Disclaimer: I do not own anything save for a lingering hope that I will not be sued by the Tolkien Estate… :P

The Blatant Rip-Off of the Rings

The Fellowship of the Round Yellow Shiny Thing

Chapter 7: Why you should always let someone else answer the phone

"I will guide you to Brookdale," said Arthur.

They were back in the Exhausted Equine, in a fairly comfortable room that Arthur had rented. He was a friend of Gareth, he'd explained.

"Where is he?" they'd asked. "He said he'd meet us here."

Arthur had looked troubled for a moment, then explained: "He's… he can't come right now. He's… busy. I would help him myself, but he made me promise that, if anything happened to him, I would be your guard and guide."

"If anything happened to him?" Poppy had repeated, alarmed. "Is he hurt?"

But Arthur was evasive, and they couldn't get anything more out of him.

He'd laid out a plan. They were staying at the Equine for the day, and getting some sleep; as soon as dusk arrived they would slip out under cover of darkness to avoid detection. For now, they were not to leave the room. Arthur had had a word with the innkeeper, who would tell anyone who asked that the room had been flooded and was not available for renting. All they could do, said Arthur, was wait and rest while he stayed alert for danger.

This plan didn't really work.

About half an hour after sun-up, there came the sound of a phone ringing out in the lobby. The innkeeper answered it, and he sounded surprised, though the walls muffled his words beyond recognition.

There was a conspiratorial knocking at the door, and the innkeeper sidled in, holding a cordless phone in his ruddy hand. He sneaked in a way that would make a ranger cry. "Phone for you," he whispered loudly to Fenny, closing the door by inches and yet somehow still managing to make it slam. "I said they'd got the wrong number, but they said they knew you were here, so I guessed that you'd told a friend you were staying here…"

Arthur looked alarmed. "I think I'd better take this."

The innkeeper looked questioningly at Fenny, who nodded, and then handed the phone to the man. Arthur took it gingerly, and held it to his ear, holding his nose to disguise his voice.

"Hello?"

All the people in the room could hear a sudden burst of static, then a papery, crackling voice, muttering something. Fenny couldn't make out the words, but it sounded something like "heaven hays" or a similarly meaningless phrase. Arthur looked alarmed, squeaked "I'm so sorry, you have the wrong number," in a fake nasal voice, and turned the phone off.

"We have to leave," he said at once. "We have to leave at once."

"But it's only morning," Megan objected. "You said we had to leave at night so we wouldn't be followed."

"I am willing to risk being followed by mortal agents," proclaimed Arthur, "if it would help us avoid those who would otherwise track us. By day we must merely worry about ruffians such as Phil Leucospermum trailing us—but by night we would be followed closely by those whose name is feared—those who even now have tried to trap us by phone—the Pinstriped Drivers!"

"The drivers!" exclaimed the innkeeper, and his face went as white as albino milk. "Eru preserve us! I thought they were dead!"

"No, they simply went into hiding when the One Ring was lost," Arthur explained. "But now It has been found, and even as we speak the Dark Lord Susan is waxing in strength and—"

"Um, sorry," interrupted Poppy, "but this is the third time we've heard this. Can we just take it as read that the audience knows what's going on, and get on with the story?"

Arthur glared at her. "In that case…"

But he never finished his sentence, for there was a great banging at the door, and a horrible splintering noise as the ancient wood gave way; then cold, hollow footsteps began to echo down the hallway.

"GO! Out through the window, quick!" cried Arthur, and swept the four frozen half-pints towards it.

"It… it doesn't open…" began the innkeeper. There was a smash and the tinkling of falling glass shards. "Okay, never mind…"

"Hurry, run!" yelled Arthur as something began bashing at the room's door. He clambered through the broken window after the hobbits, and turned to the innkeeper.

"Quick, hide somewhere!"

"I, I…" The innkeeper trailed off. "I could hold them back a bit… go round the hedge. There's a gate. I'll stop them following…"

The two men stared at each other for a second, then, as the door gave a dreadful cracking shudder, Arthur nodded gratefully and sprinted away.

He was barely round the hedge when the door fell in.

Five dark, pinstriped shapes entered the room. The innkeeper took a step backwards, eyes popping, mouth stretched open in a silent scream.

Then there were only the shapes, which flowed out of the broken window, almost invisible where the sunlight blotted them out like shadows.