He took a slow step backward, but Holly quickly walked around him and smashed the heel of her hand into the door mechanism, sealing it for as long as it took for maintenance to get a fairy down there. Which would be way too long.
“No running away, young Master Demon,” called Turnball. “I have need of your magic.”
My magic, thought No1. There must be something I can do. The mesmer doesn’t require any sparks.
“Listen to me, Holly,” said the demon warlock, his voice multilayered with magic. “Look into my eyes.”
Which was as far as he got before Holly brought the edge of her hand down in a chopping motion that hit No1 accurately in the gap between the armor plates on his chest and neck. Right in the windpipe. The demon collapsed to the ground, gasping. It would be minutes before he could do as much as squeak.
Turnball laughed cruelly. “Rune trumps mesmer, would say.”
Butler tried to ignore the more extreme circumstances, such as the explosive gas they were breathing and the giant squid giving him the evil eye from outside the umbilical tube, and treat the situation as a common alley brawl.
I have been in this situation a dozen times. Admittedly, we are flanked, but Juliet and I could take these and a dozen more. Holly can fight, but she is mesmerized, and that will slow her down. Why is Turnball so confident with only a gnome and a sprite by his side?
“Ready, sister?” he said.
“Say the word.”
“I’ll take Turnball and his friends. You contain Holly without doing any damage if you can manage it.”
“Okay, brother.”
“What should I do?” asked Foaly, trying to keep the whinny out of his voice.
“Stand over Artemis and Mulch. Keep them safe.”
“Very well, Butler,” said the centaur, feeling utterly helpless, as he always did in violent situations. “You can count on me.”
Butler and Juliet switched sides, touching hands briefly on the way past.
“Be careful. Holly is quick.”
“You too. I don’t trust that Turnball guy.”
Both of these statements would shortly prove themselves true. Unfortunately, Butler had formulated their plan of action without two vital pieces of information. First of all, Holly was not mesmerized, she was enthralled by a rune, and where the mesmer slowed the enchanted person down, runes certainly did not. In fact, they gave the victim access to more life force than they would normally have, which is why long-term thralls must not be allowed to get too excited for too long or they will literally burn themselves out. The second piece of information Butler did not have was the fact that Turnball had anticipated he might have to fight his way through an umbilical, and so was armed accordingly.
The Butlers went down within seconds of each other. Juliet ran full tilt for Holly, no chatter or exaggerated wrestling moves—Holly was a serious opponent. The serious opponent stood listlessly, arms dangling until the last possible moment, then she ducked low, so quickly that it seemed a ghost image hung in the space where she had been, and swept Juliet’s legs from under her. Juliet banged her head hard on the walkway, and by the time her vision cleared, Holly was on her chest with her Neutrino leveled at Juliet’s head.
“No sparks,” panted Juliet. “No sparks.”
“No sparks,” repeated Holly dully, then stuffed the gun barrel down the front of Juliet’s Jade Princess leotard and pulled the trigger. Juliet spasmed once, then collapsed. There were no sparks.
At the other end of the conduit, Butler had not rushed forward with quite so much gusto. If things were as they seemed, he could easily defeat Turnball and his little henchfairies. Perhaps a menacing approach would be enough to scare them into running away.
Turnball seemed a little irritated and not at all scared. “Mr. Butler, as a manservant to a great strategist, didn’t it occur to you that another great strategist such as myself might have anticipated this moment, or one like it?”
Butler’s stomach sank. Turnball is armed.
Butler’s only option was to cover the remaining distance before Turnball managed to aim his weapon. He almost made it, but then almost in a fight is about as useful as rubber needles in a knitting contest.
Turnball unclipped the stumpy weapon on a lanyard behind his back and shot Butler eight times in the chest and head. The bodyguard’s eyes rolled back in his head, but his momentum drove him forward, and Turnball had to skip smartly to one side to avoid being crushed. Ark Sool and Unix were not so lucky. Butler landed on them like a meteor, driving every last gasp of air from their bodies and breaking several ribs.
“Olé!” said Turnball, who had made a point of attending the bullfights whenever he was in Spain, not seeming too upset by the loss of his crew.
The vibrations set off one of the fire-extinguisher powder packs, which must have been on a hair trigger, and filled the umbilical with floating white powder.
“‘Oh, the weather outside is frightful,’” sang Turnball, pointing his gun at Foaly, who was trying to at least look brave. “Do you like my weapon? It was developed for crowd control during the first goblin riots. Purely chemical. Shoots Zolpidem tartrate knockout pellets. Gas powered, with dissolvable shells. No sparks. Sometimes low-tech is the way to go.”
Artemis suddenly drew a lungful of air, as though he had just breached the ocean’s surface.
“Ah, my genius surfaces. Stand up, Artemis. I command you.”
Artemis lurched to his feet, his head and clothes matted with white powder.
“Choke that centaur for me, would you?”
There followed an uncomfortable minute while Artemis tried to find some purchase on Foaly’s broad neck, then squeezed with all the power in his fingers, which was not very much. Foaly was more embarrassed than hurt.
Turnball wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh, this is too much. But I indulge myself—Leonor is waiting. Come here, Artemis, and you too, Captain Short. Bring the demon. We must be gone from here before the ambulance generator blows.”
Artemis and Holly did as they were told with the emotion of automatons. Holly yanked poor, gasping No1 along by the collar of his tunic, and Artemis stepped past Foaly without a glance. Outside the conduit, the fish and squid paid close attention to this fascinating diversion from the dreariness of everyday subaquatic life.
Suddenly, Turnball was impatient to be off.
“Come now, my thralls. Where is the speed you are famous for?”
Artemis did speed up, showing a nimbleness that anyone who knew the boy would not associate with him.
“That’s more like it,” said Turnball. “I may keep you, Artemis.”
“That’s nice,” said the human boy. “I’ll tell him when I see him.”
“Ehm,” said Turnball, puzzled; then the boy who looked like Artemis Fowl jabbed Turnball in the gut with stiffened fing
ers.
“Butler showed Artemis that one a thousand times,” said the boy. “He didn’t listen, but I did.”
Turnball wanted to say something, but he was winded, and even if he hadn’t been, he had no idea what he would have said.
“For I am not Artemis Fowl, villainous elf,” said Orion, twisting the gun from Turnball’s fingers. “I am the young romantic who always knew his day would come, so I listened to Butler and I am ready.”
Turnball got enough breath back for one word. “How?”
“Artemis knew he had to escape the power of the rune, which controlled his mind but not mine, so he goaded your cretinous minion into shocking him, which released me.”
Turnball clasped his stomach. Of course. Atlantis stage two. He rested both elbows on his knees and rasped at Holly. “Kill him. Kill the boy.”
Orion pivoted and aimed the gun at Holly. “Please, sweet maiden. Do not force my hand, for I will strike for the good of all.”
Holly threw No1 aside and ran full tilt, side to side.
“Artemis could never shoot,” she snarled.
Orion squared his shoulders and extended his hands, supporting his right hand with his left. Both Artemis and Orion were ambidextrous, but, unlike Artemis, Orion favored his right hand. He remembered what Butler had said time and time again: Sight along your arm. Breathe out and squeeze.
The first pellet caught Holly on the cheek, the second on the forehead, and the third on the shoulder, which took a second to penetrate. Holly’s speed took her halfway up the curved wall before her body gave out, and she slid back down on her face.
Orion turned to Turnball, who was sneaking up on him.
“Be still, foul demon.”
“Hey,” said No1, who was getting his breath back.
“Apologies, gentle mage,” said Orion. “I was referring to my piratical foe.”
“Four,” said Turnball, with some desperation. “Four four four.”
Orion laughed a haughty hero’s laugh. “No such luck, Turnball Root. Your evil plans have been thwarted. Accept your fate.”
Turnball’s face turned slowly purple, a family trait.