Author's Note: Yay! We made the deadline (and from the threatening nature of some of the reviews, the Nightrunners imagine they would have been dead if this chapter hadn't made it up on time). But, to keep the loyal reviewers happy, or at least not homicidal, we post this warning now. The next chapter, in all likelihood, will not show up for about three weeks. We apologize most sincerely, but it's all we can do. (Incidently, Ivory Moon and Sun Queen are taking this opportunity to wish Eirual luck at the Canada Games. Synchronised swimming rocks, they say).
Enjoy,
The Nightrunners
The Moral Two, the Crazy Lady, the Angry Young Men, and the Dead Guy
The snow fell softly on the surface. There were several metres of it already on the ground, but this did nothing to detract from Mother Nature's beauty. Inside the car rental agency, several storeys down, a dozen people were lounging on the couches. Six sat together in one group; five of them appeared to be in fine health, but the sixth figure was causing some concern to the agency's other patrons.
"Non merci, Monsieur. On n'a pas besoin d'un medecin. Il est endormi."
Peter turned to look at Merry and Arwen, who were doing their best to screen Legolas from view. "I hope that Sleeping Beauty wakes up soon. Or that *somebody* with a more competent grasp of the language comes to our aide. Have you found the word for narcolepsy yet?"
Mark threw the French-English dictionary down in disgust. "I don't think there is one, Pip." Turning to Alice, he added, "Can't you *do* something about this mess? Cast a translation spell or something."
"Do I *look* like a Babel Fish to you?" At the blank looks from the four around her, Alice sighed. "Twentieth century literature, oh illiterate ones. It means I'm not a translator, and I can't do anything about it. In fact, I've never even heard of a translation spell before. We're just going to have to muddle through until Adam and Gabe get back."
Alice turned back to Legolas, where Sam and Felix watched anxiously. Leaning over, she began to murmur in elvish. Merry and Peter soon lost interest, when the elf didn't seem to respond to her in the slightest.
"Merry."
"Yes, Pippin?"
"I'm hungry. Do you have any food?"
"No Pip, I don't. I do happen to have a dollar with me. Go get yourself a bag of chips from the machine, there's a good lad."
"Felix," Arwen said, glancing up from her minstrations.
"Yes, M'lady?"
"Don't call me 'my lady', Frodo. People are going to look at you really funny if you insist on addressing me as that."
"All right then Arwen... Alice. Which am I supposed to call you?"
"Either one. It doesn't really matter. We're getting off topic anyway." Alice smiled, poison sweet. "Could you please go ask Adam and Gabe what *exactly* is taking them so long to get the *goddamn* car?!!"
The lights in the shabby but clean auto rental began to flicker. The four ex-hobbits looked with some alarm at Alice. Sam cautiously reached over and tugged on her sleeve. When he was sure he had gotten her attention, he pointed to the lights, and to the alarmed patrons . Alice shot them all a dazzling smile as the lights returned to normal. Most of them took the opportunity to shrink further away from the three scowling young men, the crazy lady, and the guy who appeared to be dead. Peter chose that particular moment to return to the happy little group, bringing the total of scowling young men up to four.
"Merry," he began.
"*Yes*, Pippin?"
"You gave me an American dollar."
"Yes I did, Pip."
"The machine takes Euros."
"Maybe somebody will change it for you."
"Nah. There really isn't any point. They only have funny flavoured chips."
"What * are* you talking about, Peter?" Mark was starting to sound seriously annoyed, a product of both Peter's whining and really uncomfortable plastic couches.
"All they have is funny flavoured chips. One of the bags had 'Prawn' written on it. I'm not eating prawn flavoured potatoes chips!"
Felix decided at that point that he should probably go check on Gabe and Adam. Knowing Mark and Peter, they would probably be hitting each other with sofa cushions in a few minutes.
************
"I've been in this city for five minutes, and already I hate it."
"Oh come on, it's not *that* bad. Besides, we're not even in the City yet."
Gabe and Adam were standing at the end of a very long line-up, which to Gabe's view had not moved for about twenty minutes. And one of the car rental employees had just gone on break.
Gabe ground his teeth. He liked to consider himself a fairly easy-going person, but he was stuck in a small, too-brightly lit rental agency about three storeys underground somewhere on the very outskirts of the White City, and he was getting *pissed* off. Dwarves normally didn't mind the underground aspect, but he'd been shot at, stuck on a plane for eight hours, his best friend was quite possibly dying and...
"Is it just me, or is it cold in here?"
"Well, there are access vents leading directly to the surface," Adam replied.
Gabe stared at him disbelievingly. "It's about fifty below zero up there, Celsius."
"Gabe, people drive their *cars* in the tunnels down here. Do you want to die of carbon monoxide poisoning? I certainly don't."
"True enough. Does this line get any shorter?" It wasn't that Gabe was particularly impatient, in general. However, his status back at Princeton was such that he didn't find himself standing in too many lines. It would generally fall out as: 'Why Professor Gleason! So good to see you! Come stand in front of me, sir!" He had just somehow, through no fault of his own, earned himself a reputation as the semi-hardass professor, the guy who you didn't want to get on the wrong side of. Consequently, the "Why Professor Gleason!"s abounded.
It wasn't his fault. Well, it was mostly not his fault.
These jaded Parisians had no idea who the short, glowering man was, and likewise didn't care. What seemed like hours later, they were served by a bored-looking clerk who looked four hours short of a good night's sleep:
"Good day, monsieurs. How may I be of service?"
"Hi," Adam replied. "We'd like to rent a vehicle to carry-" he did a quick mental calculation, "-eight people."
"Indeed, monsieur. Will you be requiring a larger utility vehicle or will a luxury car be sufficient?"
Adam paused a moment to consider the company he was keeping. "Give me the largest, most durable SUV you can legally drive without a bus licence."
The rental agent nodded agreeably. "Very well. Shall monsieur require insurance?"
Nodding vigorously, Adam said, "Yeah, I think we may need it."
"As monsieur wishes."
Gabe nudged him. "Get the entire package, Adam. I'm sure we can file a claim with the elves later."
Suppressing a smile, Adam nodded. "Insure it for all it's worth, please."
The agent smiled politely as he punched the information into his computer terminal. "I will need to see monsieur's driver's licence, if you please."
//Here we go// thought Adam, taking a deep breath. He kept a straight face, sliding his *incredibly* outdated White City driving permit across the counter.
The rental employee picked it up, eyes scanning the information disinterestedly. //Don't look too closely, don't look too closely// Adam silently begged, hoping like hell the clerk was as bored as he looked.
Not likely.
The agent looked at him appraisingly, then back at his picture. "This doesn't look like you," he stated.
Adam groaned inwardly, but offered an indifferent shrug. "I grew my hair a bit."
"Perhaps..." the clerk looked momentarily uncertain, but then frowned again. "This licence seems rather old, monsieur. We generally do not accept these. I'm almost certain that it would not be considered valid. Unless..." this hesitation seemed more sure, more deliberate than the last one.
Adam's groan was threatening to become audible. He leaned forward and asked through clenched teeth: "How much?"
"Pardon?" The damnable clerk looked innocent.
"How much to make this licence valid, in your most expert opinion?" Adam asked sarcastically.
The clerk carefully maintained his wooden expression, but he leaned forward as well. "Five hundred euros, monsieur."
"Really?" Adam raised his voice. "I would like to speak to your manager, please."
"Monsieur?" The agent's face became panicked.
"Now." Adam's tone was steely. Behind him, Gabe stifled a grin.
Perhaps attracted by the raised voices, a distinguished-looking gentlemen emerged from a back office. "Is there a problem, monsieur?" he asked, his accent scarcely noticeable.
Adam spared a final glance for the doomed employee and then spoke to the manager. " I feel I am being extorted by an employee of your establishment."
"Monsieur?" The man's face revealed confusion.
" I was asked to pay a sum of no less than five hundred euros," Adam said, glancing to his companion for confirmation. Gabe, slipping easily into his role, nodded grimly.
"I cannot imagine that my employee would-"
"Check your security tapes if you do not believe me." Adam allowed his voice to rise another notch, and several heads nearby began to turn.
Gabe snuck a glance at his companion, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Adam was actually *enjoying* himself, throwing himself into the part of the outraged, morally-upright customer. The New York City Police Force had deprived the stage of a great actor.
His voice rose still louder. "I'm telling you that this man tried to cheat me! Just check your tapes!"
People behind in line began craning their necks to listen in on the argument. The manager flushed, took a quick look at the stricken employee, then spoke slowly, his voice purposely low and calm. "That will not be necessary." He spoke to the clerk: "Run the gentlemen's rental through. Now." Though his tone never changed, the threat was evident.
The would-be swindler stared at his boss, his forehead covered in sweat. "But monsieur-" he began.
"I said, do it. Now." The employee began helplessly punching in the information on the invalid driver's license. Turning back to Adam, the manager's expression was all courtesy. "I offer my most sincere apologies, monsieur. Rest assured that I will throughly investigate this incident-" here he shot a poisonous glance at the doomed con-man "- and I do not expect any further difficulties." He smiled graciously. "Allow me to offer you this rental free of charge, and let us forget this unpleasantness."
Adam smiled back, his manner warm. "Certainly. If we could have our keys and vehicle number, we'll be on our way." He neatly palmed his useless license from the counter.
"Without a doubt, monsieur," the manager replied. He reached under the counter, swiftly jotting information on a form, and handing it along with a set of keys to Adam. "Please enjoy your stay in the White City, monsieur."
************
The two men strode out of the rental agency to find their companions.
"You handled that well," said Gabe casually. Too casually.
Adam glanced at him. "Thanks."
"He didn't even make you sign anything, in his effort to get us out of there as quickly as possible. No records that way."
Adam looked at him warily. Gabe seemed to be dancing around some point. "I figured that was the idea. Good for us, at least."
"Very resourceful, I thought." He finally struck. "Kingly, even."
"Shut up," Adam replied wearily. "I'm not a king. I never was."
Gabe shrugged, rolling his eyes. "Whatever you say, Adam."
************
Sam was bored. It seemed like they'd been waiting in the lounge for * hours*.
"I can't handle this anymore! When are we going to get out of here? Can I at least go for a walk, *please*?"
Alice found herself very amused by the three ex-hobbits. They were squirming around on their seats like a bunch of kindergarteners on sugar highs.
"No, you can't go for a walk. It's minus fifty on the surface, not much warmer in the tunnels, and none of us brought winter clothes. You'd be a hobbit-on-a-stick before you got very far. What's wrong with you guys, anyway? You've learned patience, if not in this life, then certainly in your old one. Just sit tight. *Hopefully* Adam will have gotten us a car before the turn of the century."
Turning around, she reached into her pack and pulled out a book. It was rather thick, and appeared to be in good condition. In fact, aside from several dog-eared pages, one could almost say it was untouched. There was a leather bookmark sticking out near the beginning. The three young men looked at Alice in shock as she settled in next to Legolas, and began to read.
"Um, Arwen, *what* are you doing?"
"I'm reading, Mark."
"Yes, well, I can see that. Okay, *what* are you reading?"
"Oh. The Lord of the Rings. I grabbed Adam's copy before we left his house. I don't think he's ever touched it before. He should, it's actually a great book."
Her companions gaped at her.
"What? I know what happened to *me* while you were off trekking around the wilderness, but I thought I ought to refresh myself on what happened to you lot. It seemed like a good way to pass the time."
Mark nodded at her, having been mugged on memory lane. "My mom used to read to me from the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, at bedtime, when I was little." He frowned, "I can remember having nightmares about what happened to Merry and Pippin, when they were captured by orcs. Mom told me that I just had an overactive imagination. I guess she was wrong, I had an overactive *memory*."
Peter smiled sadly at his friend, adding his two cents worth to the conversation. "I only ever read The Hobbit as a kid. You were the one who introduced me to the Lord of the Rings, I read it later, at the shelter school, remember? I always had a bad feeling about that ring Bilbo found, in The Hobbit. I can remember having arguments with my Dad about how he should have put the stupid thing back." An impish grin crossed his face. "Looks like I was right, too."
"Hold on a second. You're telling me that our past lives have been turned into a book? That we're characters in a paperback novel?"
Alice, Mark and Peter all turned to look at Sam. "You've *never* heard of the Lord of the Rings?" Alice asked, amazed.
"Well, I've heard of it, but never read it."
"Neither have I," Felix added.
"I think when we get into the car, the two of you should start reading. It's a pretty accurate account of our lives. It might help to straighten things out."
"Well," Felix replied dryly, "It certainly can't get any *more* confusing."