Page 30 of Break Out the Girl

“Wait,” Tally calls after him. “We’ll get the dinghy and meet you a few hundred yards out…”

I turn back to the table, letting out a breath. “Does anyone actually know how to sail?” I figure the only yachts François has ever been on are billionaire boats with helicopter landing pads.

“I know the basics,” Taliesin says. He looks down at the sea charts, his shoulders dropping slightly. “But I won’t lie, Rory… I’m fucking glad we have London.”

Finally. One of them actually gets it.

“If his claims aren’t just fantasy,” François grumbles, which I choose to ignore.

Instead, I grab the bag which still contains a few cans of beans, and the empty coffee flask. Taliesin rolls up the sea chart, then that’s us packed.

“Shall we?” I ask, pulling the hood of my yellow raincoat over my head.

François takes the bag from me. “Pourvu que la chance tienne,” he mutters. Taliesin immediately knocks on the wooden table.

I don’t bother asking what that’s about. It’s time to go.

Time to find Sky.

The sixteen-foot wooden dinghy is exactly where we left it and only moored with a thick rope, which Tally unwinds as soon as me and François are aboard. “Keep low,” he mutters, pushing us off from the jetty, then taking the oars. “I’ll paddle out before raising sail.”

The sounds of a busy dock at work floats across the water, but there are no shouts. No ‘stop thief’. Within minutes, we disappear into the sea fret, the white mist hiding us from the shore.

But also from London. Will he find us?

We sit in silence, the rhythmic slosh of water against the hull as we wait. Time passes. Ten minutes, fifteen.

“Plan B?” Taliesin hisses. “What’s our fucking plan B?”

“He’ll be here,” I snap back.

And then, out from the fog, a sleek, dark-painted jet boat slides silently towards us. London is standing at the center console, slightly soggy, with a pair of stolen aviator sunglasses perched on his nose—despite the complete lack of sun.

“Ahoy, maties,” he whispers loudly, tossing a heavy towing line to Tally. “Hop in. This big ship is about to sail down the alley, alley, oh.”

Instead of a sneer, both Taliesin and François give London respectful nods.

“Good work.”

“Bien joué.”

London winks at me. “Wanna be my cabin boy?”

I grin back at him. “You know what? I really do!”

Plus, I can practice my dehydration spell to make my favorite goat a little more comfortable.

11: TALIESIN

It soon becomes apparent that it wasn’t all bullshit.

London does know what he’s doing.

Thank the Gods.

The kid handles the jet boat like a pro. I say kid, but actually London must be a couple of years older than me. I guess it’s the way he chatters away about nothing that makes him seem young.

“Steady as she goes, me maties!” London babbles, his hands light on the wheel. He keeps cocking his head to the left, as if he can actually hear the water depth changing beneath our hull. “Zip, zap, zoop past the harbor watchmen, bish bash bosh, we’ll soak ‘em with our wash.”