Fred was still staring blankly at the eager expressions on the faces of Sam and Dr. Grey. "So let me get this straight...you," pointing to Dr. Grey, "want me," pointing to himself, "to go WHERE," gesturing in exasperation, "with him?" pointing to Sam.

Dr. Grey stated calmly, "Yes, Yes, a Jewish hotel in Cambridge (at least), and Yes." Fred glared; Dr. Grey didn't seem to notice. "You ought to go quickly, and you're leaving tomorrow for Kenny's penthouse so you can start off as soon as school ends. Tell your parents that Kenny is having you over to study for the week, except that the last night there's gonna be a party. You'll slip out then. I'll cover for you, and then I'll try to meet up with you in Bree, which is a town not far from here. Kenny will probably know the way, or at least have a map. His father has had a few dealings there."

"But with SAM, of all people? He's not just a nerd, he's the Gardener's son! I mean Pip may be a bit younger than me, and a bit of a klutz, but at least he's got class!"

"Have you any idea what a snob you are?"

"WHAT?!"

"Never mind," Dr. Grey said, rolling his eyes. "Look, if you want to have any chance of seeing Bill again, let Sam come along." Sam, meanwhile, was wondering why *this* wasn't following the book...



The next day, Kenny, Ben, and Mr. Brownolow came by to pick up the boys and their luggage. Believe it or not, the Bagginses were pleased with this new idea: a week-long study group, with Ben to give them tips from last year. Mr. Garrick even convinced Mr. Brownolow to let Sam come too, since he was obviously a fine student and besides, Ben should have a boy his own age there. Fred's parents were pleased for a different reason: graduation. They figured the more eyes on Fred, the better.

However, Mr. Brownolow didn't bring the right car, and only had room for the luggage and 2 passengers. Sam, however, proved handy in this matter; he had a permit, and Mr. Garrick lent him his car. It was a decent 4-seater, but not up to Shire standards. Sam's permit allowed him to drive within the Shire between dawn and dusk without an adult, and after with a licensed driver. So Sam was to drive Fred and Pippin to Brandy Hall, provided he reached it before 730.



They had no such luck. Howie's old car just didn't serve the 3 boys as expected; the darn old thing broke down somewhere in Northdale, AND, to top it off, Pip's cell phone was out of batteries. So the boys were standing at the side of the road, debating who should be going back to town for a tow truck, when they heard the small roar of an engine behind them. Fred's first instinct was to rush to the side of the road, wave his arms wildly, and call for help, but Sam held him back.

"Wait! Let's see who it is first!"

"I don't care who it is! We need to get to Brandy Hall! And I," Fred noted, with emphasis on the I, "am not often seen stuck at the side of the road with the Gardener's son."

"Have you any idea what a snob you are?"

"WHAT?!"

"Never mind."

The roar of the engine was coming closer and getting louder. Sam got increasingly anxious. "Pippin, take Fred and hide! Quickly!" Pippin, not being one to disobey the orders of a man 2 years his elder, dragged Fred away in the nick of time and hid with him behind the trees at the side of the road.

The roaring engine turned out to be that of a shiny, chrome-and-jet Harley, driven by a shiny, chrome-and-jet biker. At least, that's all one saw: black duds, black knee-high boots with chrome buckles, black gloves that let absolutely no skin shine through, thick black goggles over a black helmet with a chrome visor. You couldn't see any trace of humanity anywhere; he looked like he was just a mass of black leather. Indeed, you couldn't even tell if he was a he! There was no, umm, proof, in the stance, attire, or build that gave anything away. To top that, there were no insignia or patches or anything on the jacket or bike. The only hint of color was the licence plate (which read NZGL 04) and that was only because the chrome lettering on the black plate was outlined in red, probably for safety reasons.

The jacket pulled up beside the broken-down car, and was studying it quietly, almost as if he were smelling it (and probably relishing the scent).

Fred was suddenly overcome by fear, and thought about the ring in his jacket pocket. Was this what Dr. Grey meant when he said that the Shire was no longer safe?

Sam, meanwhile, went up to the jacket and asked, quietly, "Sir...could you help us?" At that the jacket dismounted, and stood, menacingly, with his head tilted toward Sam. "...Sir?" Sam tried again, trying not to show fear.

The jacket hissed, as well as one could from inside a helmet, "I'm looking for Baggins."

"Well, sorry, sir, but I'm a Garrick."

The jacket just stood there. Sam tried again.

"Can you help us, sir?"

The jacket turned, sort of glided onto his bike, gunned it, and drove off like the cops were after him. Meanwhile, Fred was trying to decide whether to commend Sam for being so brave, keep it to himself, or yell at Sam for not getting that guy to help with the car. He decided to take the second choice.

Now they were pretty much stranded on the back roads of Northdale.

And, just to make things interesting, it was getting dark.



The shadows of the trees were long and thin on the grass, and they continued debating about who was going to stay with the car while the others went to get help. Not a vehicle had passed since that creepy jacket on the Harley, and Pip was beginning to get freaked out. Not to mention Fred.

Another engine roar was heard, and a spark of chrome was seen on the horizon. It was drawing near dusk, and the boys didn't have any time to find a decent spot. Fred ran behind the nearest tree as Pip just duck-and-covered. The motorcycle drew closer, and Sam wondered if he could stomach another encounter.

The stars started coming out, one by one, and with the stars came the hum of several different engines: lighter than that of the motorcycle, which had stopped at the mere sound of the humming. With the humming came a faint music, probably from an open window in one of the vehicles. Sam was sure that these were people it would be safe to meet and ask for help. He was more than right.

About a minute after the boys had stopped arguing, 2 Cadillacs (one brown, one blue) and a green Ford Windstar pulled up beside the deserted 4-seater. The man in the passenger seat of the Windstar opened the window and said, "Need any help, boys?".

Fred and Pip heaved a deep sigh of relief. Sam calmly said, "Sure. I'm Sam Garrick."

"I know who you are," he said with a smile. "Are Fred and that other goy with you?"

"Yes."

The man turned to someone in the back seat. "Oi! Matt! Can you help them fix the car?" A faint 'Sure!' was heard, and within seconds a tall guy with dark brown hair was out of the car and under the hood.

The man in the passenger seat got out and shook hands with Sam. "My name is Isaac Goldman. I was hoping to find you here. Oi, Fred," he called, "you can come out of hiding now; it's just a couple of Jews!"

Fred just kind of stood where he was.

Mr. Goldman stared right back at him. "What brings a bunch of kids out this late in a place like this, I wonder?"

Fred replied, "Ma nishtana halaila hazeh mikol halaylot?"

The enitre caravan seemed to laugh. "Oy givolt! Guys!" Mr. Goldman said, "Don't say anything you wouldn't want him to hear! He seems to know some Hebrew! What, did Bill teach you?"

"Actually, what does that mean? I heard it on PBS or something..."

"Self-incrimination, Fred. I asked what a bunch of kids like you were doing out on the street this time of night, and you said, 'Why is this night different from all other nights?'!"

Fred felt pretty embarassed about that afterward.



While Matt was fixing up the car, and the other Jews were talking amongst themselves, Fred had a nice chat with Mr. Goldman. He asked about Rivendell, whether Mr. Goldman had been there or not, and why so many Jews were leaving the tri-state area. Of the former the man could say much, of the latter little. But the question troubling Fred the most soon came out:

"Mr. Goldman, tell me: have you seen Bill since he left?"

Mr. Goldman smiled. "Yes," he answered, "Twice. A whole bunch of us met him at a Starbucks not far from here soon after he left, but I saw him far from here a while ago..." And Mr. Goldman would say no more on the subject. "Personally, I think we should be focusing on YOU. I already know a bit about your mission, and I'm pretty sure you aren't really out this late EVERY night. You're probably on some errand for Dr. Grey, you're leaving the Shire, and you doubt you'll be coming back. Right? Of course right."

Fred gasped. "I thought that was supposed to be a secret. Only Sam and I knew that. Why Dr. Grey is making me go along with that loon, I don't know." Here he glared at Sam, who was watching Matt intently and chatting about lord-knows-what. "At least Pip's got class. HE is the Gardener's son, for heaven's sake!"

"Have you any idea what a snob you are?"

"WHAT?!"

"Never mind. Nobody else knows. I only have a pretty good guess because I've read those books. Then again, so did Saylor...but he won't find out from us, at any rate."

"Saylor? You know about THAT, too?"

"I don't know why he's after you, but I can tell he is. Those bikers are pretty damn creepy. Hasn't Dr. Grey told you anything?"

"He never mentioned creeps on Harleys."

"Then I think we should drop it. All I can tell is that we aren't going to be safe for very much longer."

"Oh, speaking of Dr. Grey, did he leave any message for us?"

Mr. Goldman looked thoughtful. "No, but it is said: 'Never arrive early; you will seem either too eager or too desperate."

"Who said that?"

"My Bubbe [grandmother] used to say that whenever we were late for Shul [temple]."

"Oh...never mind...so...any advice?"

"Go not to the Jews for counsel, for they will either say no, say yes, or quote the Torah."

Sam, who had abandoned Matt and begun listening to Fred's conversation, was smiling broadly at Mr. Goldman's paraphrasing.

Mr. Goldman smiled right back. "I've been planning that phrase for years. Oy Gilvot!"