Once Around the Realms

Chapter 15

True to the words of Aleekhan's horse master, the purloined steeds were indeed the fastest that the encampment had to offer, as evidenced by the noticeable lack of a similarly mounted party dispatched by the enraged Khan to bring back the turncoats and his hostage. By noon the following day the travelers felt reasonably safe that they would not be further pursued. They had skirted the edge of a sandstorm, and warring dust devils had succeeded in crossing the path from whence they had traveled numerous times, thus obscuring any tracks or trails that they might have left.

As of noon that same day, they had also attempted no less than three times to remove the gag from the mouth of their rescued heiress, only to quickly replace it each time as she refused to listen to reason. The travelers realized that they needed to cover the greatest amount of distance between themselves and the Khan's Horde, and had no time for conciliatory explanations or deflections of insults. As a result, when the group finally stopped to eat later that afternoon (much too much later to suit the rumblings of the stout thespian's stomach), the heiress Bleth was still bound and gagged, and really quite ticked off about it, having now ridden more than twenty hours in a manner more suited to a merchant's pack than a lady of breeding.

In his own mind, Passepout had quickly resolved that the heiress Bleth would be his ticket to easy street, once his commitment to world travel was fully resolved, and therefore he committed himself to ingratiating himself with her as soon as possible-and what time could possibly be better than mealtime?

"We can't afford to tarry too long," Volo instructed, "so therefore, let's eat, be quick about it, and back in the saddle, and on our way."

"I hate rushing a meal," Passepout remarked sadly. "It's usually my favorite part of the day."

"If you had your way," Curtis jibed, "mealtime would be the whole day."

Passepout ignored the teenager's comment and began to press his case for getting on the heiress's good side with the master traveler.

"Mister Volo," he requested in as angelic a voice as possible, "don't you think we should offer some food to our new, uh, companion?"

Volo was stunned. Never before had he seen the pudgy thespian willing to share a meal with an extra mouth that might result in the diminishment of his own portion. He suspected Passepout had an ulterior motive and quickly decided that the situation might indeed prove to be quite amusing, particularly in view of his dubious success with the young lady from the Company of the Catlash.

"Good idea," Volo replied. "Curtis, why don't you bring a bowl over to our reluctant rescuee and see if her manners have improved any?"

Before Passepout could protest, Curtis had already objected.

"Meaning no offense, Mister Volo," the teenager replied, "but I'd rather not. Last time I tried to remove her gag, she almost bit off my fingers."

Passepout interjected himself into the discussion.

"Poor boy," he said, "obviously your, uhm, schooling has left you grossly ignorant of the ways and needs of the gentler sex. Allow me to take care of her, Mister Volo."

"As you wish," Volo replied, and with a wink added, "just make sure you come back with all your fingers… and if she puts up a fight, feel free to accept her portion for yourself. It's the least reward you deserve for so hazardous a mission."

Passepout took the bowl and proceeded to the shade where the heiress now lay, still tied and gagged. Setting the food aside, he contemplated the girl, and then the bowl, trying to decide which was more important to him at the moment.

Possible future wealth, he contemplated, or an immediate second serving. Decisions, decisions.

His quiet contemplations were rudely interrupted by a quick kick upward by the heiress, who had managed to free one leg from its thong imprisonment, and whose contact with one of the rolls of the thespian's abdominal bulk threw him off balance, causing him to almost fall on top of the bowl he had brought to feed her.

"Now that wasn't very nice," he barked, and then in a gentler tone added, "don't you want something to eat?"

She hesitated for a moment, her beautiful, dark eyes filled with apprehension.

"We're not going to hurt you. I mean, we rescued you, and all," the thespian explained.

Her gaze darted to the bowl of food, then back to Passepout.

"Sure, you can have food," he surmised. "Just don't try to kick me again. The food's not bad. Of course, if we had time I could fix you a real feast." Passepout paused for a moment to pat his substantial stomach, and then continued, "You might say I'm sort of an expert on the science of the gastronomy, and culinary cuisine… but Mister Volo says we're in a hurry…"

Her eyes blinked in recognition, interrupting his chain of thought.

"Oh, you've heard of him. Yes, he's that Volo, author of the Volo's travel guides, and master traveler of the Realms. I'm Passepout, his trusted advisor. He asked that I come along on this trip. Needed my help, actually. Of course, I agreed. Anything for Volo, after all. He has a reputation to live up to. I do too, just not as a traveler. Oh, here, let me undo that."

Carefully, the chubby thespian undid the gag that blocked her mouth.

"You see, I'm an actor," he continued, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his removal of her gag hadn't really changed her situation. "I am Passepout, favorite son of Catinflas and Idle, famed thespians of the Realms, and…"

"The food," she interrupted.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Passepout replied, offering her the bowl, and only then realizing that her hands were still bound together. "Oops, sorry," he apologized, and began to undo her wrist bonds.

"Well, it's about time," she began to harangue, but then thought better of it, adding courteously, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Passepout answered.

Having undone the wrist thong, he handed her the bowl.

"Now that I think of it, I really must apologize for the food," he continued. "An heiress such as yourself is obviously accustomed to better."

"Yeah, sure," she responded between mouthfuls that were none too dainty or delicate.

She's probably just real hungry, the thespian thought. I know how I get when I haven't eaten in a while. I guess rich people are no different than poor people when they are really starving.

"What are you staring at?" she asked haughtily.

Oh, dear! Passepout thought, I offended her!

"Why, your regal beauty, of course," he replied, quickly trying to think on his feet. "I mean, I've never been this close to an heiress before, I mean, never when I wasn't giving a command performance, that is."

"Well, okay," she replied, "just try not to be too obvious about it."

Thank Eo she doesn't offend easily.

Putting down the now-empty bowl, she began to massage the cramped joints that had been bruised by the thongs that had bound her.

"So your name is Passepout," she stated.

"Yes," he replied, "the son of Idle and Catinflas, the noted…"

"Yeah, I know," she interrupted. "The thespians."

"Exactly," he replied, adding, "and what is your name?"

"Shurleen Laduce," she replied absently, her concentration still focused on relieving her aching joints.

"Excuse me," Passepout inquired, desperately trying not to appear insubordinate or dense, "but aren't you the daughter of Lord Gruen Bleth? Meaning no disrespect, but shouldn't your last name be Bleth?"

"Oh, yeah," she corrected, "my full name is Shurleen Laduce Bleth."

The thespian began to become skeptical, until with a bat of her eyes she added, "but you can call me Shurleen."

"Oh, thank you, Miss Bleth, I mean, Shurleen," he fawned, "and if there is anything I can do for you or your fabulously rich father, just let me know."

"Yeah, sure," she replied, back to her previous mood of indifference. "So I guess you're going to tie me up again."

"Oh, no," he assured her. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"What about the other guy?"

"Mister Volo? Oh, I don't think so…"

"Not him," she countered, "that guy who wouldn't untie me back at Ali's place."

"Oh, you mean Curtis," the thespian answered. "You don't have to worry about him. He takes his orders from Mister Volo and me. I must speak to him about his abhorrent behavior back there, and I assure you it won't happen again."

Shurleen batted her eyes at the moonstruck Passepout, saying sweetly, "My hero."

"Yes, ma'am, I mean Shurleen," the thespian fumbled, "but I think we have to be hitting the road again."

"Good!" she replied eagerly. "I can't wait to get back to Cormyr."

Passepout shook his head in resignation.

"I think you had better talk to Mister Volo about that," he replied.

"What do you mean, we are heading due east?" Shurleen screamed. "Cormyr is back to the west!"

"I am aware of that," the patient master traveler replied, "but unfortunately, our path back west is due east."

"But why?" she whined with all of the grating intensity of a spoiled princess.

"Because that's just the way it is," Curtis interrupted, "and you're just going to have to accept that!"

Volo was shocked at the lack of tact Curtis showed toward their pampered guest, and even more surprised at the guest's response.

"How dare you talk to me like that!" she ranted. "Wait till my father finds out! He's Lord Gruen Bleth, you know, and he could buy and sell your sorry little hide, so you better watch out. Who do you think you are?"

Curtis bit his tongue to hold back an equally vitriolic response, mindful of the keen eyes of Volo that were concentrating on his behavior. Passepout, on the other hand, decided to jump in and answer her question.

"He claims to be the son of some wealthy merchant off to see the world before settling down to the family business," the thespian replied with more than a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

"Oh, really," she retorted. "Well, I know all of the eligible bachelors on the Faerun society registry, and I don't recall anyone on the list by the name of Curtis."

"My thoughts exactly," Passepout added. "Why he's never even seen the lovely halfling bard Olive Ruskettle in concert. I, of course, have performed with her."

"Really," Shurleen answered. "Personally, I've always preferred the bardic charms of Danilo Thann, but Olive is not without her merits. I guess you could say I've always had a thing for bards…"

Passepout's ample bulk shrank as his heart began to break.

"… and other thespians, of course," she added.

Passepout reinflated.

"All of these discussions are well and good," Volo responded, "but unfortunately, due east is where we are heading. You are more than welcome to join us, or if you prefer, you can help yourself to a quarter of the provisions, and the horse you rode in on, and set your own course due west, but I would advise against it."

Volo began to repack his stallion in preparation for breaking camp and resuming the journey. Curtis did the same, trying very hard to ignore the spoiled heiress.

Shurleen was in a quandary, and looked to her only ally, Passepout.

"Passepout," she implored, "surely you will…"

Passepout held up his hand to halt her request.

"I'm afraid that I've given Mister Volo my word, and a gentleman's word is his bond. Sorry," he explained as he began to pack his steed as well. "Due east it is."

Shurleen, having no desire to be left alone in the desert, stomped her foot, and demanded, "Well, then, east it is. Now who will help me pack my horse?"

"Curtis," Volo instructed, "help her, and lend her your blanket. Those silken pantaloons weren't really cut out for traveling."

Curtis left his own mount and began to pack Shurleen's steed as the spoiled heiress harangued him.

Passepout discreetly joined Volo at his steed's side. "Isn't she something?" the thespian said.

"That's one word for her," Volo replied.

"I think she likes me," he professed, as only a moonstruck victim of a crush could.

Volo just rolled his eyes and resumed the setting of his packs.

The ride eastward was reasonably uneventful.

Deserts gave way to hills, to mountain passes, and back to plains.

The four travelers' journey was reasonably comfortable with ample water, and food for themselves, and their steeds.

Even Passepout's usual vocal protestations of hunger, starvation, and gastric deprivation seemed to be held in abeyance by the presence of the newest member of their traveling party.

Shurleen, unfortunately, more than made up for his moony agreeableness with a continuous stream of protestations about her comfort, their destination, and the time it was taking getting there.

Volo himself began to consider the desirability of ditching her in one of Kara-Tur's numerous seaports, leaving her to find her own means of getting home from there. But then common sense would intervene, and he would have to dismiss such plans. He had no desire to get on the bad side of the Bleth family, nor did he wish to upset Passepout, who was lavishing an unseemly amount of unconditional acceptance of her bad behavior.

As they passed just to the north of Kara-Tur's famed Dragon wall, Volo mused to himself that it was just one less wall for Shurleen's whining to echo off.

Shurleen's cacophonous drone of complaints was interrupted by a question. "What's that smell?" she asked.

The travelers reined in their stallions and paused to evaluate.

"Smells like smoke," Curtis answered.

"And where there's smoke, there's fire," Passepout added, not wishing to be upstaged by the younger man.

Volo fingered his beard in contemplation. "It's fire and smoke, all right," he observed. "Bamboo, I think."

"It seems to be coming from over there," Shurleen added, pointing toward a nearby ridge that blocked a valley pass.

"We should proceed with caution," Passepout declared, trying to sound officious to conceal his own growing fear.

"Agreed," the master traveler answered. "Let's proceed on foot."

The four travelers dismounted in unison, Curtis taking the reins of Volo's and Passepout's mounts so that they could discreetly proceed ahead and do reconnaissance.

As the two traveling companions reached the ridge, Shurleen called, "Do you see anything yet?"

"Quiet!" Curtis hushed, none too sweetly.

"Why?" she pouted.

"We might not want to give our presence away!"

"Oh," she answered softly, for the first time really noticing that Curtis cut a fine figure for a young fellow of the itinerant classes.

Too bad he's not rich, she thought to herself, I really might be able to go for his type. Still, a dalliance on the road might not be too bad, provided no one finds out.

"Uh, Curtis," she said sweetly, "now that we're alone, I…"

"Quiet!" he hushed again, not paying attention to anything she had to say, only to the amount of noise she was making. "I told you to be quiet!"

Well that settles it, she fumed. Never in a million years, not even if he was the richest man in all Toril. I'd sooner marry that blimp of a thespian Passepout than keep intimate company with this young rogue. At least the fatso minds his manners.

"You know, I really think she likes me," Passepout commented, as he and Volo sauntered around the ridge.

"Quiet!" Volo snapped. "We might not want to give our presence away."

"Oh, yeah, right," the thespian agreed, dropping to a whisper, while falling into line behind the master traveler.

The smoke from smoldering bamboo was coming from the remnants of a small merchant caravan that apparently had been attacked by bandits. After they had finished ransacking it of all that was valuable, they had inexpertly set it on fire, which resulted in many clouds of pungent smoke but very little fire damage, as the flames quickly smoldered instead of spreading.

"Let's take a closer look," Volo suggested, immediately drawing closer to one of the overturned wagons.

"Do we have to?" protested the chubby thespian, who nevertheless followed the master traveler to the scene of carnage.

No fewer than ten bodies had been hacked to pieces at the attack site. Most of the victims were old men and women whose possessions were probably of little value to the raiding party of bandits.

It was apparent that in lieu of an expected windfall of booty, the thieves had chosen entertainment in its place, much to the misfortune of their innocent victims.

Volo shook his head in disgust. Once again he decided that no matter how wide his experience or far his travels or extensive his knowledge of the way of the world, he would never get used to the cruelty and inhumanity that man brings to bear on his fellow man.

"I guess we're too late to do any good here," Volo muttered in resignation.

"Good," Passepout answered out of relief. "I mean, yes, uh, too bad, a real shame."

The two travelers turned to rejoin the rest of their group on the other side of the ridge, when Volo swiveled back, cocking his ear to the wind.

"Wait," he instructed. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Passepout answered, anxious to rejoin Shurleen, and not trusting her alone with that arrogant beachcomber, Curtis.

A soft wailing seemed to be coming from the ambush site.

"That," Volo replied.

"It's probably just the wind," Passepout replied hopefully, adding, "We should be on our way."

"In a minute," Volo replied, and turned his attentions back to the site of the ambush.

The wailing grew louder as they approached one of the overturned wagons, which though light in construction nonetheless covered a large amount of the plain in its rubbled and wrecked form.

Volo began to pick through the rubble as the wailing persisted. Lifting up the remnants of two bamboo screens, he uncovered the bodies of two men, one of whom had been beheaded. The shifting of the screen further revealed the missing head, a face mask still in place.

"Obviously this guy put up a fight," Volo commented, gesturing to the intact body, "and managed to behead one of the bandits before the others managed to do him in. See here, in addition to killing him, they gave him a haircut."

"Why?" asked the slightly bewildered Passepout, who really wished that he was still back with the horses.

"They cut the topknot of his hair that indicates that he was a samurai."

"Strange souvenir."

"Sure was," Volo replied.

Passepout turned to leave and stumbled over another piece of the rubble. The wailing quickly changed to a loud crying.

"Quickly," Volo ordered. "Help me move this. I think something is trapped under here."

The two travelers pulled back the piles of bamboo screen, and uncovered the top of a cart that had been buried in the ground, and covered with the screens. The cart was bedecked with all sorts of throwing knives and swords, a veritable portable arsenal for a wandering samurai. In its center, completely at home among the weaponry but crying from the pangs of hunger from not eating for several hours was a very small child, probably less than two years old.

Carefully Volo and the chubby thespian extracted the child from its highly lethal bower of martial arts, and returned to Curtis and Shurleen, who were just beginning to get worried.

"A baby," Shurleen cooed. "Where did you find that?"

"He's the sole survivor of a bandit's ambush of a very poor merchant's caravan," Volo explained. "See how his hair is tied back into a knot. He is probably the son of the samurai who tried to defend the caravan and wound up giving up his life. We found his body back there, too."

"What are we going to do with him?" Curtis inquired.

"He's precious," Shurleen cooed, taking the child into her arms. "Look, he even has some toys tied to his belt."

"Those aren't toys," Volo replied. "They're throwing stars. Very pretty, but also very deadly."

"Sounds like a few women I know," Curtis jibed.

"Me, too," Passepout agreed, "present company excluded, of course."

"What will we do with this little angel?" Shurleen inquired.

A new voice joined the conversation, one that was very old and dry, with a touch of the whimsical.

"He must be brought to the school for warriors on the Isles of Wa off the coast of the Fouchu Peninsula."

The four travelers turned toward the newcomer: a five-foot-one oriental man in a ragged kimono that seemed to be at least a hundred years old- and at that only half the age of its wearer. The parched skin that covered his head was bald save for five strands that drooped across his weathered face, two in the place of eye brows, two in the place of a mustache, and one in the dead center of his chin acting as a poor excuse for a mandarin beard.

"Who are you?" Volo asked, coming forward, mindful that rarely were those who appeared so unthreatening really as they seemed.

"Gracious travelers," the old man replied, "I am Chiun de Lao, last surviving adult of the caravan whose remnant you have seen around the ridge. It is I who hid the child, which you now possess, so that I might go in search of help. As the gods would have it, help found us."

"What happened to the rest of your party?" Volo inquired.

"Slaughtered by bandits. Only the child and myself survived," Chiun answered. "The child's father was a brave warrior who gave his life protecting his son. It was his final wish that his son be sent to the Warriors' school that he himself attended."

"Well, we will be happy to allow you to travel with us until we reach a town where you will be able to book passage for yourself and the child," Volo offered.

"No," the old man insisted. "You must accompany us on this journey so that you might guard the child. His father was an honorable samurai of a dishonorable shogun, and assassins are lying in wait for us at every turn. His enemy will not rest until the legacy of this warrior who died defending our caravan has been erased from the world."

"Why didn't they kill the kid with the others?"

"Father hid son," Chiun replied. "When father was killed, bandits assumed like father like son. Their patron will be very angry."

"I guess it's hard to find good help these days," Passepout offered, taking a moment to noticeably glare over at Curtis.

"How did you survive their attack?" Volo inquired.

"I was away from the others when the attack came," the old coot replied. "I had to relieve myself, and such things take time."

"I see," answered Volo, not wishing to hear any further details on the matter. "Well, once we arrive at a sizeable town, I am sure that you will be able to hire sufficient protection for your journey. If not a powerful ward, perhaps a mercenary who happens to be heading your way."

"Mad Monkey say, 'You don't loan a wolf a cub if protection is what you want,' " replied Chiun.

"What?" replied the befuddled Passepout.

"Mad Monkey also say, 'The young should pay attention to the elderly so as not to tire them out by making them repeat what they have already said,' " replied the old man, then insisting, "you must take the child to the Isles of Wa."

Volo fingered his beard, partly in amusement at the old man, partly to evaluate the situation at hand.

"I think we will have to talk about this among ourselves before we come to a decision, Mister Lao," Volo said finally.

"Chiun," the old man corrected. "You may call me Chiun."

"Would you mind holding the child while we discuss this?" Volo asked, indicating to Shurleen to hand the babe to the old man.

"No," he replied. "No can do. My arms are old and frail, and my skin ravaged by the diseases of age. A child as pure as this must not be placed in the arms of the incompetent. Mad Monkey say…"

"No," interrupted Volo, holding his hand in a symbolic gesture to halt the onrush of epithets, "that will be fine."

"Chiun will fetch his staff from the caravan while you talk among yourselves," replied the old coot, who proceeded to scramble around the ridge with greater ease than either Passepout or even Volo had been able to manage.

Volo motioned for the rest of the party to draw close together to discuss the matter at hand while they were alone save for the child.

"Well, what should we do?" Volo asked to no one in particular. "We can't abandon either the child or Chiun. There are bandits and other dangers around, and if there are assassins lying in wait for this child, all the more reason to get it to a safe haven like that school on the Islands of Wa."

"It's not like we had another destination in mind," Passepout offered, "but who will take care of the child?"

"Why, Shurleen, of course," Curtis proclaimed. "Child care is women's work."

"How dare you talk to me like that?" Shurleen protested, coincidentally without giving up the child, who had fallen asleep in her arms. "Woman's work, indeed."

"It's not like you've ever done any work or anything," Curtis sniped, throwing fuel on the fiery rage of their female companion.

"Why, you…" she sputtered.

"I think you'd make a wonderful mother," Passepout offered, trying to calm her down, though his comment fell on deaf ears.

"That's enough from all of you," Volo commanded, taking control of the situation. "Since no one seems to have another plan in mind, it's now settled. We will escort the child and Chiun to the Isles of Wa, and we will all take turns tending to the child."

"Thank you," replied Chiun, who appeared behind them, having fetched his staff from the caravan, and rejoined the group at just the right moment. "Mad Monkey will bless you all."

"By the way," Passepout inquired, "who is this Mad Monkey that you always quote?"

"Oh," explained Chiun, "Mad Monkey is a powerful demigod and free spirit who protects those who follow his school of martial arts, such as the one located on the Isles of Wa which will be our destination. He is also the author of many pithy epigraphs."

"Like what?" the chubby thespian inquired.

"Man who have yen for success in baking business may have to amass a fortune in cookies. Too tight a top knot tangles many a comb. Man who forsake the fire of cookery to eat raw fish may find himself with flames in his bowels and belly. Dwarf who enlists in the army of titans often comes up short. Dragon who…"

"Enough," the thespian interrupted. "I get the idea."

"Some are quite funny," Chiun concluded, "but all are insightful."

"Uh, right," Volo replied, trying to get the show back on the road. "Chiun, why don't you ride with Curtis?"

"You are most kind," the old man replied.

"Uh, yes," Volo continued, "and Shurleen, would you mind taking the first shift in child care?"

"No problem," she replied agreeably, the addition of the child having a wonderful effect on her disposition. "I can feed him as we ride."

"We can do it together," Passepout offered.

"I pity the poor horse if you do," Curtis sniped.

Passepout was about" to retort with a full measure of vitriol, when Shurleen intervened.

"No, that's all right," she offered. "I'm sure I can manage on my own… but thank you for offering," and with another bat of her long lashes, she returned her attention from the chubby thespian to the child.

Passepout helped her mount her horse with the child in her arms and rejoined Volo, who was holding the reins of his steed for him.

"You see," the chubby thespian insisted, "I told you she likes me."

Volo turned away so that no one could see him rolling his eyes, and turned his steed toward the one bearing Curtis and Chiun.

"Well, Chiun," he inquired, "where do we go from here?"

"To the sea," he replied, then adding, "that away."

They journeyed at a varied pace to accommodate the needs of the child and the bowels of the old man, whose age and diet had left him with little self-control, particularly after a long day of horseback riding.

If one was to believe Chiun, Mad Monkey was indeed smiling on them, as it never rained when they couldn't find shelter, nor did they ever run out of food when generous farmers weren't around to restock their supplies.

Their paths did not cross with bandits, or other disagreeable sorts, and in relatively no time they arrived at the shore.

From there they traveled south to the first available harbor where they could trade their horses for a boat to take them to the Isles of Wa.

They finally came to rest at a harbor inn called the No Bull House. It was run by an old sailor from the Moonshaes by the name of Blackthumb, who agreed to put them up for the night and introduce them to a dealer with whom they could trade their horses for a boat on the following day.

After an unusual but tasty meal of seaweed salad and Moonshae stew a la Shou Lung, prepared by the innkeeper's wife from her own recipe, and all washed down by several flagons of imported Moonshae ale, the inn was closed for the night. The travelers were escorted to a common room equipped with enough beds for the entire party, where they settled in for the night.

All had grown quiet, and the travelers were on the verge of a peaceful night's rest when the silence was shattered by an ear-splitting cry.

"Waaaaaaaaaaa!"

The child, who had fallen asleep while the rest of the group was still finishing dinner, had awakened and was making its presence known.

"This is just great," Passepout grumbled. "My first night in an inn in I don't know how long, and I have to be on baby duty."

Passepout swung his legs over the side of the bed, wiped the sleep from his eyes, and was about to go to the makeshift crib that housed the crying infant when he noticed four shadowy figures in the room with them.

"Hey, who are you?" he shouted loud enough to wake the whole inn.

A flash of steel was barely glimpsed in the candlelit room. A katana was removed from its scabbard and brought in a sweeping arc toward the unprotected neck of the chubby thespian.

Craaaaaak!

The chubby thespian fell to the floor as the side of the bed upon which he had been lying caved in from the unbalanced strain of his tarrying too long while sitting on its edge.

The katana's blade embedded itself in the now off-kilter bedpost that came crashing to hit the foundering thespian on the bed, barely deflecting the blade from its lethal course.

Blackthumb appeared at the door, torch hi hand, illuminating the intruders. They were dressed in black from head to toe, with only a slit in their masks to reveal eyes of elven gray. By this time, all had drawn their swords and were choosing their targets.

"Assassins!" Blackthumb yelled, cudgeling the closest one with his shillelagh of Moonshae briar.

Silent except for the whistling and whooshing of displaced air, the masked intruders sprang into action.

Shurleen screamed and threw herself on top of the makeshift crib, intending to protect the child, only to find that it was no longer there.

The baby!" she cried. "He's gone!"

"No, he isn't," Curtis called, having thrown himself on the child, who had managed to climb out of the crib and crawl toward the beachcomber's bed.

Volo threw his trusty dagger, catching one of the approaching assassins squarely between the eyes.

Curtis dispatched another with remarkable accuracy, using the throwing stars that the child still carried.

The fourth assassin, who also had set his sights on the crib, was about to skewer the shaken Shurleen, when Passepout, having only partially recovered his equilibrium from the fall, came lumbering into him, throwing him off-balance and succeeding in delaying his recovery long enough for Shurleen to stab him with his own sword. She and the thespian were doused with a spray of bloody gore from the newly opened hole in the assassin's chest.

The entire battle had lasted less than a minute.

Volo undid the black hood from the assassin nearest him, the one who had been cudgeled by Blackthumb, to reveal its oriental elven facial features.

"Well," said Passepout, regaining his balance, "that was easy enough!"

As if on cue, the assassins began to stand up, ready to resume their attack.

"It can't be!" Shurleen screamed.

"Undead elven ninja assassins," Blackthumb exclaimed. "Recently raised from the dead, I might add."

Slower this time, as the element of surprise was gone and counterattacks realized to be ultimately futile, the assassins regrouped, and prepared to resume their business, quickly and efficiently.

The smell of corruption, decay, and death pervaded the room, and the way to the door was clearly blocked by the assassins.

There was no escape, and everyone knew it.

"Rots ah Ruck!"

Chiun had appeared at the doorway, once again having evidently left the room prior to the attack in order to relieve himself, and, with trusty staff raised, was now invoking some ancient incantation.

"Nough tee que knoe shur tay!"

The ninjas immediately burst into flame, incinerating to dust in seconds without harming anyone in the room or even singeing the floor upon which they were standing.

"Nice work, Chiun," Curtis complimented.

The old coot bowed. "Mad Monkey say, 'Sending undead assassins to do a man's work is cheating.' " Chiun replied.

"I take it you are a priest of this Mad Monkey," Volo responded, taking a moment to give the frail old man a gentle pat on the back.

"You might say that," Chiun replied, "but now I must sleep if you will be so kind.*Mad Monkey say, 'Early to bed, early to rise…"

" '… makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,' " Blackthumb completed.

Chiun was taken aback for a moment.

"Are you a disciple of Mad Monkey?" he queried.

"No," the innkeeper replied, "just here to defend my guests, and clean up after messy attacks."

"Mad Monkey say, 'Good innkeepers are hard to find.'"

With bare minimal rearranging, the room was restored, and the innkeeper and the travelers once again prepared themselves for bed.

Volo, Chiun, Blackthumb, and Curtis had once again turned in for the night, and the child was soundly sleeping back in his makeshift crib.

Shurleen had decided to clean herself up after the bloody attack, while Passepout had decided that a few more flagons of Moonshae ale was in order to steady his nerves after the evening's excitement. After a while, Shurleen returned to the room.

"Hi," she greeted, sitting next to the portly thespian. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Not at all," he sputtered, his eyes consumed by the wonderments that lay beneath the new silken kimono that Blackthumb's wife had lent her.

"My hero," she purred. "You saved me from that horrible assassin."

"Nothing to it," the proud Passepout replied, trying to regain his self-control by taking another drink. "Nothing any other full-fledged hero wouldn't do."

The tavern room in which they were sitting was almost silent. Only the sounds of Volo's snoring from the adjoining common room disturbed the peace.

"I'm glad we have this chance to be alone," she pressed.

"So am I," he replied, trying to tear his eyes away from her physical charms.

"You're not really an actor, are you?" she queried.

Passepout was dumbstruck. "What do you mean?" he replied, regaining control of his words and his eyes.

"Well, I've never known a rich actor," she replied, "and you are obviously rich. Not that I mind, of course."

She pressed herself closer to him, and the chubby thespian felt peculiarly uncomfortable.

"Why do you think I'm rich?" he inquired, surprised to find himself drawing back from her overt advances.

"Well, you're also rather careless," she replied. "You seem to have been dropping these rubies all along the way since you rescued me. I only really noticed since the site of the caravan attack. Here."

In her hand were clearly a half-dozen of the necromancer's gems.