Their paths did not cross with bandits, or other disagreeable sorts, and in relatively no time they arrived at the shore.
From there they traveled south to the first available harbor where they could trade their horses for a boat to take them to the Isles of Wa.
They finally came to rest at a harbor inn called the No Bull House. It was run by an old sailor from the Moonshaes by the name of Blackthumb, who agreed to put them up for the night and introduce them to a dealer with whom they could trade their horses for a boat on the following day.
After an unusual but tasty meal of seaweed salad and Moonshae stew a la Shou Lung, prepared by the innkeeper's wife from her own recipe, and all washed down by several flagons of imported Moonshae ale, the inn was closed for the night. The travelers were escorted to a common room equipped with enough beds for the entire party, where they settled in for the night.
All had grown quiet, and the travelers were on the verge of a peaceful night's rest when the silence was shattered by an ear-splitting cry.
"Waaaaaaaaaaa!"
The child, who had fallen asleep while the rest of the group was still finishing dinner, had awakened and was making its presence known.
"This is just great," Passepout grumbled. "My first night in an inn in I don't know how long, and I have to be on baby duty."
Passepout swung his legs over the side of the bed, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and was about to go to the makeshift crib that housed the crying infant when he noticed four shadowy figures in the room with them.
"Hey, who are you?" he shouted loud enough to wake the whole inn.
A flash of steel was barely glimpsed in the candlelit room. A katana was removed from its scabbard and brought in a sweeping arc toward the unprotected neck of the chubby thespian.
Craaaaaak!
The chubby thespian fell to the floor as the side of the bed upon which he had been lying caved in from the unbalanced strain of his tarrying too long while sitting on its edge.
The katana's blade embedded itself in the now off-kilter bedpost that came crashing to hit the foundering thespian on the bed, barely deflecting the blade from its lethal course.
Blackthumb appeared at the door, torch hi hand, illuminating the intruders. They were dressed in black from head to toe, with only a slit in their masks to reveal eyes of elven gray. By this time, all had drawn their swords and were choosing their targets.
"Assassins!" Blackthumb yelled, cudgeling the closest one with his shillelagh of Moonshae briar.
Silent except for the whistling and whooshing of displaced air, the masked intruders sprang into action.
Shurleen screamed and threw herself on top of the makeshift crib, intending to protect the child, only to find that it was no longer there.
The baby!" she cried. "He's gone!"
"No, he isn't," Curtis called, having thrown himself on the child, who had managed to climb out of the crib and crawl toward the beachcomber's bed.
Volo threw his trusty dagger, catching one of the approaching assassins squarely between the eyes.
Curtis dispatched another with remarkable accuracy, using the throwing stars that the child still carried.
The fourth assassin, who also had set his sights on the crib, was about to skewer the shaken Shurleen, when Passepout, having only partially recovered his equilibrium from the fall, came lumbering into him, throwing him off-balance and succeeding in delaying his recovery long enough for Shurleen to stab him with his own sword. She and the thespian were doused with a spray of bloody gore from the newly opened hole in the assassin's chest.
The entire battle had lasted less than a minute.
Volo undid the black hood from the assassin nearest him, the one who had been cudgeled by Blackthumb, to reveal its oriental elven facial features.
"Well," said Passepout, regaining his balance, "that was easy enough!"
As if on cue, the assassins began to stand up, ready to resume their attack.
"It can't be!" Shurleen screamed.
"Undead elven ninja assassins," Blackthumb exclaimed. "Recently raised from the dead, I might add."
Slower this time, as the element of surprise was gone and counterattacks realized to be ultimately futile, the assassins regrouped, and prepared to resume their business, quickly and efficiently.
The smell of corruption, decay, and death pervaded the room, and the way to the door was clearly blocked by the assassins.
There was no escape, and everyone knew it.
"Rots ah Ruck!"
Chiun had appeared at the doorway, once again having evidently left the room prior to the attack in order to relieve himself, and, with trusty staff raised, was now invoking some ancient incantation.
"Nough tee que knoe shur tay!"
The ninjas immediately burst into flame, incinerating to dust in seconds without harming anyone in the room or even singeing the floor upon which they were standing.
"Nice work, Chiun," Curtis complimented.
The old coot bowed. "Mad Monkey say, 'Sending undead assassins to do a man's work is cheating.' " Chiun replied.
"I take it you are a priest of this Mad Monkey," Volo responded, taking a moment to give the frail old man a gentle pat on the back.
"You might say that," Chiun replied, "but now I must sleep if you will be so kind.*Mad Monkey say, 'Early to bed, early to rise…"
" '… makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,' " Blackthumb completed.
Chiun was taken aback for a moment.
"Are you a disciple of Mad Monkey?" he queried.
"No," the innkeeper replied, "just here to defend my guests, and clean up after messy attacks."
"Mad Monkey say, 'Good innkeepers are hard to find.'"
With bare minimal rearranging, the room was restored, and the innkeeper and the travelers once again prepared themselves for bed.
Volo, Chiun, Blackthumb, and Curtis had once again turned in for the night, and the child was soundly sleeping back in his makeshift crib.
Shurleen had decided to clean herself up after the bloody attack, while Passepout had decided that a few more flagons of Moonshae ale was in order to steady his nerves after the evening's excitement. After a while, Shurleen returned to the room.
"Hi," she greeted, sitting next to the portly thespian. "Mind if I sit here?"
"Not at all," he sputtered, his eyes consumed by the wonderments that lay beneath the new silken kimono that Blackthumb's wife had lent her.
"My hero," she purred. "You saved me from that horrible assassin."
"Nothing to it," the proud Passepout replied, trying to regain his self-control by taking another drink. "Nothing any other full-fledged hero wouldn't do."
The tavern room in which they were sitting was almost silent. Only the sounds of Volo's snoring from the adjoining common room disturbed the peace.
"I'm glad we have this chance to be alone," she pressed.
"So am I," he replied, trying to tear his eyes away from her physical charms.
"You're not really an actor, are you?" she queried.
Passepout was dumbstruck. "What do you mean?" he replied, regaining control of his words and his eyes.
"Well, I've never known a rich actor," she replied, "and you are obviously rich. Not that I mind, of course."
She pressed herself closer to him, and the chubby thespian felt peculiarly uncomfortable.
"Why do you think I'm rich?" he inquired, surprised to find himself drawing back from her overt advances.
"Well, you're also rather careless," she replied. "You seem to have been dropping these rubies all along the way since you rescued me. I only really noticed since the site of the caravan attack. Here."
In her hand were clearly a half-dozen of the necromancer's gems.
Chapter 16