The Key (The Magnificent 12 3)

Grimluk blinked as Mack pulled the two parts of the Key from his backpack hanging on the door. “See? Also, the Loch Ness monster is a duck now … long story.”

“Very well done, Mack of the Magnifica.”

It occurred to Mack that it was the first compliment he’d ever gotten from Grimluk.

“Now what?” Mack asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Now, Mack, you must find your own roots. You must learn the truth of your own distant past. For only then will you understand Valin’s treachery, and only then can you hope to assemble … the …”

And then Grimluk disappeared.

Mack sat down backward on the toilet and waited. In a few seconds Grimluk faded back in.

“… let me go to my final rest,” the ancient, gnarled, wrinkled, dusty, green-toothed, hunched, milky-eyed old apparition said.

“What was that?” Mack asked, frowning.

“… past is in far Punjab … bury me …”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, Grimluk. Hey, what’s this about burying you? You’re supposed to be running this whole thing!”

Grimluk almost smiled, which was close enough given the state of his oral hygiene. No one wanted a better look at those choppers.

“It is foretold: before the Pale Queen rises, the last of … must die.”

“You are in and out, try again!” Mack urged, gripping the pipe.

“I fade … weak …”

“Hey! Hey!”

But Grimluk did not reappear.

Mack finally gave up and went into the living room, where the others were eating a breakfast of croissants, brioches, jam, and hot chocolate.

“You look as if you have seen a ghost,” Sylvie said.

“Let’s hope not,” Mack said. He took an empty seat and poured himself a cup of hot chocolate. “So, does anyone know if there really is a place called Punjab?”