The Seventh Dwarf (Artemis Fowl 1.5)

'And no pilot's licence,' added the commander. 'If you fly that thing, you may as well kiss your career goodbye. Set the self-destruct, then wait for the Retrieval Squad.' He handed Holly the starter chip, which doubled as a locator. 'That's a direct order, Short, so take that insolent look off your face, it's making me nervous. And when I get nervous I tend to fire people. Get the message?'

'Yessir. Message understood, sir.'

'Good.'

Holly squatted behind the ridge while her commander threaded his way through the trees towards the house itself. Halfway down the hill, he buzzed up his shield, becoming all but invisible to the naked eye. When a fairy shielded, he vibrated so quickly that the eyes

could not capture an image of him. Of course, Root would have to turn off his shield to take the shot at his brother, but that need not be until the last moment.

Root could taste metal filings in the air, doubtless left over from the radio jammer that Turnball had detonated earlier. He stepped carefully over the uneven terrain until the front windows of the house were clearly visible. The curtains were open, but there was no sign of Turnball or Captain Kelp. Round the back then.

Hugging the wall, the commander crept along the cracked flagstone path to the rear of the cottage. Trees lined both sides of a narrow unkempt yard. And there, perched on a stool on the flagstone patio, was his brother, Turnball, face lifted to the morning sun without a care in the world.

Root's breath caught and his step faltered. His only brother. Flesh of his flesh. For a single moment, the commander imagined what it would be like to embrace his brother and wash away the past, but the moment quickly passed. It was too late for reconciliation. Fairies had almost died, and still could.

Root raised his weapon, training the barrel on his brother. It was a ridiculously easy shot for even a mediocre marksman. He could not believe that his brother had been stupid enough to expose himself in this way. As he crept closer, Julius was saddened by how old Turnball looked. There was barely a century between them, and yet his older brother looked as though he had barely enough energy to stand. Longevity was part of fairy magic, and without magic, time had taken a premature hold on Turnball.

'Hello, Julius, I can hear you there,' said Turnball, without opening his eyes. 'The sun is glorious, is she not? How can you live without her? Why don't you unshield? I haven't seen your face for so long.'

Root relaxed his shield and fought to keep his aim steady. 'Shut up, Turnball. Just don't speak to me. You're a convict-to-be, that's all. Nothing more.'

Turnball opened his eyes. 'Ah, little brother. You don't look well. High blood pressure. No doubt brought on by hunting for me.'

Julius couldn't help being drawn into conversation. 'Look who's talking. You look like a rug that's been beaten once too often. And still wearing the old LEP uniform, I see. We don't have ruffled collars any more, Turnball. If you were still a captain, you'd know that.'

Turnball fluffed his collar. 'Is that really what you want to talk to me about, Julius? Uniforms? After all this time.'

'We'll have plenty of time to talk when I visit you in prison.'

Turnball extended his wrists dramatically. 'Very well, Commander.Take me away.'

Julius was suspicious. 'Just like that? What are you up to?'

'I'm tired,' sighed his brother. 'I'm tired of life among the Mud People. They are such barbarians. I want to go home, even if it is to a cell. You have obviously dispatched my helpers, so what choice do I have?'

Root's soldier's intuition was pounding like a bell clapper inside his skull. He dropped the thermal filter in his visor and saw that there was only one other fairy in the dwelling. Someone tied in a sitting position. That must be Captain Kelp.

'And where is the delightful Corporal Short?' asked Turnball casually.

Root decided to leave himself an ace in the hole, in case he needed it. 'Dead,' he spat. 'Your dwarf shot her when she warned me. That's another charge you will have to answer for.'

'What's another charge? I only have one life to spend in captivity. You'd better hurry up and arrest me, Julius. Because if you don't, I may go back inside the house.'

Julius had to think quickly. It was obvious that Turnball had something planned. And he would probably make his move when Julius zipped on the cuffs. Then again he couldn't make a move if he was unconscious.

Without a word of warning, the commander hit his brother with a low-level charge. Just enough to knock him out for a few moments. Turnball slumped backwards, a surprised look on his face.

Root holstered his Neutrino and hurried towards his brother. He wanted Turnball trussed like a solstice turkey when he came to. Julius took three steps, then he didn't feel so well. A pounding headache landed on him like a lead weight from a height. Sweat popped from every pore and his sinuses were instantly blocked. What was going on here? Root dropped to his knees, then all fours. He felt like throwing up, then sleeping for eight hours. His bones had turned to jelly and his head weighed a tonne. Every breath sounded amplified and distant.

The commander stayed in that position for over a minute, completely helpless. A kitten could have knocked him over and stolen his wallet. He could only watch as Turnball regained consciousness, shook his head to dislodge the afterbuzz, then began to smile slowly.

Turnball rose, towering above his helpless brother. 'Who is the smart one?' he shouted at his stricken brother. 'Who has always been the smart one?'

Root could not answer. All he could do was try to marshal his thoughts. It was too late for his body: that had betrayed him.

'Jealousy,' proclaimed Turnball, spreading his arms. 'This has always been about jealousy. I am better than you in every way, and you can't handle it.' The madness was in his eyes now, and flecks of spittle spattered on to his chin and cheeks.

Root managed two words: 'You're insane.'

'No,' saidTurnball. 'What I am is fed up. I am fed up of running away from my own brother. The whole thing is too melodramatic. So, much as it pains me to do it, I am going to take your edge away from you. I am going to take your magic. Then you will be like me. I've already started, would you like to know how?'

Turnball took a tiny remote control from the pocket of his great coat. He pressed a button, and glass walls shimmered into view all round the brothers. They were no longer outside in the garden, they were inside a conservatory. Root had entered through open double doors.

'Naughty, Commander,' admonished Turnball. 'You entered a human dwelling without an invitation. That is against the rules of our religion. You do that a few more times, and your magic will be gone forever.'

Root's head hung lower. He had waltzed into Turnball's trap, like a raw recruit two days out of the Academy. His brother had rigged a few sheets of cam foil and some projectors to disguise the conservatory, and he had fallen for it. His only hope now was Holly Short. And if Turnball had outwitted Captain Kelp and himself, what chance did a girl have?

Turnball grabbed Root by the scruff of the neck, dragging him towards the house. 'You don't

look so well,' he said, his voice loaded with false concern. 'We'd better get you inside.'

CHAPTER 5: Career Or Comrades?

Holly watched the commander's capture from the ridge. When Root went down, she jumped to her feet and sprinted down the hillside, fully prepared to disobey her orders and go to the commander's aid. Then the conservatory shimmered into view, stopping Holly in her tracks. She would be of no use inside the house boundaries, unless she could somehow save the commander by vomiting. There had to be another way.

Holly turned, crawling back uphill on all fours, digging her fingers into the earth, dragging herself towards the wood. Once undercover, she activated the locator in the shuttle's starter chip. Her orders were to return to the craft and send a distress signal. Eventually it would penetrate the jammer's waffle. Though by then, it would probably be too late.

She ran across the wild fields, scutch grass grabbing at her boots. Birds circled overhead, their desperate cackling somehow echoing her own mood. The wind pushed in her face, slowing her pace. Even nature seemed to be against the LEP on this day.

The locator beep led her across a thigh-high stream. The freezing waters slashed through gaps in Holly's suit, pouring over her legs. She ignored it, and a trout the size of her arm who seemed very interested in the material of her suit. She battled on, over a humansized stile and up a steep hill. Low-lying fog sat on the hilltop like whipped cream on a wedge of cake.

Holly could smell the fog before she reached it. It was chemical. Manufactured. The shuttle was obviously inside the cloud bank.