Once Around the Realms

Chapter 11

"I understand that you are looking for a slightly used skyship for charter," a dwarf whispered to the two travelers, who were just about to turn in for the night.

"Maybe we are," Volo replied.

"Another round of ale," Passepout bade the serving wench.

"I think I have something that might interest you," the dwarf continued, taking a place between the two travelers. "Mind if I join you?"

"Be our guest, care for a drink?" Passepout replied, fully cognizant that their tab was being comped in exchange for possible good review consideration.

"Don't mind if I do," the dwarf replied. With the dwarf sitting between them, the two travelers quickly noticed the aroma of dwarf body odor that comes when one chooses to ignore common sense and normal dwarf hygiene.

Passepout quaffed another tankard of ale, hoping it would dull his olfactory senses.

"Been working hard?" Volo inquired, seeking possible justification for the dwarfs body stench.

"Nope," replied the dwarf, downing a tankard and wiping the foam from his beard-and-mous-tache-framed mouth with his soiled shirtsleeve. "That is, unless you consider making deals to be hard work."

"What type of deals?" Volo pressed.

"Oh, just deals," the dwarf replied, helping himself to a refill on his tankard. "Now, your company and hospitality are wonderful, and I'm sure both of you are truly great fun to be around, but time is money. Are you interested in a skyship charter or not?"

"Well, maybe we are," Volo replied.

"It will cost you," the dwarf interjected.

"We will be willing to fairly compensate the sky-ship's owner for the charter."

"Good!" the dwarf replied. He quaffed the last of the ale and jumped to his feet, tossing a piece of parchment on the table. "Come to that address tomorrow at precisely midday… and come alone. If I see more than the two of you there, I will leave."

"We'll be there," Volo assured. "Tomorrow, then." And with that, the dwarf left. "I hope he bathes tonight," said Passepout. "So do I," agreed the master traveler, "but somehow I doubt it."

The two travelers slept late the following morning, but left the inn with more than enough time to reach the appointed place of their rendezvous with the dwarfish airship broker.

" 'Meet me at the abandoned boathouse at the farthest end of the Hale shipyard, signed Jonas Grumby' " read Volo from the parchment that had been left on the table. "I guess Jonas Grumby is our aromatic dwarven friend."

"Aromatic nothing. He just plain stank!" said the thespian. "I don't know if I'll be able to stand being cooped up with him for an around-the-world flight."

They arrived at the shipyard with time to spare. With the exception of a teenage barefooted beachcomber who was feeding the sea gulls, no one seemed to be around for miles. Likewise, no airship was in sight either, only the broken-down boat-house, which looked as if it were ready to cave in on itself.

"Hey! Over here!" Jonas yelled from the door of the boathouse. "Get inside! Quick!"

"All indications point to Captain Grumby here not necessarily being a businessman used to doing things on the up and up," Volo whispered to the thespian as they approached the boathouse. "We'll have to be careful. We can't afford to buy a pig in a poke."

"No!" Passepout replied in mock shock. "I thought he was as honest as Cadderly the cleric."

"Enough of your whispers," Grumby scolded. "An airship is what you want, an airship is what I have. See!"

Grumby pointed inside the door. The ramshackle boathouse was only a front, with walls propped up by poles in the sand. Inside, resting on the broad beams of its hull, was a two-masted airship with the name Minnow painted on the side.

Volo ventured farther into the pseudo-boathouse and walked around the ship with a critical eye.

"As I recall," Volo commented, "Halruaan airships have three masts of flexible wood to hold their windsails in place. This, uh, ship has only two masts, and no sails at all."

"That is true," Jonas replied, as if his answer sufficed.

"Now, I realize that the ship is powered by the spell rod, which seems to be in place, and not the sails, but, again if I remember correctly, weren't the sails used for steering?"

"Yes," replied the dwarf, whose odor from the night before had not improved.

"So," Volo persisted, "Tiow do you steer it?"

"All of that can be explained later. Do you think she suits your needs?"

"Is she airworthy?"

"I guarantee it!" the dwarf assured.

"Mister Volo," Passepout interrupted, taking his former master aside, "I don't trust him."

"Neither do I," the master traveler replied, "but we don't seem to have much of a choice."

Just then a new voice joined the conversation within the boathouse.

"Excuse me, I was wondering if perhaps there were any openings for a mate's position. I have sailing experience."

The voice belonged to the young beachcomber who had been feeding the sea gulls at the shoreline. He was human, of indeterminate mid-teen age, with skin the color of an acquired tan. His clothes were ragged, his frame thin, probably from too many missed meals, and his feet were calloused and dirty from having gone without shoes for a fair amount of time. He was also quite handsome in a rugged sort of way and physically fit, with the bright blue eyes of a person who did not overindulge in ale or any other intoxicating or debilitating substance.

"Scram!" Jonas yelled. "This is a private matter."

"No, stay." Volo countered the obstreperous dwarf's order. There was something vaguely familiar about the lad, Volo thought, and another body to help on the ship might come in handy if Grumby tried anything. Even if the kid didn't have enough experience to fly the ship, he could probably take care of the tasks that the dwarf no doubt expected his passengers to tend to.

"Do you want the charter or not?" the dwarf persisted. "I don't care what you do with the overgrown urchin. He can come along or stay behind. My price is based on slag commission."

"Slag commission?" Volo queried.

Passepout again took the master traveler aside.

"He thinks we're smugglers," the thespian replied. "Slag commission means he can lay claim on one third of the revenues from the sales of whatever we are transporting."

Volo thought for a moment and went back to the dwarf. "That seems reasonable," the master traveler replied, "but what will we do for a contract?"

"No contract is necessary. I'm a shrewd judge of character, and I can tell you must be smuggling something real dear," Grumby replied, taking out a gunnysack that was inscribed with various glyphs. "Just grab hold of the sack, and agree that I am entitled to one third of the proceeds of whatever you are smuggling. Agreed?"

"And you in turn agree to fly us for an indeterminate period until our, uh, transaction is completed. Agreed?"

"Agreed," replied Grumby.

"Then I agree, also," replied Volo, taking hold of the gunnysack.

The dwarf and Volo were bathed in a black aura, which quickly dissipated.

"There," the dwarf replied, "we have a contract, enforceable by the god of thieves, Mask himself. If either of us backs out, he forfeits his life. Now, what will I be hauling?"

"Just us," Volo replied.

"No," Grumby answered, losing patience, "the loot, the slag. What are you smuggling?"

"We're not smuggling anything," Passepout answered.

"But we agreed to slag commission!" the dwarf persisted.

"Yes," Volo agreed, "and one third of our ill-gotten gain is now yours. Unfortunately, as we lack any slag, I'm afraid that your take for this charter is therefore nothing."

"No!" the dwarf screamed, horrified that he had been swindled.

"And by your own devices, you are now bound to fulfill our charter or risk the ire of Mask," added Volo.

"No, I mean it can't be… aaggh," the dwarf raged, and then all of a sudden regained his composure. "You win. You got me, Wands. Where are we going?"

"Wands?" Volo replied, shocked to hear the name of the imposter who was indirectly responsible for his current plight.

"Yeah," Grumby replied, "that's your real name, isn't it? I mean, I heard the fat guy call you Volo back at the inn. Volo, also known as Marco Volo, also known as Marcus Wands, scoundrel, scalawag, rogue, smuggler, and thief."

"I'm afraid that you're mistaken," the master traveler replied. "I am Volothamp Geddarm, the master traveler of all Faerun and gazetteer author of the best-selling Volo's Guide series."

"Never heard of you," the churlish dwarf replied.

"I am the original Volo, the one whom Wands was impersonating."

"You don't say," replied Grumby, scratching the ill-kept thatch that was his beard.

Well, that explains a lot of things, Volo thought to himself. Maybe Wands has enhanced my reputation in ways that are beneficial in the right circumstances, and circles.

"So, Giddyup…"

"That's Geddarm… but just call me Volo."

"All right, Mister Just-Call-Me-Volo," the dwarf replied with a malicious gleam in his eye, "so where are we bound?"

"First to Kara-Tur, and from there farther east," Volo replied.

"Well, a bargain is a bargain for as long as it's a bond," the dwarf replied, resigned to the arrangement. "Just give me few minutes to get things ready, and well be off."

"We're leaving today?" Passepout asked, shocked that things were moving so fast.

"No time like the present," Grumby replied, continuing to fiddle with his preparations.

"Kara-Tur, here we come," Volo stated with a sense of confident victory over the way things worked out.

"But now?" Passepout persisted, having hoped for at least another night spent in the comforts of an inn.

"As Captain Grumby said," Volo replied, "no time like the present."

Volo then turned his attentions to the eager-to-work teenage urchin, who had been waiting silently and patiently within hailing distance.

"Come here, boy," Volo hailed as he imagined a sea captain might address a cabin boy.

"The name is Curtis, sir," said the lad, obviously taking offense at the boy moniker without wishing to seem insubordinate to his desired superior.

"You say you have sailing experience?" the master traveler inquired.

"Yes, sir," Curtis replied. "I interned with the Cormyrean Freesails for a while after leaving school. You see, I'm really the son of a Cormyrean nobleman. I've set out on my own to see the world before returning to university and then accepting my proper place in the family business. I know my way around a ship and would relish the opportunity of joining you on your journey."

Volo sized up the youth. He was in good shape and told a good story. The master traveler could not help but remember a certain other young traveler, who may have lied about his roots years ago, before gaining the prestige and acclaim of a master traveler and gazetteer.

Passepout joined the interviewer and interviewee, and popped in with a question.

"You say you have sailing experience," inquired the thespian, throwing the lad a piece of rope.

"Well, here then, tie me a sheepshank knot."

In ten seconds flat, Curtis tossed the knotted rope back to the chubby thespian.

Passepout just stared at the knot in his hands.

"Is there something wrong?" Curtis asked.

"No, my bo-, I mean, Curtis," Volo answered. "The knot you made is fine, not that Passepout would know a sheepshank from a box twist."

Passepout pouted. "I never said I was an expert," the chubby thespian muttered. "I just asked him to tie me one. I wanted to see what it looked like, that's all."

"Sure," said the master traveler, and then, turning back to the lad, added, "Welcome aboard."

The master gazetteer and the teenage urchin shook hands, sealing the lad's appointment.

Volo returned his attentions to Grumby. Behind him, he heard Passepout ask Curtis to tie the knot again, but this time slower.

"So, Grumby," Volo pressed, "now that we're working together, what is the story of this ship? You really don't look the part of an archmage, if you know what I mean. No offense, of course."

"None taken," the dwarf replied, still bustling with what appeared to be a large canvas bag. "But for that matter, now that I get a good look, you don't look like much of a smuggler, either. No offense."

"None taken," the gazetteer replied.

"Good," Grumby replied, taking a break from his prep work to smoke a bowl full of his pipe and tell the tale of the ship. "You see, she wasn't always my ship. She wasn't even originally called the Minnow. Originally she was christened the D. Niven, and she was the property of an archmage named Ffogg. Like yourself, he once planned on making a sky journey all around the world. Claimed he could do it in less than eighty days, too. You see he designed this ship himself, utilizing what he called a bag sail, that canvas thing over there, claiming that it would increase the speed and staying power of the ship's enchantment."

"So what happened to him?" Volo inquired.

"Just before he was going to take off, he was arrested for embezzlement. The world tour was just a scam to mask his getaway. As you may have heard, justice around here is rather swift when certain people set their minds to it, and there is nothing like the memory of someone's hand in your purse to set your mind to it."

"I can well imagine."

"So," the dwarf concluded, "he was swiftly and fairly dealt with."

"Come again?" Volo queried.

"Let's just say that he wasn't in any condition to lay claim to the ship that was waiting for him in the harbor at Halarahh, a ship that someone had- how shall I say? — accidentally set adrift."

"That's where you came in," Volo noted.

"Exactly," the dwarf replied. "The law of the sea clearly states that an abandoned vessel is fair game for salvage. I just extrapolated that law to airships as well and moved her down here to Khaerbaal for a new paint job and a rechristening."

With that, the dwarf finished his pipe and climbed aboard the Minnow, did a few last minutes of fiddling with the bag sail, and announced, "Okay, we're ready to go. Bag's in place, pantry filled. Climb aboard."

The two travelers and their recently acquired "mate" Curtis climbed aboard in wonderment.

"But," Passepout interjected, "shouldn't we be outside? I mean, we can't go very far inside this boathouse."

"Observe," the churlish dwarf replied, with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

Grumby manned the main wheel and pulled a lever that was attached to the two main masts. That set off a chain reaction that threw open the main hatch, centered on the deck between the two masts, and started to inflate the bag sail, which expanded and lifted the Minnow slowly off the ground. The roof of the boathouse collapsed backward, folding over the sides of the external walls by means of huge hidden hinges, and the airship rose up into the air, unfettered any longer by the boathouse's confines.

Grumby chuckled at the openmouthed amazement of his passengers. "Kinda neat, huh? I rigged the boathouse myself. Feel free to explore the ship. I'll be busy until we get out of Khaerbaal airspace, but by then we'll be smooth sailing. Don't mind the scorch marks on her bow. She had a slight altercation with a red dragon on the way down here. Didn't do much damage. Only lost two crewman. Oh, well, easy come, easy go."

And with that the dwarf began to sing an old sea chantey about seven castaways, from which Volo, Passepout, and Curtis quickly sought relief in the confines of their cabin.

On the main deck of the airship, in addition to the two masts and the centralized hatch, were two cabins, one at the fore and one at the aft. The aromatic delights of Grumby dictated that he have the fore cabin, closest to the ship's wheel, for himself, while Volo, Passepout, and Curtis shared the aft one.

The legendary walls of Halruaa, which succeeded in boxing in the nation with mountains, dictated that their course bear due south first, out over the Bay of Taertal, before turning eastward toward Dambrath and beyond. Grumby was reluctant to give up the helm to anyone else but appeared confident in his own navigational skills, and this confidence soon infected the rest of the ship's crew, who gradually settled into a routine. Curtis, indeed, did know his way around a ship and was a great help in keeping the riggings straight and the bag sail unfouled. True to the cleric's word, Passepout avoided any bouts with airsickness, but he was plagued with vertigo any time he thought to look overboard. He also vigorously complained of the cold, a condition exacerbated by the wind whipping around the deck. Volo, for his part, contented himself with taking in the scenery below and reminding the chubby thespian to cast over the necromancer's gems at the appropriate locations.

"This is boring," said the disgruntled thespian, having lost count of the amount of gems that he had dropped since they had left Suzail.

"That's only because you have been unwilling to enjoy the sights. There are numerous citizens of Faerun who would give their right arm for the aerial view that we have been enjoying these past few days… at least those of us who are willing to enjoy the view."

Passepout blushed. "I can't help it if I'm scared of heights," he answered. "Maybe I'll try again when we come to that place with the flying fish."

"You mean the Bay of Dancing Dolphins," Volo corrected, then paused. "Now that you mention it, we should have passed it by now."

"We're going the wrong way for that," Curtis answered, joining the two travelers at the rail.

"Oh, really?" Passepout skeptically retorted.

"Sure," the lad replied. "We're heading northwest."

Volo panicked. "Where is the sun?" he demanded.

"There." Passepout pointed.

"No!" responded Volo in a fit of anger. "Grumby! Get down here!"

The dwarf swung down from his place at the helm to join the group at the rail. "What do you want?" he growled.

"We're off course!" Volo screamed.

"Says who?"

"The kid," Passepout replied.

"He's mistaken," the dwarf countered.

"No, he's not!" Volo contradicted. "We're heading west."

"No, we're not," the dwarf maintained. "If we were heading west, we'd be over Chult by now."

"What's Chult?" Passepout inquired.

"It's a land of jungles on the western edge of the Shining South, believed to be inhabited by giant thunder lizards," replied Curtis, further fueling Passepout's conception of him as a know-it-all brat.

Volo looked overboard for a moment and then re-focused his attention on the aromatic dwarf. "Chult is bordered on the west and the south by low, mountainous hills and lakes, and on the southeast, the direction from which we would be coming if I am correct, by savannahs," the master traveler stated.

"Savannahs?" the dwarf queried. "What are savannahs?"

"Grasslands," Volo replied. He gestured over the side, "like those."

"Oh," replied the dwarf, once again scratching his rat's nest of a beard. "I guess this isn't a good time to bring up a few things."

"Like what?" Volo demanded, barely holding his anger in check.

"Like we're heading toward that volcano over there, and, uh… "

"Spit it out!" the master traveler screamed.

"… and, uh, we seem to be losing altitude."

"You mean…" Passepout pressed.

"Yup," the dwarf replied. "We're going down."