I wish you could say the same for the rest of us, Volo thought, deciding to hold his tongue.
"You will undoubtedly be incarcerated in Southroad Keep, probably on the same level that previously housed Rassendyll."
"Wonderful," Passepout replied sarcastically, "I was wondering when I could go back. The Mulmaster jail has so much to offer."
Volo jabbed his traveling companion in the ribs with his elbow. The chubby thespian got the message, and kept his comments to himself.
"Given all of the affairs of state that have to take place at the reception tonight, I am sure that Selfaril will not be able to get around to tortur-I mean, interrogating you until tomorrow, by which time Mason here will have already rescued you with the help of his brother, whose apartment is within the dungeon of the keep itself… so that he can be available for any smith work that might require a resident wizard."
Volo couldn't help noticing that the blind swordmaster had once again made dismissive allusions to the possibility of torture for himself and his companions.
"Mason will then lead you two to a subterranean chamber where Rassendyll and myself will rendezvous with you. There are secret tunnels and passages throughout the city, several of which lead directly to the High Blade's private study. We will proceed to that location, where we will await the arrival of the High Blade and force him to turn over the throne to Rassendyll."
The man in the iron mask glanced at Volo, Passepout, and Chesslyn. Though his face was obscured, they surmised that his expression mirrored theirs-being one of astonishment.
Mason interjected himself into the presentation at this point.
"You have to understand," the senior Cloak began, "we only have the best interests of Mulmaster at hand. Patricide is not a legitimate means of ascension to the throne, and it has succeeded in tainting the current High Blade's entire reign. This absurd matrimonial union with that beastess of Thay, his wanton and ill-advised offensives that have destroyed our navy, and this reign of fear that has pervaded the inner circles of the court, Hawks, Cloaks, and Blades alike, all have weakened Mulmaster's defenses so that it is now both vulnerable and detested.
"It is not too late to change this course," he continued, "and with Rassendyll on the throne, most of the harm can be undone." Mason then turned and directed his comments directly to Volo and Passepout. "Should Mulmaster fall to that she-witch, the Tharchioness, there will be nothing to stop her and her infernal Red Wizards from laying siege to all Faerun, at which point Mulmaster's problem becomes shared by all of Toril."
Volo listened earnestly to the old mage, and realized, despite his melodramatic presentation, that he had a point.
Passepout was about to once again declare a stance of passive and uninvolved neutrality when the master traveler stifled him with a hand across his mouth. The hand contained a hard roll which, under the circumstances, the corpulent thespian began to devour as he was now unable to speak.
"All Chesslyn has to do is turn us in to the city watch, and you'll do the rest?" the master traveler asked.
"Now, Volo," Chesslyn began, "you know I can take care of-"
"That is all," Honor assured. "If there was a way that we could engineer this coup without your assistance we would, but unfortunately we are a bit shorthanded at the moment, and a blind old man and a decrepitly ancient wizard can't do it all themselves. You and Passepout are our inside reinforcements. Unless we are able to remove the mask from Rassendyll here, all will be lost. No one will learn that he is the High Blade's brother, and he will die a miserable death, choking on his own beard."
Volo looked at Rassendyll, then at Chesslyn, and then at Passepout, before saying, "All right, we're in."
Passepout looked at Rassendyll anxiously, but didn't protest, though Chesslyn did hear him mutter a sarcastic, "wonderful" under his breath.
Mason then went over a preliminary map of the keep to acquaint Volo and Passepout with the intricacies of the architecture. The two were then washed and bathed by the able-handed Poins and Hal, fed, and dispatched to Mulmaster in the custody of an old crone with a crossbow who sounded, to the very discerning ear, suspiciously like Chesslyn Onaubra.
On the Road Back to Mulmaster:
"Why do you and I have to be the reinforcements?" Passepout asked his boon companion. "Why couldn't Fullstaff have sent Poins, Hal, Hotspur, or any of his other lackeys?"
"Probably," the master traveler of all Toril answered, "because he didn't want to risk anything happening to them."
Volo and Passepout's hands were tied to the saddles of their horses in such a way that unless they sat perfectly upright and still, they would fall off and be dragged under the hooves of the surefooted stallions of the stable of Honor Fullstaff, whose servants did the binding, in Honor's words, to make their captivity convincing.
Chesslyn's long sword was hidden on a pack mule that followed closely behind so as not to arouse the suspicions of the guards at the gate, and in its place was a modified crossbow.
Along the way, Volo passed the time with stories of exploits similar to his own that he had picked up in various taverns around Toril. Chesslyn's weapon at hand reminded him of one that he had heard recently.
"I remember an article a while back that I read about a man with a crossbow who searched all Faerun in hopes of finding the meaning of life, but instead found love, laughs, and friendship," he began.
"What was it's title?" Chesslyn asked.
"On the Road with Crossbow, Hope, and Lamour."
"Lamour?" she queried.
"It means female love interest in some foreign tongue."
"Oh," she replied wistfully.
Volo could almost make out the towers of Mulmaster peeking up in the distance, and rashly chose this moment to make his move.
"Speaking of love, laughs, and friendship," he said quickly, slurring over the first "l" word, "when this is all over I was wondering if maybe you and I could spend a little more time getting to know each other."
"What do you have in mind?" she asked coyly.
"Maybe dinner?" he asked carefully.
"I have an even better idea," she countered, "how about…"
The tete-a-tete of the two travelers was interrupted by a loud snore issuing forth from the unconscious Passepout, who, despite the bumpy road had somehow managed to fall asleep in the saddle. Chesslyn and Volo turned in his direction, and in doing so noticed an advance squad of Hawks approaching, no doubt a patrol for the city watch.
Chesslyn put a finger to her lips, indicating discretion, and whispered, "Later."
It was the last word to pass between them, as the oncoming Hawks took possession of the two prisoners, promising their old crone captor that she would be notified when the reward for their capture could be picked up.
The two Hawks talked about how they planned to split the reward between themselves as they rode into Mulmaster with the bound Passepout and Volo.
In less than an hour the two travelers were sharing a dark and damp cell in the bowels of the dungeon of Southroad Keep.
In the Villa of Sir Honor Fullstaff, Swordmaster, retired:
Mason worked his magics on the iron mask that encased Rassendyll's head. When the spellcasting was complete, a mirror was brought out of storage so that the masked man could admire the handiwork that had been performed.
Gazing into the mirror, Rassendyll couldn't believe his eyes. He immediately raised his hand to the mask, to feel whether it had tactually changed as well.