Free The Magnificent 12 by Michael Grant Page B

Cossacks.
    â€œ Cad ba mhaith leat ?” Sean Patrick replied. Because he was Irish and spoke only Irish, and just enough Russian to converse with his Cossack girlfriend.
    Mack was reluctant to use up any of his enlightened puissance —after all, anything might happen—but he had no choice, so he used a Vargran spell that allowed him to understand what Sean Patrick was saying, and to be understood in return.
    It turned out all Sean Patrick had said was, “What do you want?”
    â€œOh, um, just . . . hi.”
    â€œHello, fellow.”
    â€œSo. Your girlfriend. She’s hot, huh?” This was an amazingly stupid thing to say, and Mack was relieved that the Cossacks standing around didn’t stab him right then and there. This was, after all, the daughter of Taras Bulba he was calling “hot.”
    â€œShe should step outside if she’s hot,” Sean Patrick said. “It’s chilly outside.”
    Having dodged that bullet, Mack wondered how to proceed. “So. Um. You two are tight, right? I mean, you’re totally going to marry Boguslawa. Right?”
    Sean Patrick stuck his thumbs in his belt and puffed out his chest and said, “I have pledged my undying love.”
    â€œGood. And nothing could possibly change that, right?”
    â€œWhy? What have you heard?”
    There was a loud roar of approval as out on the polo field one of the Cossacks swung his mallet and sent the battered head-ball flying. The horses thundered toward the goal.
    So far this was going badly for Mack. But things were about to go much worse. Because not all those thundering hooves were from Cossack polo ponies. There was a host of horsemen rushing from the south, and judging by the beards and turbans, they were not Cossacks.
    Suddenly arrows were sprouting in the chests of Cossack polo players. Which is a poetic way of saying that they were getting killed by bows and arrows from the attacking army.
    Valin rushed to Mack, grabbed his arm, and hissed, “We have to get out of here! Sean Patrick, get Boguslawa!”
    But Sean Patrick was already beating feet toward the distant woods. An arrow passed so close to Boguslawa that the feathers smeared her lipstick.
    â€œAh!” Mack cried. He grabbed Boguslawa’s hand and yelled to Xiao and Stefan, “Let’s get out of here!”
    Their Cossack guards had bigger problems than chasing them right then, so the four of them—a boy-hero and his bully-bodyguard from twenty-first-century Sedona and a dragon-girl from twenty-first-century China and a Cossack princess-babe from seventeenth-century Russia—all ran into the Punjabi woods just ahead of a guru-general’s army.
    It was all very confusing, but when there are arrows and spears flying, it’s pretty easy to focus on fleeing.

Ten
    H ere’s what was going on. Mukhlis Khan was invading India and Guru Hargobind was trying to stop him. Taras Bulba was just there to see if he could get a job working for one side or the other. He was your average, hardworking savage warlord and he needed a job.
    Valin was there helping Taras Bulba and trying to rewrite history.
    Paddy “Nine Iron” Trout was there trying to get Valin to kill Mack.
    None of this will be on the test. Just understand this: Valin would never join the Magnificent Twelve so long as he blamed Mack for being descended from Izmir the Clown.
    Okay, that didn’t really explain much. One more try.
    Mack, Xiao, Stefan, and some girl named Boguslawa were in the woods, scared, damp, and shoeless. No one knew what had happened to Valin.
    Oh, and here’s where things go really bad:
    Boguslawa, panting, breathless, her black hair blowing in the breeze, threw her arms around Mack’s neck and said, “Вы спасли мнe жизнь!”
    Which, translated, means, “You saved my life!”
    And then she kissed Mack on both cheeks.
    Stefan and Xiao both