The Mage in the Iron Mask (4 page)

Rassendyll was tossed into a damp cell whose light was cast from a torch down the hall, its illumination barely creeping in through the guards’ peep hole and the slot through which the slop that was considered food would be passed.

The weight of the mask bore heavily on his neck and shoulders, throwing him off-balance and dampening all of his perceptions. His body hurt, and he was racked with questions about his fate.

Clearing his throat, he cried out in torment and confusion, “Why? Why?
Why?
”

A lone voice answered him from one of the cells down the hall. It said gruffly, with a basso bellow reminiscent of a thespian or an opera star, “Will you keep it down? An actor needs his sleep.”

A Friend in Need

On a Mulmaster city street:

“Oh thank you, Mister Volo,” the pudgy thespian Passepout exclaimed, his bulgy flesh bouncing beneath his tunic as he tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and his previous night’s lodging, the prison known as Southroad Keep. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along to bail me out.”

“Think nothing of it, old friend,” Volothamp Geddarm replied to his former bond servant, pausing only a moment to adjust the beret atop his curly scalp before adding, “and I thought I had cured you of that
Mister
Volo stuff.”

“No,” Passepout corrected. “You cured me of calling you
Master
Volo. The title of ‘mister’ is the least form of respect I deign to use for my savior and salvation.”

“Again,” the impeccably dressed master traveler of Faerûn (if not all Toril) instructed, “think nothing of it.”

“But you don’t understand, Mist … uh, Volo,” the thespian insisted. “It was horrible being locked up in a dungeon cell alongside madmen, vagrants, and the other detritus of society.”

“Believe me,” Volo countered, “there is far worse company you might have been keeping in Southroad Keep’s subterranean dungeon, and not all of them are prisoners either.”

“It was horrible, dehumanizing, and torturous.”

“How long had you been incarcerated?” the master traveler inquired.

“Overnight,” the pudgy thespian answered in righteous indignation, “and I didn’t get a wink of sleep. An actor needs his sleep, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Of course,” Passepout continued to rant. “The cell was hard and damp, the food was low-grade slop.”

“How terrible for you,” Volo concurred half-heartedly, occasionally fingering his well-groomed beard with the hand that he had free from tending the traveler’s pack that bounced as he strode.

“It was,” the actor agreed, missing the sarcasm that was conveyed by the master traveler’s mischievous grin. “And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was
this madman bemoaning his incarceration all night, and he was accompanied by a horrible clanging as if someone were beating his cell walls with a coal bucket.”

“The nerve of that poor soul.”

“Indeed,” the thespian continued. “I am quite sure that this incident has scarred me for life.”

Volo looked around at the dark and smoke-filled streets of what had been nicknamed the City of Danger, put his arm around his boon companion, and tried to put the fellow’s one-night incarceration into proper perspective.

“Surely, the legendary son of Catinflas and Idle, scourge of the Sword Coast, expert ballplayer and star goalie of Maztica, and circumnavigator of all Toril; not to mention master thespian, and sponsored actor and artist of the House of Bernd of Cormyr, will be able to put this behind him,” the master traveler encouraged, trying not to be too sarcastic in his tone.

“Of course you are right,” Passepout conceded. “It would take more than one torturous night’s incarceration to scar me for life.”

“Indeed,” Volo agreed, then changed the subject, asking, “by the way, how are things with your position in the Bernd family household?”

Passepout looked sheepishly at his traveling companion, mentor of the road, and savior many times over, and confessed. “I am afraid that I am no longer in the Bernd family’s employ.”

“What happened?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, really.”

“Well surely Master Bernd is a fair man, and his son Curtis is quite fond of you. I’m sure either of them would have stood by you.”

“Curtis was away on his honeymoon with Shurleen,”
the thespian explained, slightly wistful about the wedding of the woman whom he had at one time thought to be the love of his life, “and my problem wasn’t with Master Bernd, but rather with the authorities in Cormyr itself.”

“What did you do now?”

“Well remember Sparky and Minx, the Bernd family cats?”

“Of course,” Volo replied, “two nobler felines I’ve never met.”

“Indeed,” the thespian explained, “but there was a certain maid that I had taken a fancy to. Her name was Marissa, and she was quite pretty.”

“Of course.”

“Well,” the portly thespian continued, “Marissa complained about the additional work that she had to do cleaning up after them, and mentioned her concern that the two felines might have kittens, and thus increase her workload, resulting in less time for me.”

“So?”

“So I did what we always used to do back in Baldur’s Gate.”

“Which was?”

“I had them spayed.”

Volo fingered his beard, and commented, “It is a very serious crime—in all of Cormyr—to interfere with the reproductive capabilities of a feline.”

“As I soon learned,” the hapless thespian replied. “The maid threatened to tell the authorities of my deed unless I vacated the premises forthwith, and so I did. It turned out that a certain young stable hand that she fancied, thought himself an actor, and it was all just an elaborate scheme to put me in the doghouse, and him in the main house. If you know what I mean.”

Volo shook his head in gentle amusement, and urged his companion on. “So what then?”

“The maid was quite insistent about going to the authorities, so I figured it would probably be prudent of me not to wait for Master Bernd’s return. So I left a note of apology and took to the road, to experience life in the theater known as Faerûn, once again.”

“This way,” Volo interrupted, indicating that it was time for them to turn the corner. “I’ve just checked in to the Traveler’s Cloak Inn.” The great traveler paused for a moment, scratched his chin, and added inquisitively, “But somehow you knew that, or else how would you have known to leave a message for me about your predicament. How
did
you know that I would be staying there?”

The thespian beamed proudly, and answered, “One thing I certainly learned from our trip was that the legendary Volothamp Geddarm always travels in style, and only favors the most noble of establishments with his presence.”

The greatest traveler of Faerûn shook his head in gentle amusement, and conceded, “But of course. And the Traveler’s Cloak Inn is indeed the best place in Mulmaster. At fifteen gold pieces a night, it better be. But this still doesn’t explain how you knew that I would be in Mulmaster.”

“Well,” the portly actor explained, his voice dropping markedly as a pair of soldiers passed them going in the opposite direction along the avenue, “while I was enjoying the free and easy life on the road, I came across a leaflet that mentioned that a local bookseller was having a reception for a cookbook author who was on tour, and that the reception was being sponsored by the firm of Tyme Waterdeep, Limited, who I remembered as your publisher. Since
it was a cookbook author, I naturally figured that there would be plenty of food there, so I decided to crash.”

“Crash?”

“Attend without an invitation.”

“Oh,” Volo replied, “and they just let you in?”

“Well, not until I mentioned your name, of course.”

“Of course.”

“The food wasn’t very good anyway, low-fat fungus flambé, and such, but I ran into a guy named Pig who claimed he knew you.”

“Imagine that,” Volo mused.

“Now call me suspicious, but I am not inclined to take a person at their word, particularly when they make claims of greatness.”

“Like knowing Volothamp Geddarm?”

“Of course,” Passepout asserted. “No telling what a rogue might claim these days.”

“No one would know better than you.”

“Of course,” the actor conceded. “Anyway, he claimed that you and he had made a journey through the Underdark together, and that that trip had been the inspiration for the book. When I asked him where you were, he said that you were probably working on your guide to the Moonsea, and so,
voilà
, we make contact.”

Volo chuckled to himself. Imagine, he thought, my two most reluctant traveling companions running into each other. I can’t wait to hear Percival Woodehaus’s version of the story. He then said aloud to his friend, “Well its just lucky for you that Mulmaster was my next stop. Originally it wasn’t, and I wouldn’t have gotten here for a month or more.”

“I shudder to think of it,” the portly thespian replied. “More than a night in that hellhole would surely have been the death of me.”

“What did they arrest you for anyway?”

“Acting, without an official permit.”

Volo nodded in agreement, and said, “And of course in order to get the official permit, you would have had to pay the theater tax, which, of course, you couldn’t afford.”

“Exactly.”

“Sometimes I think that Mulmaster should be called the City of Taxes instead of the City of Danger,” the great traveler declared, a bit too loudly for his paranoid companion who was overly conscious of the excessive number of city guards that seemed to be out on the streets. Volo, noticing the uneasiness of Passepout, quickly changed the subject.

Turning his attention back to his boon companion he said, “Enough of this idle chatter. On to the matter at hand. The Traveler’s Cloak Inn is two doors away, and I have taken the liberty of changing my reservation from a single to two adjoining rooms. A few hours’ rest, and you will be ripe and ready for some festing tonight. We can talk over old times, have some new times, and make plans for future times, for tomorrow I must leave.”

“You think of everything Mist … uh, Volo. But why must you leave so soon?”

“Oh, I’ll be back,” the traveler answered. “I’ll probably even keep the rooms on reserve until I return. You can, of course, avail yourself of their use in my absence.”

“Wonderful!”

Volo smiled at once again hearing his friend’s favorite expression, and ushered Passepout into the best inn in town.

Around Mulmaster
,

the Tower of Arcane Might
,

and at the Traveler’s Cloak Inn:

While the master traveler made arrangements for the next few days of his research, the pudgy thespian spent most of the afternoon sleeping in the most comfortable bed that he had had the honor of lying in since he left the luxuries of the Bernd estate many months ago. Volo’s research included stopping by the local taverns, inns, and festhalls to gain a few recommendations for accommodations. He was very careful not to reveal his true identity everywhere, as some of the establishments would later be graced with an incognito visitation, by him, for purposes of giving them a fair evaluation for their inclusion in his upcoming
Volo’s Guide to the Moonsea
.

Volo also made it a point of checking in at the legendary Tower of Arcane Might, the guild hall for the Brotherhood of the Cloak. Volo had earlier received honorary “Cloak” status from the Senior Cloak Thurndan Tallwand in exchange for the noted author’s silence concerning the source of various secret entries in his legendarily suppressed work
Volo’s Guide to All Things Magical
. By checking in informally as an honorary Cloak, the master traveler hoped to avoid future problems around Mulmaster with its strict rules on magic use, while also maintaining a low profile that would enable him to come and go as inconspicuously as possible with the rigid regimens of the often-called City of Danger.