"Cook!"
Volo whispered to Woodehous surreptitiously.
"Okay, Percy," the gazetteer said, "do your stuff, and you better make it good."
"I need a pan or a pot of some sort," Woodehous replied.
"But of course," Volo agreed. "Courun, can he borrow your breastplate?"
"Sure," Haukun replied.
As Courun undid the fastening from his tunic, the chef gazed around the subterranean chamber as if looking for something in particular.
"What are you looking for?" Haukun demanded. "You have a pan now. Why aren't you cooking?"
Woodehous prepared to place the trout on the breastplate. "It's just that pan-roasted trout is so bland," the maitre d'/cook/waiter explained, still looking around. "Would you do me a favor and fetch me some of the moss from that half-submerged rock over there, and perhaps some of the hanging fungus from that stalactite as well?"
"Why?" the drow demanded.
"You'll see," Volo assured.
The two drow once again exchanged gazes of puzzlement, and then, with a shrug, Courun set off to fetch the requested ingredients.
Expertly, Woodehous the chef gutted the trout and removed its innards, replacing them with some of the recently obtained hanging fungus. He then added a little water to the breastplate pan and sprinkled some of the fungus into it. The water began to simmer with a truly delicious odor of spice. While the water was heating up, Woodehous rubbed the moss against the outside flesh of the fish until little flecks of vegetation had permeated the meat. He then added the thoroughly seasoned trout to the pan, carefully turning it every few moments so that it cooked both completely and evenly.
The cavern was soon filled with the tempting and savory aroma of a gourmet's delight, and in no time at all, the four travelers were enjoying a nourishing and delicious meal.
"See," Volo attested, "I told you."
"No complaints here," Haukun agreed. "If you can cook this well all the time, my partner and I might be willing to let you continue the journey with your wrists unbound, that is, provided you don't try to escape."
"Where would we go?" Volo reminded him. "We'd just get lost and die in the dark without your expert guidance."
"You'd better believe it," Courun replied, his mouth half full of the gourmet's delight.
Once the meal was over, the foursome rested while Courun allowed his breastplate to cool. Once it was back in place, they recommenced their journey, following the stream that evidently fed the pool that had been the source of their splendid repast. In a little while, they decided to make camp to rest a bit, and get a little sleep. Woodehous quickly realized that the concept of day and night no longer really existed. He had quite lost track of the time that had passed since he had first spotted Volo back in the Double G and raced after him through the alleyways of Skullport. He had also not realized how tired he really was, and quickly found himself fast asleep.
"Percy, wake up!" Volo urged in a hushed tone.
Woodehous stirred from his moments with Morpheus, and opened his eyes.
Sometime during their rest, their two drow captors had been confronted by a pair of kuo-toa-tall, nasty, pot-bellied amphibians-and harsh words were being exchanged. During the course of what had started as a cordial though wary meeting, the conversation between representatives of the two dominant subterranean species had quickly deteriorated into a heated argument.
"The tall kuo-toan," Volo explained, "claims he can smell the blood of his people on Courun. No doubt he really smells the residue of our dinner on our captor's breastplate."
"One would have thought that he would have washed it off before putting it back on," Woodehous observed.
"No doubt," Volo replied, "but then again, neither of our captors have shown much evidence of common sense or brainpower. If their superiors back in Menzoberranzan thought they were incompetent, the odds are that they really are. Drow matrons are usually keen judges of competence and potential."
The disagreement was quickly turning into a shoving match between the two pairs.
"What are they saying now?" Woodehous inquired.
"He just called Haukun a son of an illithid," Volo translated. "They should come to blows any moment now."
The drow and the kuo-toa began to use their spears as quarterstaves in a battle that had not yet escalated to lethality.
"I foresee a few bruises and contusions exchanged, but no death blows," Volo observed. "We can go back to sleep."
A thought crossed the maitre d'/waiter/cook's mind.
"Why don't we take this opportunity to escape?" Woodehous asked with great urgency. "Our captors are distracted, and we never know when another opportunity will present itself."
"Don't worry about that," Volo replied, returning his head to the pillow of his pack."You could never find your way back to the surface on your own, and my mission is nowhere near completed yet."
"What mission?" Woodehous blurted, his voice a trifle too loud.
"Hush!" Volo demanded, quickly looking over to make sure that their captors had not heard him. Luckily they were still beating each other with the shafts of their spears.
No doubt, hair pulling and scale scratching would soon follow.
"Just trust me for now," the master traveler instructed. "I assure you I have no intention of spending my remaining days as a slave or worse in some Ao-forsaken city of the drow, nor do I intend to abandon you to that fate. Just trust me. I have a plan. Now go back to sleep."
Volo turned over, closed his eyes, and was soon snoring, leaving a puzzled Woodehous, wide-eyed and wide awake to contemplate this recent revelation of facts.
The following morning, the drow captors were far from gentle in bringing their captives to consciousness so they could resume the long trek beneath the surface of Toril. There was no sight of the kuo-toa, and Courun and Haukun looked the worse for it, their deep ebony skin mottled with bruises and swelling.
"What happened?" Volo asked innocently. "You look as if you've been attacked."
"The Underdark is laden with danger," Courun replied. "Haukun and I had to fight off an entire army of fierce kuo-toa warriors to save your sorry skins."
"Thank you," the gazetteer replied.
"We didn't save them for you," Courun replied churlishly. "Lloth prefers to render her punishments and torture. It was our responsibility to save you for her, rather than let you fall into the fishy hands of her enemies."
"Or fins, for that matter," Volo replied under his breath.
"What did you say?" the drow captor demanded.
"I said, 'Unto the finish, you are the master,' " the quick-thinking gazetteer replied.
"Well, let us be off," the bruised drow ordered. "We still have many days' journey ahead of us."
"As you wish, Master" Volo replied. He helped Woodehous to his feet as they proceeded onward along the road to Menzoberranzan.
The words day and night lost all meaning to Volo and Woodehous as their journey continued. Darkest night bled into darkest night as they traveled onward between infrequent stops for rest and nourishment. No matter where they chose to dine, the former maitre d'/cook/waiter always rose to the occasion, fixing the foursome a meal fit for a lord of Waterdeep. Subterranean moss salad, fermented fungus casserole, and even spiced filet of cloaker (courtesy of an extremely luck Courun, who happened to accidentally run one through with his spear before it had managed to attack the group) kept their bellies full and spirits incongruously high for a party of captors leading their captives to their doom.