"Brian Thomsen - The Nobles 04 - The Mage in the Iron Mask" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thomsen Brian M)

Volo looked to his friend, and said admonishingly, "Well, you heard her."
Passepout was affronted. "Imagine her nerve!" the indignant thespian boomed. "I have a
good mind to have a word with the owner about her."
"She is the owner," Volo instructed.
"Oh," said the chubby thespian warily. "Do you think I should leave? Or maybe apologize?
A few well chosen compliments might go a long way, her being female and all."
"Just let it pass," the master traveler instructed. "Dela is a good sort, with a keen
business sense, and no desire to alienate any potential paying customers. You can't ask for
more in an innkeeper in these parts."
Passepout nodded, and continued the inhalation of his meal. Volo put his napkin in place,
and joined in the dining experience. After a few more mouth-fuls, Passepout once again
struck up a conversation.
"I only arrived here yesterday," the chubby thes-pian confessed. "Is there anything I should
know about these here parts?"
"Plenty," the master traveler replied. "But first a question: why did you come to Mulmaster
to begin with?"
After a swallow and another quaff of ale, the portly thespian explained.
"Somebody around Westgate told me that there was plenty of room for my sort of trade in
the Moonsea area."
"You mean acting, of course," the master traveler clarified.
"Of course," Passepout replied. "I learned my les-son after that little stay in Baldur's Gate,
when you last came to my rescue."
"Go on," Volo urged, not wanting to experience an-other exuberant outbreak of undying
gratitude from the chubby actor, nor relive his last jailbreak experi-ence.
"So I said to myself, 'Self, where should we go?' Zhentil Keep was obviously out of the
question. I mean, who is willing to pay good money for drama when your city is in ruins."
"Agreed."
"And Hillsfar didn't exactly seem to fit the bill."
"For sure," the master traveler replied, wondering if there was still a price on their heads
for imperson-ating Red Plumes, the city watch, the last time they were there.
 "And Phlan already has a resident thespian, Ward T. James."
"Ward T. James?" Volo repeated inquisitively. "Never heard of him."
"He's a big guy, like me," Passepout explained, patting his expansive tummy in
illustration. "He tours with a group called the S.S.I.тАФStupendous Stagecraft Incorporated.
They are most famous for their Pools series of plays that set the great classics of Faerun in
a mud pit."
"Great," the master traveler said, quickly taking out a pad and jotting down a few notes.
"High drama and mud wrestling all rolled into one."
"So that ruled out Phlan," the actor finished heap-ing another pile of food onto his plate, to
further usher it into his never-filling gullet, "which basically just left Mulmaster as the major
metropolis at hand."
Volo swallowed, picked a crumb out of his neatly trimmed beard, took a napkin and
wiped his mouth, refilled his mug with ale in case any parchness beset him during his
lecture, and began to fill his boon companion in on Mulmaster minutiae.
"I can understand your reasons for choosing Mul-master, now that you have explained it to
me," the master traveler offered, "but I would still recom-mend that you pick another place to
ply your trade. As far as I'm aware no one ever tells anyone to go to these here parts unless
they really never want to see them again."
"I'm sure that's not the case," Passepout protested. "Olive, who recommended this area,
was quite fond of me."