"For now," Volo interjected, "for now."
The room that they were escorted to was a more than adequate common room with three beds for reclining, three more woven thrones, and a bell cord to summon servants.
"If you require anything, please feel free to ring the bell. These are your room servants," Herve instructed, indicating three heavyset women standing in the hall. "They don't speak Common, but I am sure that you can make your desires known to them."
One of the servants Volo recognized as one of the hammock weavers from the rubber plant. She was as wide as the chubby thespian, though not as tall, and possessed a face that might have been attractive for a warthog. She gave Passepout a knowing wink and a smile as she closed the door behind Herve.
"I think she likes you," Curtis said to Passepout.
"Not if I can help it," replied the chubby thespian, a shiver of revulsion passing through his entire body.
"Isn't it strange that with such a large mansion available, Rurk would seemingly situate us at the complete opposite end of the building from Shurleen?" Volo pointed out.
"I noticed that," Curtis agreed. "That is why I offered to tag along, to at least see where he was putting her."
"I'm sure that was the only reason," Passepout jibed.
Curtis did not respond, and Passepout thought better of pushing the issue. He changed the subject. "And what was all that business about the flag, Volo?"
"Indeed," Volo replied. "I'm afraid that we are in the hands of a renegade Tethyrian mercenary warlord who has deserted his unit to the north and set up his own fantasy kingdom in this remote settlement."
"That's why there is only the division's flag, his flag," Curtis agreed.
"But what does that mean to us?" Passepout asked.
"It means," Volo replied, "that for the time being he can do anything he wants with us."
A little over an hour later, Herve returned to the quarters of the three travelers to take them down to dinner in the room behind the main veranda where they had been sitting earlier that day. Rurk was already seated at the head of the table when they arrived, and indicated that they should join him, leaving the seat by him free for Shurleen, who had yet to arrive for the meal.
The lovely Miss Bleth informs me that you will probably be wishing to resume your travels eastward as soon as possible," Rurk said, then resumed sipping a cup of distilled fruit wine.
"Yes," Volo replied, not wishing to give too much away, "we have pressing business awaiting us in Suzail."
Just then, Shurleen entered the hall, or rather more correctly floated into the hall, her pampered, beauteous body held aloft a foot off the ground by the gown of feathers she was wearing.
Passepout and Curtis's jaws dropped.
"Isn't she angelic?" Rurk commented.
None contested his observation, as Shurleen floated to her place.
"Plume magic?" Volo asked.
"But of course," Rurk replied. "The natives here are particularly adept at it. I've even seen them constructing veritable rafts of enchanted plumes to lift their dwellings off the ground during times of flood. The floating power in these feathers seems inexhaustible."
"Quite," Volo agreed. "I bet your patrons back in Faerun are making quite a pretty coin in profits on your exports."
"Their interests are no longer any concern of mine," Rurk replied, a touch of deadly seriousness apparent in his tone. "No doubt you realize I no longer claim allegiance to my patrons, as you call them. Your observation about the divisional flag, or shall I say that the lack of any other, made that clear to me, so let's drop the facade."
"Agreed," Volo replied. "All we want is to continue our way eastward. We have no desire to expose your private kingdom to the scrutiny of other concerns here or in Faerun. So with your blessing we'd like to resume our journey tomorrow, giving you our word of honor that as far as anyone is concerned, we've never met a Mis Ta Rurk, nor come across a settlement of plumeweavers, camouflaged by a ridge of rocks that obscures them for miles."
"I'm afraid things are not quite that simple," Rurk replied. "Of course, I desire your discretion, but I also desire one of your companions."
Shurleen dropped her cup and looked up in amazement and fear.
Rurk looked to her the way one might look at an uneasy child.
"Yes, my dear," he replied. "I have no illusions that your flirtations masked anything except your girlish ego, and that if given the chance to choose, you would undoubtedly desire to continue along your way with your companions. Fortunately for me, I hold all the cards, and I think it will be better if you stay."
"Why, you!" Curtis yelled, jumping to his feet, and about to rush to Rurk's end of the table.
Rurk clapped his hands, and six Tethyrian mercenaries appeared, fully armed with bows and arrows fletched with enchanted plumes.
"These are some of the men who joined me on my excursion. I wouldn't advise causing any trouble as their arrows are fletched for accuracy by means of enchantment."
"Curtis, sit down!" Volo ordered. "What do you want, Rurk?"
Curtis resumed his seat as Rurk made his pitch. "Sometimes it's boring being a god for these primitive savages," Rurk said. "Sometimes I need a little challenge."
"Get to the point," Volo pressed.
"Of course," Rurk conceded. "Of course I would love to take the lovely Miss Bleth as my mistress, but I'm sure you wouldn't stand for that."
"Right," Volo agreed.
"Not that you can really do anything about it. One of my men is a rather powerful chemist who could undoubtedly come up with a potion that will make her my slave in a matter of moments… but that wouldn't be sporting. What I suggest is that you three take part in a game against three of my best athletes tomorrow. It's called the ball game. You might have heard of it."
"I have," Volo replied.
"Good," Rurk continued. "If you win, you are free to go, if not, the lovely Shurleen becomes my mistress."
"No!" Shurleen screamed, bursting into tears. She was quickly spirited away by several of Rurk's more attractive female servants, evidently his other mistresses.
Volo fingered his beard for a moment and thought.
"How about this?" the master traveler counter-offered. "If we win, you will have your plume-weavers weave us a raft that will be capable of flying us back to Faerun."
"One already exists," Rurk interrupted, "you never know when you will have to make a fast getaway. Sometimes even peaceful and stupid savages like these get restless."
"One might say that this would be fairer compensation for our efforts," Volo pointed out.
"Agreed," Rurk assented. "The game will be tomorrow at midday out on the field we passed getting here. You three against my champions, those tall fellows over there."
Volo and his companions turned to see the individuals that he was referring to. Each was a good foot taller than any of the natives they had seen so far, and all were built like oxen.
"Don't let their bulk fool you," Rurk pointed out. "They have the reflexes and speed of jaguar men."
"Wonderful," Passepout replied, sensing imminent doom.
"And one more thing," Rurk added. "My home court has a particular rule attached to all games. You lose, you die. Death before dishonor."
Passepout fainted, and Curtis revived him with a cup of water.
The three companions ate the rest of their meal in silence, all along Volo fingering his beard in thought, as if trying to come up with a plan.
As the meal was brought to a close, Rurk stood up and said, "I assure you that no harm will come to Miss Bleth tonight. I am more than willing to wait to collect the victor's spoils."
"That goes without saying," Volo replied, adding, "One thing, though. I understand that the game is played in sandals. Would it be possible for us to obtain three pairs in the morning, so that we can break them in for the game?"