The dwarf spoke again.

"I can't see your eyes with that funny coal bucket on your head, but I still think I can tell what you're thinking. You're probably saying to yourself, 'Self, who is this crazy old coot?' Well, I already answered that question, but I don't mind repeating myself. My name is Hoffman, and I am formerly of the Seventh Dwarven Abbey-of which I was senior abbot and protector of the legendary Seal of Robert, I might add-and I have been a prisoner down here for quite a long time, since before something that someone told me happened, the Time of Tremors, or something."

"You mean the Time of Troubles," the masked prisoner corrected.

"I might do, I might do," the dwarf assented. "You're probably also asking yourself, 'Self, can I trust this crazy old coot? Is he a spy? Is he a madman?' Well the answers to those questions in order are: yes, no, and maybe. The Seventh Dwarven Abbey was attacked by Zhent agents, and I alone survived. Once I had ascertained the safety of the Seal, I came to Mulmaster in search of help. The powers that be claimed I was a spy, threw me in the dungeon, and forgot about me. It is a fate worthy of a sole survivor… in a cosmic sense. Don't you agree?"

"I'm not sure," Rassendyll responded, not realizing the apparent similarity of their situations.

"Now what did a fine young fellow like yourself do to wind up in a place like this?" Hoffman quickly inquired.

"I don't know," Rassendyll replied, "and how do you know if I'm young or not?"

The dwarf started to laugh.

"Heckuba," Hoffman swore between guffaws, "just about everyone around here is young compared to me."

Unexpectedly, the dwarf's laughter was quickly halted and replaced by a racking cough that seemed to shake the former abbot's entire body. Rassendyll immediately came over to him in hopes of casting a spell to help him, but quickly realized he was unable to, and instead settled on putting his arm around the dwarf and helping him into a recline on the floor of the cell.

As soon as the coughing fit seemed to subside, Hoffman cocked his head to the side as if to listen for something, and said in an urgent whisper, "Quickly, the guards are coming, and they mustn't discover me here or it will go badly for both of us. I must return to my cell. Help me over to the tunnel, and return the stone to its place blocking it. I promise to return shortly, once the coast is clear."

Rassendyll helped the old and now obviously infirm dwarf over to the tunnel, through which the visitor quickly scurried. The masked prisoner had no sooner replaced the stone to its proper location, when a light was flashed through the small window in the cell's door.

"You there," a stern voice bellowed, "take your plate or go hungry, madman. Whatever you choose doesn't matter to me."

The light remained in the window, while Rassendyll crawled on hands and knees to the door. A plate had been placed at its base, and the young mage was barely able to reach it through a narrow slot in the door. The guard moved on as he began to eat. The food was rancid, and probably the most inedible sustenance that he ever encountered in his entire cloistered life, but as it had been over two days since he had last eaten, he managed to choke it all down.

Once his meal was over he replaced the plate through the slot at the base of the door and looked back at the stone that he had just recently put in place in hopes that the jolly gentleman with the long white beard would return as he had promised.

In the Captain's Quarters in Southroad Keep:

Rickman was not amused.

"Blough, what do you mean that itinerant thespian has disappeared?" he shouted.

The fearful Hawk maintained his composure, even though he knew that he had just told his commanding officer information contradictory to what he wanted to hear, and repeated his report.

"The thespian, a certain Passepout, son of Idle and Catinflas, was bailed out yesterday by person or persons unknown. After leaving the custody of the keep, he apparently disappeared. The city watch at the gate has no record of his having left Mulmaster in the past twenty-four hours, and he is not on the registry of any of the local inns. A drunkard matching his description may or may not have been at the Wave and Wink last night, but other than that we have no leads."

"Did you check the most recent roundup of vagrants that were picked up after tavern closing last night?"

"Yes, sir," the efficient Hawk replied. "I even checked with the officer on duty for last night's round up. According to him, Lieutenant Boston, the streets were free of human debris before sunrise. If he had passed out, he would have been found, sir."

Rickman made a minor adjustment of his eye-patch as he was wont to do while thinking. The thespian was obviously in hiding, but why? Surely he didn't have an inkling that his presence among the living was no longer desired by the Mulmaster powers that be. Where could he be?

"When he arrived in Mulmaster was he alone, or with someone?" the one-eyed Hawk captain inquired.

"According to the city watch officer who was on duty at the gate at that time," Blough answered, "he was alone."

Rickman readjusted his eye-patch once again. Tension usually brought on a certain degree of discomfort in his now vacant eye socket, as if the missing eye had somehow returned with an exceptionally annoying feeling of irritation and itchiness.

No stone must go unturned, the captain of the Hawks thought to himself, or the High Blade will have my head.

"Are there any other aliens who have arrived in Mulmaster within the last three days?" he demanded.

"I assume you mean above and beyond the normal merchants who travel in and out of the city like clockwork, paying the necessary duties as they sign in and out on schedule."

The captain of the Hawks answered with a quick nod.

"Well, there is the entire entourage of the First Princess of Thay," Blough answered, adding, "and because of their diplomatic immunity, none of them had to register…"

Great, Rickman thought to himself, the High Blade will have my head for sure.

"… and there is one other," the efficient Hawk added, "a travel writer by the name of Volothamp Geddarm. According to the city watch on duty at the gate, he left Mulmaster early this morning, but has maintained his accommodations of two adjoining rooms at the Traveler's Cloak Inn for at least an additional week, paid in advance."

Volothamp Geddarm, the captain of the Hawks repeated to himself. Why does that name sound familiar?

Miss Alliances At the Retreat:

Volo did exactly as the voice he now recognized as female instructed, dropping the blade from his hand, and moving his arms away from his sides, palms out and empty. All of this was done slowly and carefully, without any sudden movements.

The master traveler of all Faerun (if not all Toril) had no desire to drown in his own blood.

"Spread your legs further apart," she ordered.

"Glad to," the master traveler answered, complying. As he felt a slight decrease in the pressure against the blade that was still resting against his throat, he slowly tried to turn his head so as to get a look at the fellow visitor to the slaughterhouse that had been known as the Retreat.

"Eyes forward!" she barked.

"Sorry," he answered, once again complying, as he felt a deft hand giving him a practiced body frisk.

Volo, in an attempt to ingratiate himself with the overly cautious woman, started to volunteer certain information about what he was holding. "I have a bando-"

"Quiet!"

"Sorry."

Her practiced hands undid the bandolier of blades that the master traveler always had concealed under his cloak, dropping it to the ground. She also quickly removed several of his other concealed surprises (though missing a few that the master traveler thought better of volunteering).