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 un
conditional 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 ha
ve 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."
Once Around the Realms (single books) Page 14