With that, the master swordsman resumed his beeline to the dining room, Chesslyn still on his arm, and the master traveler following close behind.
The table was set for a feast, which had he not known better, Volo would have taken for a banquet party for ten.
Fullstaff took his place at the head of the table, with Chesslyn at his right hand. The master of the villa motioned that Volo should take the seat on his left. They had no sooner sat down than places were set for them by the omnipresent Poins and Hal, who were well accustomed to accommodating new arrivals at their master's table with little or no notice.
"Poins and Hal will prepare rooms for you after we dine," Fullstaff explained. "Make any wishes known to then and they will do their best to accommodate you."
The master swordsman was about to say something else when he cocked his head to the side as if listening for something. This was followed by the now audible sound of footsteps entering the room.
"How rude of me!" the gregarious host said in a self-deprecating tone. "In my enthusiasm for Chesslyn's unexpected visit, I have neglected my other guest for the evening. What a terrible host I am! Please forgive me."
Fullstaff stood up, and gestured to the other end of the table where a new visitor was approaching the table.
"Chesslyn, Volo, I'd like you to meet an old friend of mine, Mason McKern of Mulmaster," the gracious host boomed.
Volo and Chesslyn turned in the direction their host indicated. Both of the discreet travelers held their breath in sudden shock and surprise as the illumination from the table's candelabra revealed the face of their fellow guest at their host's evening meal.
Volo recognized him as the sour old geezer whose appointment he had usurped on his way to checking in with Thurndan Tallwand.
Chesslyn recognized him as one of the senior Cloaks.
The two travelers looked at each other in silent, controlled panic.
"Introductions accomplished," Fullstaff announced retaking his seat, "Let's dig in. Plenty of time to talk and get to know each other later."
9
Dinner amp; Denouement In the Dining Room of the Villa of Honor Fullstaff, Master Swordsman, retired:
The tension in the air was palpable
The stern man named Mage Mason McKern gazed ominously at the two travelers in shock
Volo and Chesslyn exchanged looks, each indicating an instinctive combination of fear and readiness They were both survivors and ready for any turn of events
"Now, now, there is no reason for tension here," Honor instructed. "So, I committed a social gaffe. Wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last. Besides, it's my house and this is my table, and McKern, you know very well that dining at my table requires promptness. So eat."
"No," McKern answered, "please forgive me. I should have been on time. I had no idea that there would be other guests. Ms. Chesslyn Onaubra, I believe, of the Temple of Good Fortune."
The mage turned slightly to face Volo, and said, "And you are?"
Honor interrupted. "Eating!" he bellowed in a tone that could not be mistaken for anything but an order. "As you should be. There is plenty of time to exchange pleasantries with Chesslyn's young companion later. Besides that, it is impolite to talk with one's mouth full."
The blind swordmaster resumed the filling of his cheeks with delicacies from the table.
"Sor-" McKern began to say, but thought better of it when he felt Honor's sightless stare drilling an accusatory hole through him. Quickly, the mage began to partake of the feast.
Chesslyn and Volo exchanged glances again. Volo mouthed the words "Chesslyn's young companion?" to which the Harper agent replied with a suppressed giggle. Their silent exchange completed, both began to fill their plates, and, immediately afterwards, their mouths and stomachs.
The table was set with every manner of delicacy imaginable. Volo found it hard to believe that this was just an average meal at the table of Honor Fullstaff. In all his travels throughout Toril, he had never partaken of such a feast, and prior to this he had fancied himself an expert epicure. The plates were passed back and forth like cards at a gaming table, and Poins and Hal deftly retrieved, replaced, and refilled them with new contents as dispensed by the able hands of the dwarven cook Hotspur. Only once did a dish rest on the table for longer than a minute after it had been emptied of its contents while Hal and Poins fumbled with a particularly slippery soup tureen.
The host said, "Turnips," which were the contents of the empty bowl, and it was immediately refilled by the ever-ready Hotspur.
Volo was amazed at the sensory superiority of his host. Without the aid of sight he could still identify the contents of an empty bowl, perhaps by scent or by the sound it made when it hit the table or by the placement of the sound in relation to the other bowls on the table. The master traveler was awed, and now realized his folly in expecting that a swordsman such as Honor would have been forced into the atrophy of sedentary retirement by a mere inconvenience such as blindness.
The mage named McKern interrupted his masticating for a moment and asked, "Might I have a spot of wine, please?"
Honor stopped eating and cast his knife to the table, making a clang as it bounced off the side of the plate.
"I am appalled Mason! I will serve no wine before its time!" the host bellowed.
The servants and guests stiffened in silence. The host seemed honestly indignant and offended. Volo hoped that the swordmaster was not prone to violent outbursts over trivial matters such as this, as he had seen many age-demented warriors fall prey to in their declining years.
The master traveler's fears were unnecessary.
With all eyes upon him, Honor's stern visage stretched into the smile of a trickster, and a bold and boisterous laugh escaped from the venue that had formerly served as a way station for the delicacies of the table, on their way to the host's stomach.
"Ha, ha, ha," he roared, "but seriously Mason-only I get to call the great Mage McKern, revered senior Cloak of Mulmaster, by his first name-as I was saying, I have saved a marvelous after-dinner wine for dessert, and I have no desire to waste it on a palate that has already been plied by the pleasures of the fermented fluids of the grape."
The guests all joined in their host's levity with an unpracticed laugh in unison.
"Now," Honor ordered, "back to the matters at hand. Resume eating. Hopefully Mage McKern will not interrupt our gastronomic exercises and enjoyments again."
By the third course Volo realized that the only way to survive the opulent meal was to pick and nibble, rather than to fill one's plate and expect to empty it. Too bad Passepout isn't here, he thought. I bet he could give old Fullstaff a run for his money in the appetite arena.
A roar of thunder was heard outside, then a crash of lightning followed by another thunderous roar, and the sound of sheets of water being thrown against the roof high above their heads.
"I do believe it's raining," McKern announced in a manner more akin to a scholar positing a theorem than a dinner guest speculating on the obviously prevailing weather conditions.
"Mason, I shall not tell you again," Honor ordered, his clipped tones revealing the slight evidence of his irritation at the continued interruptions to the silent sanctity of supper time.
Honor had no sooner resumed eating when the sound of a door knocker resonated through the hall.
McKern was about to speak the obvious, as he was prone to do, when Honor Fullstaff saved him the trouble.
"Oh, let me guess, dear Mason," the host said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm from his tone, thus revealing the quick waning of his temper over the interruptions. "I bet you believe that there is someone at the door. Poins, please see who it is, and Hal, please set a place for them."