The Key (The Magnificent 12 3)

There was a sudden mood change. The pepper mill disappeared, a credit card reader appeared in its place, and someone brought bandages for Jarrah’s scraped leg and foot.

“We’re heading the wrong direction,” Dietmar pointed out. “The Eiffel Tower is the other way.”

“Yeah,” Mack agreed. “And the cops are keeping up with us.”

The crew now brought them café au lait and hot chocolate and the most perfect croissants, along with pots of preserves and tubs of butter. The bateau churned along at a good speed—just fast enough that the cops couldn’t catch up by the time they reached Pont de l’Alma again.

The cops made pretty good progress after that and almost got onto the next bridge, but not quite. Then it seemed the police were slowed by traffic and the bateau might get away altogether.

“We might just make it,” Rodrigo said.

“Bet you a fiver we don’t,” Charlie said, holding out his hand for Rodrigo to shake on the bet.

As they rounded a bend, up loomed an island, and on that island was the huge Gothic church called Notre-Dame, with its spires visible despite being at the far end.

The river narrowed. Police boats waited like sharks for a guppy.

The captain sent his apologies and said that he was bound to obey the police boats. It was one thing to pretend not to see police cars racing frantically to catch up. This was a whole different kettle of fish. These were boats.

The police cars had reached the Pont Neuf ahead of them as well, so it was more or less the entire Paris police force arrayed along the bridge or in boats just in front of the bridge.

“My compliments to the captain,” Mack said, because he’d seen that in a movie once, “and tell him we understand.”

“What do we do now?” Dietmar asked.

Mack stifled an urge to say a sarcastic, Oh, now you want me to make the decisions.

They were trapped. The boat couldn’t turn around even if the captain had wanted to. Either they fought the police, or they would have to be able to walk on water.

Which is not something that is done on a regular basis.

“I have a crazy idea,” Mack said.

“Let’s do it!” Jarrah and Stefan both said.

“You haven’t even heard what it is yet!” Xiao protested.

Jarrah shrugged. “He said it was crazy”—as though that was enough.

“We know the Vargran for ‘water.’ And we know the Vargran word for ‘walk,’” Mack said. He just let that hang there in the air for a minute as the others stared at him.

“Are you out of your mind?” Charlie demanded at last, and it was pretty clear that Sylvie, Rodrigo, and Xiao shared this opinion.

Surprisingly, it was Dietmar who said, “Very clever. Ingenious. If it works.”

“It feels big,” Xiao said. “Like it would take all of us together.”

“And would it work for Stefan?” Rodrigo asked.

“If it works for us and not him, we drag him along,” Mack said.

“And if it doesn’t work at all, we end up wet and cold and looking ridiculous!” Charlie said.

Mack ignored him. “Rodrigo and Jarrah, you haul Stefan if necessary. We head down the right side of the island, where the river is narrowest—the cop boats aren’t over on that side. We get out of sight of the boats and the bridges and then we head up into the city and try to disappear.”

Jarrah grinned and grabbed Charlie’s hand, shook it firmly, and said, “Welcome to the Magnificent Twelve, mate.”

The boat slowed, and the police boats were just thirty feet away when together the Magnifica spoke the words booj-il ebway truk (sniff )oh with a certain fervent energy.