Merisuwyniel woke as if startled out of a restless dream, but she could remember none. Something significant hovered on the edge of her consciousness; suddenly she remembered. They had not been able to cross the mountains by way of the pass; they could not take the Interstate; there was now only one alternative. She stretched, and her fingers brushed the bow, lying close beside her as always. Amazed, she noticed that it was vibrating more strongly than usual – it was shaking!
What is amiss? she asked in concern.
You will be taking the secret path, the bow answered.
Yes, but what know you of that way? queried the Elf.
I have been there, and I fear to go again, came the reply. Yet if we must, I can lead you through the labyrinth.
° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °
One after another, the companions awoke. When they assembled for breakfast, Merisuwyniel stood and announced, “We were not able to cross the mountains by way of the pass; we cannot take the Interstate. Only one way remains open to us.”
The others waited in breathless silence.
“We must take the sub!” she exclaimed.
“We’re going to get sandwiches?” Pimpi’s face lit up in anticipation.
“How can we take a sub? There is no sea here!” Halfullion was puzzled.
“Where is a pub?” Etceteron asked hopefully.
“Who is substituting for whom?” Orogarn Two questioned.
“How much will you subtract from what?” shouted Kuruharan.
“Quiet!” she exclaimed. “We must take the Subway; it is a dark and treacherous way, but it leads us through the mountains to the other side. I have a map which shows where the entrance is; follow me!”
° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °
They reached the gate to the underground passageway before sundown and stood in wonder before a strange device that blocked the entry. Beside it was a sign, yet no writing could be seen upon it. They searched for a switch or button; Pettygast even pointed his staff in its direction, fortunately without results.
Finally, in exasperation, Halfullion kicked the pole on which the sign was mounted, and lo! A light shone forth and red runes became visible.
“Who can read the fiery letters?” Pimpiowyn inquired.
“I can,” Vogonwë volunteered. “It says, ‘Insert ticket in turnstile slot.’”
“What does that mean?” Earnur asked.
“It obviously means that we should have an object which opens the gate,” Merisuwyniel answered. “But who has a valid ticket?”
Each of the travellers dug in pockets and bags, producing various tokens, ticket stubs, credit cards and coins, which they tried to insert. Alas, none of them opened the turnstile.
Finally Merisuwyniel cried out, “I have it!” From her golden tresses she removed a small, exquisitely fashioned mithril hairpin, inserted it with a twist, and the turnstile gave way. She entered, motioning the next ones to follow her. Kuruharan and Chrysophylax were the last to come, for the dragon had serious doubts about his ability to enter through the small gateway. The dwarf, distracted by his business partner’s problem, was suddenly caught on the turning device by one of his many pockets and felt himself whirling around dizzily.
The heroes tried to slash at the metal staves with their swords, but to no avail. Finally Chrysophylax turned around and, with a mighty swish of his tail, destroyed the turnstile and tossed Kuruharan into the cavern. The group hardly had time to get inside with all of their mounts and packs, before the entryway crashed behind them. They were inside, but would they find the right train?
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'Mercy!' cried Gandalf. 'If the giving of information is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend all the rest of my days in answering you. What more do you want to know?' 'The whole history of Middle-earth.. .'
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