TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT 10 страница

course. . . Rita Skeeter. ”

“That woman’s got it in for the Ministry of Magic! ” said Percy furiously. “Last week she was saying we’re wasting our time quib- bling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out

vampires! As if it wasn’t specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the

Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans —” “Do us a favor, Perce, ” said Bill, yawning, “and shut up. ”

“I’m mentioned, ” said Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening behind

his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article.

“Where? ” spluttered Mrs. Weasley, choking on her tea and whiskey. “If I’d seen that, I’d have known you were alive! ”

“Not by name, ” said Mr. Weasley. “Listen to this: ‘ If the terrified

wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appear- ance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refus- ing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the

woods an hour later, remains to be seen . ’ Oh really, ” said Mr. Weasley

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in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. “Nobody was hurt.

What was I supposed to say? Rumors that several bodies were re-

moved from the woods . . . well, there certainly will be rumors now

she’s printed that. ”

He heaved a deep sigh. “Molly, I’m going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over. ”

“I’ll come with you, Father, ” said Percy importantly. “Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my caul- dron report in person. ”

He bustled out of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley looked most upset. “Arthur, you’re supposed to be on holiday! This hasn’t got any- thing to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you? ”

“I’ve got to go, Molly, ” said Mr. Weasley. “I’ve made things worse. I’ll just change into my robes and I’ll be off. . . . ”

“Mrs. Weasley, ” said Harry suddenly, unable to contain himself, “Hedwig hasn’t arrived with a letter for me, has she? ”

“Hedwig, dear? ” said Mrs. Weasley distractedly. “No. . . no, there hasn’t been any post at all. ”

Ron and Hermione looked curiously at Harry. With a meaning- ful look at both of them he said, “All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron? ”

“Yeah. . . think I will too, ” said Ron at once. “Hermione? ” “Yes, ” she said quickly, and the three of them marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“What’s up, Harry? ” said Ron, the moment they had closed the door of the attic room behind them.

“There’s something I haven’t told you, ” Harry said. “On Satur- day morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again. ”

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Ron’s and Hermione’s reactions were almost exactly as Harry had imagined them back in his bedroom on Privet Drive. Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, mentioning a number of reference books, and everybody from Albus Dumble- dore to Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse. Ron simply looked dumbstruck.

“But — he wasn’t there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean — last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn’t he? ” “I’m sure he wasn’t on Privet Drive, ” said Harry. “But I was dreaming about him. . . him and Peter — you know, Wormtail. I can’t remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill. . . someone. ”

He had teetered for a moment on the verge of saying “me, ” but couldn’t bring himself to make Hermione look any more horrified than she already did.

“It was only a dream, ” said Ron bracingly. “Just a nightmare. ” “Yeah, but was it, though? ” said Harry, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. “It’s weird, isn’t it? . . . My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort’s sign’s up in the sky again. ”

“Don’t — say — his — name! ” Ron hissed through gritted teeth.

“And remember what Professor Trelawney said? ” Harry went on, ignoring Ron. “At the end of last year? ”

Professor Trelawney was their Divination teacher at Hogwarts. Hermione’s terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort. “Oh Harry, you aren’t going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says? ”

“You weren’t there, ” said Harry. “You didn’t hear her. This time

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was different. I told you, she went into a trance — a real one. And

she said the Dark Lord would rise again. . . greater and more terri-

ble than ever before . . . and he’d manage it because his servant was

going to go back to him. . . and that night Wormtail escaped. ” There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absentmindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread.

“Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry? ” Hermione asked. “Are you expecting a letter? ”

“I told Sirius about my scar, ” said Harry, shrugging. “I’m wait- ing for his answer. ”

“Good thinking! ” said Ron, his expression clearing. “I bet Sir- ius’ll know what to do! ”

“I hoped he’d get back to me quickly, ” said Harry. “But we don’t know where Sirius is. . . he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn’t he? ” said Hermione reasonably. “Hedwig’s

not going to manage that journey in a few days. ”

“Yeah, I know, ” said Harry, but there was a leaden feeling in his stomach as he looked out of the window at the Hedwig-free sky. “Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry, ” said Ron. “Come on — three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play. . . . You can try out the Wronski Feint. . . . ” “Ron, ” said Hermione, in an I-don’t-think-you’re-being-very- sensitive sort of voice, “Harry doesn’t want to play Quidditch right now. . . . He’s worried, and he’s tired. . . . We all need to go to bed. . . . ”

“Yeah, I want to play Quidditch, ” said Harry suddenly. “Hang on, I’ll get my Firebolt. ”

Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded

very much like “ Boys. ”

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* * *

Neither Mr. Weasley nor Percy was at home much over the follow- ing week. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up, and returned well after dinner every night.

“It’s been an absolute uproar, ” Percy told them importantly the Sunday evening before they were due to return to Hogwarts. “I’ve been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don’t open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders. ”

“Why are they all sending Howlers? ” asked Ginny, who was

mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with

Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire.

“Complaining about security at the World Cup, ” said Percy. “They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher’s put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I’ve got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks. ”

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Harry liked this clock. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had nine golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family’s names. There were no numerals around the face, but de- scriptions of where each family member might be. “Home, ” “school, ” and “work” were there, but there was also “traveling, ” “lost, ” “hospital, ” “prison, ” and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, “mortal peril. ”

Eight of the hands were currently pointing to the “home”

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position, but Mr. Weasley’s, which was the longest, was still point- ing to “work. ” Mrs. Weasley sighed.

“Your father hasn’t had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who, ” she said. “They’re working him far too hard. His dinner’s going to be ruined if he doesn’t come home soon. ”

“Well, Father feels he’s got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn’t he? ” said Percy. “If truth be told, he was a tad un- wise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first —”

“Don’t you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote! ” said Mrs. Weasley, flaring up at once.

“If Dad hadn’t said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented, ” said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. “Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts’ Charm Breakers once, and called me ‘a long-haired pillock’? ”

“Well, it is a bit long, dear, ” said Mrs. Weasley gently. “If you’d

just let me —”

“ No, Mum. ”

Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was im-

mersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs.

Weasley had bought for her, Harry, and Ron in Diagon Alley. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. Harry was polishing his Firebolt, the broomstick servicing kit Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday open at his feet. Fred and George were sit- ting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment.

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“What are you two up to? ” said Mrs. Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins.

“Homework, ” said Fred vaguely.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re still on holiday, ” said Mrs. Weasley. “Yeah, we’ve left it a bit late, ” said George.

“You’re not by any chance writing out a new order form, are

you? ” said Mrs. Weasley shrewdly. “You wouldn’t be thinking of re- starting Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, by any chance? ”

“Now, Mum, ” said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. “If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation? ”

Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Weasley.

“Oh your father’s coming! ” she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again.

Mr. Weasley’s hand had suddenly spun from “work” to “travel- ing”; a second later it had shuddered to a halt on “home” with the others, and they heard him calling from the kitchen.

“Coming, Arthur! ” called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying out of the room.

A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.

“Well, the fat’s really in the fire now, ” he told Mrs. Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiasti- cally with his somewhat shriveled cauliflower. “Rita Skeeter’s been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she’s found out about poor old Bertha going

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missing, so that’ll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told

Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago. ” “Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks, ” said Percy swiftly.

“Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn’t found out about Winky, ” said Mr. Weasley irritably. “There’d be a week’s worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark. ”

“I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible,

did not conjure the Mark? ” said Percy hotly.

“If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily

Prophet knows how mean he is to elves! ” said Hermione angrily.

“Now look here, Hermione! ” said Percy. “A high-ranking Min- istry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants —”

“His slave, you mean! ” said Hermione, her voice rising passion-

ately, “because he didn’t pay Winky, did he? ”

“I think you’d all better go upstairs and check that you’ve packed properly! ” said Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the argument. “Come on now, all of you. . . . ”

Harry repacked his broomstick servicing kit, put his Firebolt over his shoulder, and went back upstairs with Ron. The rain sounded even louder at the top of the house, accompanied by loud whistlings and moans from the wind, not to mention sporadic howls from the ghoul who lived in the attic. Pigwidgeon began twittering and zooming around his cage when they entered. The sight of the half-packed trunks seemed to have sent him into a frenzy of excitement.

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“Bung him some Owl Treats, ” said Ron, throwing a packet across to Harry. “It might shut him up. ”

Harry poked a few Owl Treats through the bars of Pigwidgeon’s cage, then turned to his trunk. Hedwig’s cage stood next to it, still empty.

“It’s been over a week, ” Harry said, looking at Hedwig’s deserted perch. “Ron, you don’t reckon Sirius has been caught, do you? ”

“Nah, it would’ve been in the Daily Prophet, ” said Ron. “The

Ministry would want to show they’d caught someone, wouldn’t

they? ”

“Yeah, I suppose. . . . ”

“Look, here’s the stuff Mum got for you in Diagon Alley. And she’s got some gold out of your vault for you. . . and she’s washed all your socks. ”

He heaved a pile of parcels onto Harry’s camp bed and dropped the money bag and a load of socks next to it. Harry started un-

wrapping the shopping. Apart from The Standard Book of Spells,

Grade 4, by Miranda Goshawk, he had a handful of new quills, a

dozen rolls of parchment, and refills for his potion-making kit — he had been running low on spine of lionfish and essence of bel- ladonna. He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him.

“What is that supposed to be? ”

He was holding up something that looked to Harry like a long, maroon velvet dress. It had a moldy-looking lace frill at the collar and matching lace cuffs.

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley entered, car- rying an armful of freshly laundered Hogwarts robes.

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“Here you are, ” she said, sorting them into two piles. “Now, mind you pack them properly so they don’t crease. ”

“Mum, you’ve given me Ginny’s new dress, ” said Ron, handing it out to her.

“Of course I haven’t, ” said Mrs. Weasley. “That’s for you. Dress robes. ”

“ What? ” said Ron, looking horror-struck.

“Dress robes! ” repeated Mrs. Weasley. “It says on your school list that you’re supposed to have dress robes this year. . . robes for for- mal occasions. ”

“You’ve got to be kidding, ” said Ron in disbelief. “I’m not wear- ing that, no way. ”

“Everyone wears them, Ron! ” said Mrs. Weasley crossly. “They’re all like that! Your father’s got some for smart parties! ” “I’ll go starkers before I put that on, ” said Ron stubbornly. “Don’t be so silly, ” said Mrs. Weasley. “You’ve got to have dress robes, they’re on your list! I got some for Harry too. . . show him, Harry. . . . ”

In some trepidation, Harry opened the last parcel on his camp bed. It wasn’t as bad as he had expected, however; his dress robes didn’t have any lace on them at all — in fact, they were more or less the same as his school ones, except that they were bottle green in- stead of black.

“I thought they’d bring out the color of your eyes, dear, ” said Mrs. Weasley fondly.

“Well, they’re okay! ” said Ron angrily, looking at Harry’s robes. “Why couldn’t I have some like that? ”

“Because. . . well, I had to get yours secondhand, and there wasn’t a lot of choice! ” said Mrs. Weasley, flushing.

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Harry looked away. He would willingly have split all the money in his Gringotts vault with the Weasleys, but he knew they would never take it.

“I’m never wearing them, ” Ron was saying stubbornly. “Never. ” “Fine, ” snapped Mrs. Weasley. “Go naked. And, Harry, make sure you get a picture of him. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh. ”

She left the room, slamming the door behind her. There was a funny spluttering noise from behind them. Pigwidgeon was chok- ing on an overlarge Owl Treat.

“Why is everything I own rubbish? ” said Ron furiously, striding across the room to unstick Pigwidgeon’s beak.

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here was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air

when Harry awoke next morning. Heavy rain was still splat-

tering against the window as he got dressed in jeans and a sweat- shirt; they would change into their school robes on the Hogwarts Express.

He, Ron, Fred, and George had just reached the first-floor land- ing on their way down to breakfast, when Mrs. Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed.

“Arthur! ” she called up the staircase. “Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry! ”

Harry flattened himself against the wall as Mr. Weasley came clattering past with his robes on back-to-front and hurtled out of sight. When Harry and the others entered the kitchen, they saw Mrs. Weasley rummaging anxiously in the drawers — “I’ve got a quill here somewhere! ” — and Mr. Weasley bending over the fire, talking to —

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Harry shut his eyes hard and opened them again to make sure that they were working properly.

Amos Diggory’s head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large, bearded egg. It was talking very fast, completely unper- turbed by the sparks flying around it and the flames licking its ears. “. . . Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d’you-call-’ems — please-men. Arthur, you’ve got to get over there —”

“Here! ” said Mrs. Weasley breathlessly, pushing a piece of parch- ment, a bottle of ink, and a crumpled quill into Mr. Weasley’s hands.

“— it’s a real stroke of luck I heard about it, ” said Mr. Diggory’s head. “I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off — if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur —”

“What does Mad-Eye say happened? ” asked Mr. Weasley, un- screwing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes.

Mr. Diggory’s head rolled its eyes. “Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins. ”

“What did the dustbins do? ” asked Mr. Weasley, scribbling frantically.

“Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell, ” said Mr. Diggory. “Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up —”

Mr. Weasley groaned.

“And what about the intruder? ”

“Arthur, you know Mad-Eye, ” said Mr. Diggory’s head, rolling

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its eyes again. “Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there’s a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he’s had it — think of his record — we’ve got to get him off on a minor charge, some- thing in your department — what are exploding dustbins worth? ” “Might be a caution, ” said Mr. Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. “Mad-Eye didn’t use his wand? He didn’t actually attack anyone? ”

“I’ll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window, ” said Mr. Diggory, “but they’ll have a job proving it, there aren’t any casualties. ”

“All right, I’m off, ” Mr. Weasley said, and he stuffed the parch- ment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again.

Mr. Diggory’s head looked around at Mrs. Weasley. “Sorry about this, Molly, ” it said, more calmly, “bothering you so early and everything. . . but Arthur’s the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye’s supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night. . . ”

“Never mind, Amos, ” said Mrs. Weasley. “Sure you won’t have a bit of toast or anything before you go? ”

“Oh go on, then, ” said Mr. Diggory.

Mrs. Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs, and transferred it into Mr. Diggory’s mouth.

“Fanks, ” he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small pop,

vanished.

Harry could hear Mr. Weasley calling hurried good-byes to Bill,

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Charlie, Percy, and the girls. Within five minutes, he was back in the kitchen, his robes on the right way now, dragging a comb through his hair.

“I’d better hurry — you have a good term, boys, ” said Mr. Weasley to Harry, Ron, and the twins, fastening a cloak over his shoulders and preparing to Disapparate. “Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King’s Cross? ”

“Of course I will, ” she said. “You just look after Mad-Eye, we’ll be fine. ”

As Mr. Weasley vanished, Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen. “Did someone say Mad-Eye? ” Bill asked. “What’s he been up to now?

“He says someone tried to break into his house last night, ” said Mrs. Weasley.

“Mad-Eye Moody? ” said George thoughtfully, spreading mar- malade on his toast. “Isn’t he that nutter —”

“Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody, ” said Mrs. Weasley sternly.

“Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn’t he? ” said Fred quietly as Mrs. Weasley left the room. “Birds of a feather. . . ”

“Moody was a great wizard in his time, ” said Bill. “He’s an old friend of Dumbledore’s, isn’t he? ” said Charlie.

“Dumbledore’s not what you’d call normal, though, is he? ” said

Fred. “I mean, I know he’s a genius and everything. . . ”

“Who is Mad-Eye? ” asked Harry.

“He’s retired, used to work at the Ministry, ” said Charlie. “I met him once when Dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror — one of the best. . . a Dark wizard catcher, ” he added, see- ing Harry’s blank look. “Half the cells in Azkaban are full because

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of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though. . . the families of people he caught, mainly. . . and I heard he’s been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn’t trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark wizards everywhere. ”

Bill and Charlie decided to come and see everyone off at King’s Cross station, but Percy, apologizing most profusely, said that he really needed to get to work.

“I just can’t justify taking more time off at the moment, ” he told them. “Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me. ”

“Yeah, you know what, Percy? ” said George seriously. “I reckon he’ll know your name soon. ”

Mrs. Weasley had braved the telephone in the village post office to order three ordinary Muggle taxis to take them into London. “Arthur tried to borrow Ministry cars for us, ” Mrs. Weasley whispered to Harry as they stood in the rain-washed yard, watch- ing the taxi drivers heaving six heavy Hogwarts trunks into their cars. “But there weren’t any to spare. . . . Oh dear, they don’t look happy, do they? ”

Harry didn’t like to tell Mrs. Weasley that Muggle taxi drivers rarely transported overexcited owls, and Pigwidgeon was making an earsplitting racket. Nor did it help that a number of Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks went off unexpectedly when Fred’s trunk sprang open, causing the driver carrying it to yell with fright and pain as Crookshanks clawed his way up the man’s leg.

The journey was uncomfortable, owing to the fact that they were jammed in the back of the taxis with their trunks. Crook- shanks took quite a while to recover from the fireworks, and by the time they entered London, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all

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severely scratched. They were very relieved to get out at King’s Cross, even though the rain was coming down harder than ever, and they got soaked carrying their trunks across the busy road and into the station.

Harry was used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the ap- parently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid at- tracting Muggle attention. They did it in groups today; Harry, Ron, and Hermione (the most conspicuous, since they were accompa- nied by Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks) went first; they leaned casu- ally against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it. . . and as they did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialized in front of them.

The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was al- ready there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. Pigwidgeon became noisier than ever in response to the hooting of many owls through the mist. Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off to find seats, and were soon stowing their luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. They then hopped back down onto the platform to say good-bye to Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie.

“I might be seeing you all sooner than you think, ” said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye.

“Why? ” said Fred keenly.

“You’ll see, ” said Charlie. “Just don’t tell Percy I mentioned it. . . it’s ‘classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it, ’ after all. ”

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“Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year, ” said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.

“ Why? ” said George impatiently.

“You’re going to have an interesting year, ” said Bill, his eyes twinkling. “I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it. . . . ”

“A bit of what? ” said Ron.

But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors.

“Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley, ” said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the win- dow to talk to her.

“Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley, ” said Harry. “Oh it was my pleasure, dears, ” said Mrs. Weasley. “I’d invite you for Christmas, but. . . well, I expect you’re all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with. . . one thing and another. ”

“Mum! ” said Ron irritably. “What d’you three know that we don’t? ”

“You’ll find out this evening, I expect, ” said Mrs. Weasley, smil- ing. “It’s going to be very exciting — mind you, I’m very glad they’ve changed the rules —”

“What rules? ” said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together. “I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you. . . . Now, behave,

won’t you? Won’t you, Fred? And you, George? ”

The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move. “Tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts! ” Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. “What rules are they changing? ”