"Sure, you can have food," he surmised. "Just don't try to kick me again. The food's not bad. Of course, if we had time I could fix you a real feast." Passepout paused for a moment to pat his substantial stomach, and then continued, "You might say I'm sort of an expert on the science of the gastronomy, and culinary cuisine… but Mister Volo says we're in a hurry…"
Her eyes blinked in recognition, interrupting his chain of thought.
"Oh, you've heard of him. Yes, he's that Volo, author of the Volo's travel guides, and master traveler of the Realms. I'm Passepout, his trusted advisor. He asked that I come along on this trip. Needed my help, actually. Of course, I agreed. Anything for Volo, after all. He has a reputation to live up to. I do too, just not as a traveler. Oh, here, let me undo that."
Carefully, the chubby thespian undid the gag that blocked her mouth.
"You see, I'm an actor," he continued, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his removal of her gag hadn't really changed her situation. "I am Passepout, favorite son of Catinflas and Idle, famed thespians of the Realms, and…"
"The food," she interrupted.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Passepout replied, offering her the bowl, and only then realizing that her hands were still bound together. "Oops, sorry," he apologized, and began to undo her wrist bonds.
"Well, it's about time," she began to harangue, but then thought better of it, adding courteously, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Passepout answered.
Having undone the wrist thong, he handed her the bowl.
"Now that I think of it, I really must apologize for the food," he continued. "An heiress such as yourself is obviously accustomed to better."
"Yeah, sure," she responded between mouthfuls that were none too dainty or delicate.
She's probably just real hungry, the thespian thought. I know how I get when I haven't eaten in a while. I guess rich people are no different than poor people when they are really starving.
"What are you staring at?" she asked haughtily.
Oh, dear! Passepout thought, I offended her!
"Why, your regal beauty, of course," he replied, quickly trying to think on his feet. "I mean, I've never been this close to an heiress before, I mean, never when I wasn't giving a command performance, that is."
"Well, okay," she replied, "just try not to be too obvious about it."
Thank Eo she doesn't offend easily.
Putting down the now-empty bowl, she began to massage the cramped joints that had been bruised by the thongs that had bound her.
"So your name is Passepout," she stated.
"Yes," he replied, "the son of Idle and Catinflas, the noted…"
"Yeah, I know," she interrupted. "The thespians."
"Exactly," he replied, adding, "and what is your name?"
"Shurleen Laduce," she replied absently, her concentration still focused on relieving her aching joints.
"Excuse me," Passepout inquired, desperately trying not to appear insubordinate or dense, "but aren't you the daughter of Lord Gruen Bleth? Meaning no disrespect, but shouldn't your last name be Bleth?"
"Oh, yeah," she corrected, "my full name is Shurleen Laduce Bleth."
The thespian began to become skeptical, until with a bat of her eyes she added, "but you can call me Shurleen."
"Oh, thank you, Miss Bleth, I mean, Shurleen," he fawned, "and if there is anything I can do for you or your fabulously rich father, just let me know."
"Yeah, sure," she replied, back to her previous mood of indifference. "So I guess you're going to tie me up again."
"Oh, no," he assured her. "I wouldn't dream of it."
"What about the other guy?"
"Mister Volo? Oh, I don't think so…"
"Not him," she countered, "that guy who wouldn't untie me back at Ali's place."
"Oh, you mean Curtis," the thespian answered. "You don't have to worry about him. He takes his orders from Mister Volo and me. I must speak to him about his abhorrent behavior back there, and I assure you it won't happen again."
Shurleen batted her eyes at the moonstruck Passepout, saying sweetly, "My hero."
"Yes, ma'am, I mean Shurleen," the thespian fumbled, "but I think we have to be hitting the road again."
"Good!" she replied eagerly. "I can't wait to get back to Cormyr."
Passepout shook his head in resignation.
"I think you had better talk to Mister Volo about that," he replied.
"What do you mean, we are heading due east?" Shurleen screamed. "Cormyr is back to the west!"
"I am aware of that," the patient master traveler replied, "but unfortunately, our path back west is due east."
"But why?" she whined with all of the grating intensity of a spoiled princess.
"Because that's just the way it is," Curtis interrupted, "and you're just going to have to accept that!"
Volo was shocked at the lack of tact Curtis showed toward their pampered guest, and even more surprised at the guest's response.
"How dare you talk to me like that!" she ranted. "Wait till my father finds out! He's Lord Gruen Bleth, you know, and he could buy and sell your sorry little hide, so you better watch out. Who do you think you are?"
Curtis bit his tongue to hold back an equally vitriolic response, mindful of the keen eyes of Volo that were concentrating on his behavior. Passepout, on the other hand, decided to jump in and answer her question.
"He claims to be the son of some wealthy merchant off to see the world before settling down to the family business," the thespian replied with more than a bit of sarcasm in his voice.
"Oh, really," she retorted. "Well, I know all of the eligible bachelors on the Faerun society registry, and I don't recall anyone on the list by the name of Curtis."
"My thoughts exactly," Passepout added. "Why he's never even seen the lovely halfling bard Olive Ruskettle in concert. I, of course, have performed with her."
"Really," Shurleen answered. "Personally, I've always preferred the bardic charms of Danilo Thann, but Olive is not without her merits. I guess you could say I've always had a thing for bards…"
Passepout's ample bulk shrank as his heart began to break.
"… and other thespians, of course," she added.
Passepout reinflated.
"All of these discussions are well and good," Volo responded, "but unfortunately, due east is where we are heading. You are more than welcome to join us, or if you prefer, you can help yourself to a quarter of the provisions, and the horse you rode in on, and set your own course due west, but I would advise against it."
Volo began to repack his stallion in preparation for breaking camp and resuming the journey. Curtis did the same, trying very hard to ignore the spoiled heiress.
Shurleen was in a quandary, and looked to her only ally, Passepout.
"Passepout," she implored, "surely you will…"
Passepout held up his hand to halt her request.
"I'm afraid that I've given Mister Volo my word, and a gentleman's word is his bond. Sorry," he explained as he began to pack his steed as well. "Due east it is."
Shurleen, having no desire to be left alone in the desert, stomped her foot, and demanded, "Well, then, east it is. Now who will help me pack my horse?"
"Curtis," Volo instructed, "help her, and lend her your blanket. Those silken pantaloons weren't really cut out for traveling."
Curtis left his own mount and began to pack Shurleen's steed as the spoiled heiress harangued him.
Passepout discreetly joined Volo at his steed's side. "Isn't she something?" the thespian said.
"That's one word for her," Volo replied.
"I think she likes me," he professed, as only a moonstruck victim of a crush could.
Volo just rolled his eyes and resumed the setting of his packs.
The ride eastward was reasonably uneventful.
Deserts gave way to hills, to mountain passes, and back to plains.
The four travelers' journey was reasonably comfortable with ample water, and food for themselves, and their steeds.