The Trap (The Magnificent 12 2)

“If you gotta go, you gotta go.”

“Right this way,” Nott said.

“Don’t be long,” Thor said, with no trace of the openhearted bonhomie he’d shown thus far. “Fenrir will miss you.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Nott led them along a hallway you could have taxied a 747 down. Here, too, there were blank spaces where tapestries had once hung, and spots where darker flooring suggested there had once been furniture.

Part of Mack was actually relieved. He finally knew where the trap was. Grimluk must have suspected the Pale Queen would try to reach out to Odin and his brood.

The bathroom was interesting. Mack wasn’t quite sure what he had expected. But he had not expected a gray granite counter with two giant oval holes.

This counter was god-height, appropriate for a fourteen-foot-tall person, not so useful for people under six feet.

Mack stood on his toes to see that the holes did not lead to a bowl, or even a pipe. Or a hole in the ground.

“Those are clouds,” Jarrah said. “Well, that’s pretty high and mighty.”

The oval holes opened directly onto the tops of fluffy white clouds.

“It’s over the sea,” Nott said a little defensively.

“Bad luck for some poor fisherman, eh?” Jarrah huffed. “A little present from the gods?”

Xiao was the only one who seemed really upset. “This is very wrong behavior,” she said to Nott. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

Nott curled her lip. “Is that your precious Confucius?”

“Spider-Man’s dad,” Stefan said.

“That’s his uncle, not his dad,” Jarrah said. “Uncle Ben.”

“Huh.”

“I believe Socrates said something like it, too,” Xiao said. “I was translating loosely.”

“Naw, it was Uncle Ben,” Jarrah insisted.

“The point,” Xiao said, gritting her teeth, “is that just because you are a god or a dragon or any other powerful being, you don’t have a right to literally—”

“Enough,” Nott interrupted. “I’m only tolerating you out of affection for Shen Long. And because I have the knowledge you need to defeat the Mother of All Monsters. But I won’t be lectured by a mortal. Or a dragon, for that matter.”

“And we are grateful for you helping us,” Mack interrupted smoothly. “But what do you mean, help us defeat the Pale Queen?”

“Why do you think Grimluk sent you to the Externsteine?” Nott asked.

“To find me, of course,” Dietmar said.

“Perhaps, in part,” Nott said. “But also so that I may give you this.” She held out a small stone disk, no bigger than a DVD, but quite a bit heavier. It was covered, edge to edge, with incredibly ornate scrollwork.

Mack took it. “Thanks,” he said, looking at it carefully. “What is it?”

“It is a key. The ancient key of the MacGuffins. You must take it to the tomb of William Blisterthöng MacGuffin. You will find the disk into which this one fits.”

“Say what now? Tomb?” Mack said.

“He has been dead for a thousand years. Even in Scotland they don’t just leave corpses lying out on park benches.”