"Hey! Over here!" Jonas yelled from the door of the boathouse. "Get inside! Quick!"
"All indications point to Captain Grumby here not necessarily being a businessman used to doing things on the up and up," Volo whispered to the thespian as they approached the boathouse. "We'll have to be careful. We can't afford to buy a pig in a poke."
"No!" Passepout replied in mock shock. "I thought he was as honest as Cadderly the cleric."
"Enough of your whispers," Grumby scolded. "An airship is what you want, an airship is what I have. See!"
Grumby pointed inside the door. The ramshackle boathouse was only a front, with walls propped up by poles in the sand. Inside, resting on the broad beams of its hull, was a two-masted airship with the name Minnow painted on the side.
Volo ventured farther into the pseudo-boathouse and walked around the ship with a critical eye.
"As I recall," Volo commented, "Halruaan airships have three masts of flexible wood to hold their windsails in place. This, uh, ship has only two masts, and no sails at all."
"That is true," Jonas replied, as if his answer sufficed.
"Now, I realize that the ship is powered by the spell rod, which seems to be in place, and not the sails, but, again if I remember correctly, weren't the sails used for steering?"
"Yes," replied the dwarf, whose odor from the night before had not improved.
"So," Volo persisted, "Tiow do you steer it?"
"All of that can be explained later. Do you think she suits your needs?"
"Is she airworthy?"
"I guarantee it!" the dwarf assured.
"Mister Volo," Passepout interrupted, taking his former master aside, "I don't trust him."
"Neither do I," the master traveler replied, "but we don't seem to have much of a choice."
Just then a new voice joined the conversation within the boathouse.
"Excuse me, I was wondering if perhaps there were any openings for a mate's position. I have sailing experience."
The voice belonged to the young beachcomber who had been feeding the sea gulls at the shoreline. He was human, of indeterminate mid-teen age, with skin the color of an acquired tan. His clothes were ragged, his frame thin, probably from too many missed meals, and his feet were calloused and dirty from having gone without shoes for a fair amount of time. He was also quite handsome in a rugged sort of way and physically fit, with the bright blue eyes of a person who did not overindulge in ale or any other intoxicating or debilitating substance.
"Scram!" Jonas yelled. "This is a private matter."
"No, stay." Volo countered the obstreperous dwarf's order. There was something vaguely familiar about the lad, Volo thought, and another body to help on the ship might come in handy if Grumby tried anything. Even if the kid didn't have enough experience to fly the ship, he could probably take care of the tasks that the dwarf no doubt expected his passengers to tend to.
"Do you want the charter or not?" the dwarf persisted. "I don't care what you do with the overgrown urchin. He can come along or stay behind. My price is based on slag commission."
"Slag commission?" Volo queried.
Passepout again took the master traveler aside.
"He thinks we're smugglers," the thespian replied. "Slag commission means he can lay claim on one third of the revenues from the sales of whatever we are transporting."
Volo thought for a moment and went back to the dwarf. "That seems reasonable," the master traveler replied, "but what will we do for a contract?"
"No contract is necessary. I'm a shrewd judge of character, and I can tell you must be smuggling something real dear," Grumby replied, taking out a gunnysack that was inscribed with various glyphs. "Just grab hold of the sack, and agree that I am entitled to one third of the proceeds of whatever you are smuggling. Agreed?"
"And you in turn agree to fly us for an indeterminate period until our, uh, transaction is completed. Agreed?"
"Agreed," replied Grumby.
"Then I agree, also," replied Volo, taking hold of the gunnysack.
The dwarf and Volo were bathed in a black aura, which quickly dissipated.
"There," the dwarf replied, "we have a contract, enforceable by the god of thieves, Mask himself. If either of us backs out, he forfeits his life. Now, what will I be hauling?"
"Just us," Volo replied.
"No," Grumby answered, losing patience, "the loot, the slag. What are you smuggling?"
"We're not smuggling anything," Passepout answered.
"But we agreed to slag commission!" the dwarf persisted.
"Yes," Volo agreed, "and one third of our ill-gotten gain is now yours. Unfortunately, as we lack any slag, I'm afraid that your take for this charter is therefore nothing."
"No!" the dwarf screamed, horrified that he had been swindled.
"And by your own devices, you are now bound to fulfill our charter or risk the ire of Mask," added Volo.
"No, I mean it can't be… aaggh," the dwarf raged, and then all of a sudden regained his composure. "You win. You got me, Wands. Where are we going?"
"Wands?" Volo replied, shocked to hear the name of the imposter who was indirectly responsible for his current plight.
"Yeah," Grumby replied, "that's your real name, isn't it? I mean, I heard the fat guy call you Volo back at the inn. Volo, also known as Marco Volo, also known as Marcus Wands, scoundrel, scalawag, rogue, smuggler, and thief."
"I'm afraid that you're mistaken," the master traveler replied. "I am Volothamp Geddarm, the master traveler of all Faerun and gazetteer author of the best-selling Volo's Guide series."
"Never heard of you," the churlish dwarf replied.
"I am the original Volo, the one whom Wands was impersonating."
"You don't say," replied Grumby, scratching the ill-kept thatch that was his beard.
Well, that explains a lot of things, Volo thought to himself. Maybe Wands has enhanced my reputation in ways that are beneficial in the right circumstances, and circles.
"So, Giddyup…"
"That's Geddarm… but just call me Volo."
"All right, Mister Just-Call-Me-Volo," the dwarf replied with a malicious gleam in his eye, "so where are we bound?"
"First to Kara-Tur, and from there farther east," Volo replied.
"Well, a bargain is a bargain for as long as it's a bond," the dwarf replied, resigned to the arrangement. "Just give me few minutes to get things ready, and well be off."
"We're leaving today?" Passepout asked, shocked that things were moving so fast.
"No time like the present," Grumby replied, continuing to fiddle with his preparations.
"Kara-Tur, here we come," Volo stated with a sense of confident victory over the way things worked out.
"But now?" Passepout persisted, having hoped for at least another night spent in the comforts of an inn.
"As Captain Grumby said," Volo replied, "no time like the present."
Volo then turned his attentions to the eager-to-work teenage urchin, who had been waiting silently and patiently within hailing distance.
"Come here, boy," Volo hailed as he imagined a sea captain might address a cabin boy.
"The name is Curtis, sir," said the lad, obviously taking offense at the boy moniker without wishing to seem insubordinate to his desired superior.
"You say you have sailing experience?" the master traveler inquired.
"Yes, sir," Curtis replied. "I interned with the Cormyrean Freesails for a while after leaving school. You see, I'm really the son of a Cormyrean nobleman. I've set out on my own to see the world before returning to university and then accepting my proper place in the family business. I know my way around a ship and would relish the opportunity of joining you on your journey."