's iron accoutrements had pulled him down into his watery grave from whence there was no return. His final lunge at the struggling Passepout had just missed its mark, it didn't hook the panicking thespian in the flesh but nonetheless snagged him at the belt line and that was enough to pull the pirate under. Even a belt that had managed to maintain order on the thespian's massive gut could not take the extra strain of the added weight of the equally corpulent pirate and eventually gave way, allowing the hook to lay claim and drag Passepout's pants along to the pirate's watery death, while allowing the thespian himself to bob safely up to the surface.
The Brotherhood of the Red Tide, formerly under the command of Ahib Fletcher, had no desire to serve under the captaincy of the rotund and soggy thespian who had apparently bested their captain, and a deal was cut where the two ships would agree to part and never mention the incident that had transpired.
As the pirate ship disappeared toward the horizon, Passepout, swathed in towels and blankets, had returned to his former self.
"Did you see that? Did you see that? No pirate is a match for the son of Idle and Catinflas," he crowed to his former master.
"None, indeed," Volo replied jovially, helping the thespian towel off. "Something should be left to mark the location of this august event."
Passepout nodded.
"I agree, Mister Volo," he replied, "and are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"But of course," the master traveler answered.
Passepout nodded again, and opened the bag of now-wet gems, which he had managed to grab off his belt just before it gave way.
"Wet, but safe and sound," the thespian observed. Upon opening the bag, he noticed that indeed one of the gems had changed from green to red. He tossed it overboard in the general vicinity of the area in which the duel to the death had taken place.
The story of Passepout's brave and victorious battle with a fierce pirate captain spread from ship to ship along the coast, fueled by the lack of actual details of who was involved and how it occurred as in accordance with their agreement with the Brotherhood of the Red Tide. All along the Vilhon Reach stories true (Passepout won a hand-to-hand battle to the death, more or less) and false (a secret agent of King Azoun himself, using the disguise of an out-of-shape thespian, had infiltrated the dreaded Brotherhood of the Red Tide and crushed it from within) were being bantered about, giving the chubby thespian quite a reputation as a hero.
While traveling off the coast of Chondath, just a day out from their destination of Arrabar, Volo and Passepout were watching the shoreline as they passed by.
"Starbuck says that he heard that the people of Arrabar plan on offering you the command of their navy," Volo offered. "It's in a rebuilding phase after their recent war with the evil mage Yrkhetep."
"Sounds like a nice cushy job," Passepout answered. "Perfect for a soon-to-be-retired hero such as myself. Any idea how much the job pays? Just out of curiosity, I mean, after we've finished our trip, of course."
"Of course," Volo concurred, "but somehow I didn't think you would be interested in it at any price. All of the peoples of Chondath, particularly those in their port city of Arrabar, are highly lawful, and intolerant of pirates. I think that they see you as their savior, a warrior of the high seas willing to dedicate his life to wiping away the bloody scourge of piracy from their coastal ways."
Passepout chuckled.
"I think I'll pass," the thespian replied. "I don't think this legendary hero business is all it's cracked up to be. Besides, Idle and Catinflas would never forgive their only son if he forsook the stage for a life of bravery, heroism, and that sort of thing."
"Ah," replied Volo, "Arrabar's loss is the art's gain."
"Indeed!" the corpulent thespian responded, puffing up his chest almost enough to match his stomach. "It isn't easy being a man of many talents."
"Indeed!" Volo replied.
The Amistad's Bounty pulled into harbor at Arrabar without any fanfare whatsoever: no parades, no banners, no job offers for Passepout from the Lord of Arrabar who ruled the allied city-states of Chondath, nothing out of the ordinary at all. Apparently the rumors of the thespian's heroism were only outdone in their outrageousness by the rumors of the public's response to them.
"Well," said the slightly discouraged Passepout, who was putting his pack in order after the long ocean voyage, "I said I was going to turn it down anyway… but it would have been nice to be asked."
"Look at it this way, my friend," Volo offered. "I remember the story of a hero whose reputation had spread so far and wide that he was never able to go anywhere without being recognized. As a result he was never able to get any rest, as he was always besieged by petitioners wanting his help. Likewise, he was never able to rest, because there were an equal number of fellows who wanted him dead just so that they could claim his murder as another highlight of their infamous reputation. Rumor has it that eventually he had to sleep sitting up with his back to the wall of the farthest corner in any inn's accommodation so that he always would be prepared for whatever the fates threw at him."
"Whatever happened to him?" the thespian inquired.
"He joined up with six other heroes to save a small town that was being besieged by bandits."
"So what happened?"
"The bandits were routed, but he was killed. They buried him in the town cemetery. A last he had a place to rest. The local children still put flowers on his grave."
Passepout shivered.
"I guess being a hero isn't all it's cracked up to be," the thespian observed. "The theater is my true calling."
"… and the other heroes of the world rejoice at hearing your decision," piped in Harper Nordhoff, who had just joined the two in their cabin. "I just came by to wish you both luck on your journey. Remember, Passepout: It takes all kinds to make a world, and a hero is as a hero does."
"Amen," said Volo.
The two travelers shook hands with Nordhoff, left the cabin, which would now return to being an above-deck storeroom, and disembarked from the ship to the harbor of Arrabar.
Chapter 10