The Lost Colony (Artemis Fowl 5)

Her fingertip glowed blue, and Artemis felt his new eye expand slightly in his socket. A single tear ran down his cheek, and the headache disappeared.

“A pity I was unable to do it myself. Being magical for even a short while was simply . . .”

“Magical?”

Artemis smiled. “Exactly. Thank you, Holly.”

Holly smiled back. “It’s the least I can do for someone who brought me back to life.”

Qwan and No1 were on their feet. The old warlock was trying not to look too smug, and No1 was wiggling his tail experimentally.

“You never know what that tunnel will do to you,” he explained. “I lost half a finger last time. It was my favorite finger, too.”

“Rarely in my tunnels,” said Qwan. “My tunnels are works of beauty. If the other warlocks were alive, they would give me a medal. Where is Qweffor, by the way?”

Qweffor was buried up to his waist in an ash mound, head down. Qwan and No1 hauled him out by the boots. He lay spluttering and snorting on the ground.

“Do you need a handkerchief?” asked No1. “All that ash and mucus coming out your nose is horrible.”

Qweffor wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Shut up, Runt!”

No1 took a step backward, which would prove not to be quite enough.

“Runt?”he squeaked.“You’re not Qweffor, you’re N’zall!”

“Abbot!” roared the demon, reaching up and grasping No1 by the throat. “The name is Abbot.”

Holly had her gun out and powered up before Abbot finished his sentence.

“Let him go, Abbot!” she shouted. “You can’t escape. There’s nowhere to escape to. Your world is gone.”

The ex-pride leader was actually crying. “I know it’s gone. This runt took it from me! Now I will take his life from him.”

Holly sent a warning shot over Abbot’s head. “The next one is between your eyes, demon.”

Abbot hefted No1, using him as a shield. “Shoot now, elf. Put us both out of our misery.”

A change had come over No1. Initially he had been sniveling—standard No1 behavior—but now the tears were drying on his cheeks and his eyes were hard.

Every time things are going right for me, Abbot ruins it, he thought. I am so fed up with this stupid demon. I wish he was gone.

This was a big breakthrough for No1. Usually when he found himself in a bad situation, No1 wished himself away. This time he was wishing someone else would disappear. Enough was finally enough, so No1 broke through a lifetime of conditioning and talked back to Abbot.

“I want to speak to Qweffor,” he said in a trembling voice.

“Qweffor’s gone!” shouted Abbot, spraying spittle onto No1’s neck. “All that is left is his magic. My magic!”

“I want to speak to Qweffor,” repeated his hostage, with a little more volume.

For Abbot, this latest subordination was the wind that burst the dwarf’s bum-flap. Even though he was bereft of land and lackeys, Abbot decided that he would not bear impudence from an imp. He tossed No1 upward, spinning him in the air and gripping his shoulders as the imp descended. No1 came down, face-to-face with Abbot, the demon’s horns brushing his ears. Abbot’s eyes were wide and crazy, and his teeth were slick with saliva.

“You’re not long for life, little runt.”

If Abbot had been paying closer attention to his captive, he might have noticed that No1’s eyes were filmed with blue, and his markings glowed and shimmered. But, as usual, Abbot was only interested in his own plight.

No1 wriggled his hands upward, grabbing Abbot by the horns.

“How dare you!” said Abbot incredulously. Touching a demon’s horns was tantamount to a challenge.

No1 stared into his captor’s eyes. “I said, I want to talk to Qweffor.”

Abbot heard him that time, because the voice wasn’t No1’s. It was a voice of pure magic, layered with undeniable power.

Abbot blinked. “I’ll . . . eh . . . see if he’s in.”

It was too late for compliance; No1 wasn’t about to rein in his power now. He sent a magical probe into Abbot’s brain via the horns. Abbot’s horns glowed bright blue and then began shedding large brittle flakes.

“Careful with the horns,” said Abbot blearily, then his eyes rolled back in his head. “The ladies love the horns.”

No1 rooted around in Abbot’s head for a while until he found Qweffor sleeping in a dark corner, in a place scientists would call the limbic system.

The problem, realized No1, is that there is only room in every head for one consciousness. Abbot needs to go somewhere else.

And so, with this instinctive knowledge and absolutely no expertise, No1 fed Qweffor’s consciousness until it expanded, occupying the entire brain. It was not a perfect fit, and poor Qweffor would suffer from twitches and sudden loss of bowel control at public functions, a syndrome which would become known as Abbot’s Revenge. But at least he was in control of the body most of the time.

After several years and three hearings, fairy warlocks would rule to rehouse Abbot’s consciousness in a lower life form. A guinea pig, to be precise. The guinea pig’s own consciousness would soon be subjugated by Abbot’s. Warlock interns would often amuse themselves by throwing tiny swords into the pig’s pen, and cracking up while watching the little piggy try to pick them up.

Qweffor blinked Abbot’s eyes.

“Thanks, No1,” he said, placing the smaller warlock on the ground. “He’s always been too strong for me, but now he’s gone. I’m free.” Qweffor studied his new arms. “And I have muscles.”

Holly lowered her gun, resting a hand on her thigh. “That must be it. Surely our troubles are over?”

Artemis felt the earth tilt a fraction below them. He dropped to one knee, laying the flat of his hands on the ground.

“I ha

te to say this, Holly, but I think we’re sinking.”

* * *

The sinking thing turned out not to be as serious as it sounded. Of course, it was serious; after all, an island was sinking. But there was help at hand.

Holly realized this when her barely functional wrist computer was suddenly flooded with LEP chatter.

The sky is a projection, she thought. They’re waiting for us.

Suddenly, where there had been nothing, hundreds of fairy vehicles appeared in the air above the island. Emergency services air ambulances flew in decreasing circles, searching for landing spots. Huge demolition platforms were guided down by tugpods, and an LEP shuttle dropped straight into the volcano.

The pod had the slick lines of a teardrop and a nonreflective surface that made it difficult to see, even with the shield powered down.

“They were expecting us,” said Artemis, unsurprised. “I thought as much.”

No1 sneezed. “Thank goodness. I am so fed up with this volcano. It’s going to take a month to get this crater stink out of my plates.”

“No, no,” said Qwan, linking arms with his new apprentice. “You can vent your pores magically. It’s a very handy talent.”

Holly waved to attract the shuttle, though there was no need. Even if her helmet hadn’t had a nuclear tracker, the carrier’s scanners would have already scanned, categorized, and checked the LEP database for a match for each one of them.

The shuttle spun and reversed down to them tail first. Its jets blasted, moving furrows in the ash.

“Wow,” said Qwan. “Those ships are fabulous. The People have been busy.”

“A lot has happened in ten thousand years,” said Holly, holding up her palms to show the pilot she was not holding a weapon. Again, probably not necessary, but with Ark Sool in command of the LEP, nothing could be taken for granted.

Four grappler hooks shot from the corners of the shuttle, smashing through the crater crust into the rock below. Once they had a solid grip, they reeled the craft in for a landing. The rear door slid across, and Foaly came trotting down the ramp, dressed in a custom-tailored four-legged LEP jumpsuit. He skidded down the incline to Holly, digging his back hooves through the crust.