Glancing back at the mind flayer and the merchant, Volo noticed that they seemed to be pointing to the path from which the foursome had come.
"I almost forgot," Volo said to himself. Then, out loud, he said, "Courun, I think Percy and I have to take our boots off before we get into the city."
"Why?" the captor inquired.
"Custom, I think," the gazetteer explained, making it up as he went along, "at least that's what I heard, and we wouldn't want to get things off on the wrong foot, I mean, just when you and Haukun are on the verge of returning to respectability."
Courun turned to Haukun, and asked, "Do you remember anything about captives having to be brought into the city barefoot?"
"No," Haukun answered, "but you and I have been away for a long time, and he does seem to know a lot about these types of things."
The two drow helped their captives off with their boots while the puzzled Woodehous looked at his companion for assurance.
"Believe me," the gazetteer asserted, "it's important."
Woodehous realized this last comment was strictly for his own reassurance.
Luckily for the two bound captives, the road ahead was smooth, posing little threat to the delicate soles of their feet. The former maitre d'/cook/waiter noticed that Volo took more than a passing interest in their surroundings, as if he were trying to memorize everything in a matter of seconds.
The road opened out into a huge cavern, within which the city was situated.
All four travelers were momentarily speechless in awe of its magnificence.
"Araurikaurak," Volo mouthed, his eyes wide in wonder.
"No," Courun corrected, "Menzoberranzan."
"I was just using its dwarven name," Volo replied, adding absently, still in awe of its splendor, "It's just as I pictured it."
"You mean, as you remembered it," Woodehous corrected, asking, "don't you?"
"Whatever," the master traveler replied absently, "… and I am here now."
Menzoberranzan
The city itself filled the entire cavern. Volo had been slightly mistaken when he called the city Araurikaurak. In reality that was the name of the cavern, quite literally translated from dwarven as Great Pillar Cavern. Legend had it that the entire open area was formerly the lair of a gigantic spider, but given the proclivity of the drow for adoration of all things arachnoid, the validity of this legend was more than open to discussion.
From their vantage point just outside and above the city, they were able to look down on the wonders of the entire subterranean complex.
Woodehous noticed a lake at the lower end of the cavern, and whimsically asked, "I wonder how the fishing is?"
"If you are lucky, you might find out," Courun replied. "That's Donigarten, where the slave pens are maintained. In the nearby dung fields, I am sure you would find ample fungi and mushrooms to season the nautical fare you'd fish."
From this distance, the former maitre d'/cook/waiter could just make out some of the slaves paddling around the lake on rafts, some leading beasts of burden, others little better than beasts of burden themselves. This was not an existence to be envied.
At the highest part of the city floor stood the Tier Breche, home of the Academy, where drow received their training. The prospects of life in the slave pens for Woodehous was every bit as abhorrent to him as the memories that flooded back to the two drow warriors upon once again seeing the place of their education.
To the other side of the city floor was the Qu'ellarz'orl, a plateau separated from the lower city by a grove of giant mushrooms. This was where the noble houses were located, and where Courun and Haukun expected to regain their rightful places. Numerous flashes of faerie fire in the houses indicated that there were several parties going on, commemorating various celebrations of one sort and another.
"Soon, they will be throwing parties for us," Courun replied with a haughtiness that was quite unbecoming.
Looming above the entire city cavern was the pillar Narbondel, whose change in glow indicated the passing time of the day. Its smooth yet rough surface gave an appearance that could not have been fostered by means other than the pure refining forces of nature itself. This was the only structure in the entire city that had not been remade by the skillful digits and sure hands of drow artisans.
Volo stood in awe of the exotic beauty of the place. Though he had traversed the entire world of Toril, he had never looked upon a city to compare with this one. True, he had never been to Netheril or Cormanthyr, whose beauty was the stuff of legends, but both of those cities were long dead before he had been born. Menzoberranzan was still very much alive and in its glory, even if that glory was pervasively evil.
The four travelers lost track of how long they had been standing on the ledge, and probably would have continued to stare off in awe had they not been interrupted by two representatives of the Dark Dominion, who prided themselves on knowing how to deal with unwanted interlopers.
"What are you doing here?" the senior patrolman demanded in clipped Drowish, which Volo was barely able to understand. "What are you doing with these two surface dwellers?"
"They are our prisoners," Courun and Haukun replied in proud unison. "And we have come to turn them over to the matron mother."
Pointing at Volo, Courun continued his spiel. "This one here," he stated with pride, "is a blemish to the honor of our beloved Lloth. He has dared to violate her domain and would have made it the object of mockery for all the surface dwellers had we not stopped him."
The two patrolmen looked at each other and exchanged signals in the silent language of the drow. Neither was amused, nor did they know what to do with the party at hand. Finally, the senior one returned his attention to Courun and Haukun.
"Of what house do you belong?" the patrolman demanded.
"House Salato," the two proud drow warriors replied, once again in unison.
The guards laughed, and Woodehous distinctly heard Volo murmur, "Uh, oh," under his breath.
"That house hasn't been around in over a century," the senior patrolman advised. "It was wiped out after an unsuccessful bid for power. You'd better come along with us."
A look of panic raced across the two drow warriors' faces.
"Salato… gone?" they cried. In unison, they screamed, and then took off in opposite directions.
Woodehous felt Volo's suddenly unbound hand grasp his tightly.
"We'll let the jade spiders track them down," the older patrolman decided. "Let's bring in these two surface dweller prisoners and take any credit that is due for their capture for ourselves."
"But where did they go?" the other patrolman inquired, for the two prisoners were no longer there, as if they had both just vanished into thin air.
Back to the Double G
"Pig, where have you been?"
Woodehous immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Wurlitzer, the orcish bartender.
"What are you doing here?" Woodehous asked in amazement.
"Working," the ore replied, "just like you used to do before you were fired from Traitor Pick's for not showing up for work after your dinner break."
The former maitre d'/waiter/cook quickly looked around, and to his astonishment found himself back in the Gentleman's Groggery in Skullport, his companion, the legendary Volothamp Geddarm, by his side.
"How…?" Woodehous tried to sputter out a question.
"… long have you been away?" the ore completed. "A while. Long enough for Traitor Pick's to get a new cook. He's not bad either, but I'm sure everyone will agree that he's no Pig Woodehous."
"No… I…" Woodehous continued to sputter, not fully understanding what must have happened.
"Why don't you bring us two mugs of your finest, my good fellow," Volo interrupted.