The Lost Colony (Artemis Fowl 5)

Inside the gallery, Artemis was getting a little anxious. He had

hoped that Kong would leave the building immediately, but the hit man must have spotted one of the exhibition posters in the elevator and come to the same conclusion that Artemis himself had.

“Anything?” he asked No1, who was vaguely rubbing a statue’s arm.

“Not yet. I’m trying.”

Artemis patted his shoulder. “Try a little harder. I have no desire to get involved in a firefight in a high-rise building. At the very least we would all end up in a Taiwanese prison.”

Okay, thought No1. Concentrate. Reach into the stone.

He held the stone warlock’s finger tightly and tried to feel something. From the little he knew about warlocks, he guessed that this was probably Qwan, the elder magician. The stone figure’s head was encircled by a simple band with a spiral motif at the front, the sign of leadership.

How terrible it must have been, No1 reflected, to see your home dematerialize and be left behind. To know it was all your own fault.

It was not my fault! snapped a voice in No1’s head. It was hat stupid demon N’zall. Now are you going to get me out of here or not?

No1 almost fainted. His breath came in short explosive gasps, and his heart seemed to hike upward in his chest.

Come on, young warlock. Release me! I have been waiting for a long long time.

The voice, the presence, was inside the sculpture. It was Qwan.

Of course it’s Qwan. You’re holding my hand. Who did you think it was? You’re not a simpleton, are you? Just my luck, wait ten thousand years and then a simpleton turns up.

“I am not a simpleton!” blurted No1.

“Of course not,” said Artemis encouragingly. “Just do your best. I will instruct Butler to hold Kong back for as long as he can.”

No1 bit his lip and nodded. If he spoke aloud, it could get confusing. And this situation was confusing enough without him adding to it.

He would try thought-power. Qwan was speaking in his mind, maybe it would work the other way.

Of course it works! Qwan sent. And what is all that nonsense about cooked food? Just release me from this prison.

No1 winced, trying to mentally black out his dreams of a cooked banquet.

I don’t know how to set you free, he thought. I don’t know if I can.

Of course you can, responded Qwan. You have enough magic in you to teach a troll to play an instrument. Just let it out.

How? I have no idea how.

Qwan was silent for a moment while he took a quick peek into No1’s memories.

Oh, I see. You are a complete novice. No training of any kind. Just as well, really; without expert tuition you could have blown up half of Hybras. Very well, I will give you a little nudge in the right direction. I can’t do much from here, but maybe I can get your power flowing. It will get easier after this. Once you have been in contact with a warlock, some of his knowledge is passed on to you.

No1 could have sworn that the stone fingers in his own moved a fraction, but that could just have been his imagination. What was definitely not in his imagination was the sudden feeling of cold loss that sped along his arm. As though life itself were being sucked from him.

Don’t worry, young warlock. I’m simply siphoning off a little magic to get the sparks running. It feels terrible, but it will not last.

It did feel terrible. No1 imagined that dying piece by piece would feel something like this, which in a way was what was happening. And in such a situation the body will try to defend itself by fighting off the intruder. The magic that had lain dormant inside No1 until recently suddenly exploded in his brain and gave chase to the invader.

To No1 it felt as though he suddenly had an entire new spectrum of vision. He had been blind before, but now he could see through walls. Of course, it was not really some kind of super vision, it was an understanding of his own abilities. The magic flowed through him like liquid fire, chasing impurities out through his pores. Venting steam through his orifices and setting the runes on his body aglow.

Good boy, sent Qwan. Now let it go. Chase me out.

No1 found that he was able to do exactly that, to control the magical flow. He sent it after Qwan’s tendril, through his own fingers, and into Qwan’s. The dead feeling was replaced by a buzzing of power. He began to vibrate, and so did the statue, shedding wafers of stone like a dead snakeskin. The old warlock’s fingers were solid no more, but living, breathing skin. They held on to No1 tightly, keeping the connection solid.

That’s it, boy. You’re doing it.

I am doing it, thought No1 incredulously. This is really happening.

Artemis and Holly looked on in amazement as the magic spread through Qwan’s body, sloughing the stone from his limbs with pistol-shot cracks and orange flame. Life claimed Qwan’s hand, then his arm, then his torso. Stone fell from his chin and mouth, allowing the warlock to heave his first breath in ten millennia. Bright blue eyes squinted against the light and shut tightly. And still the magic ran on, blasting every last shard of stone from Qwan’s body. But there it stopped. When the sparks of No1’s power reached the next warlock in line, they simply fizzled and died.

“What about the others?” asked No1. Surely he could free them, too.

Qwan hacked and coughed for several moments before he answered.

“Dead,” he said, then collapsed in the rubble.

On the other side of the gallery security door, Kong was emptying a third clip from his machine pistol into the keypad.

“The door won’t hold much longer,” said Butler. “Any second now.”

“Can you slow them down?” asked Artemis.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t want to leave any bodies here, Artemis. I imagine the police are already on their way.”

“Maybe you could just scare them a bit.”

Butler grinned. “My pleasure.”

The shooting stopped, and the security door drooped slightly on its hinges. Butler ripped the door open smartly, yanking Billy Kong inside, then jammed the door closed again.

“Hello, Billy,” he said, pinning the smaller man to the wall.

Kong was too demented to be scared. He lashed out with a series of blows, any one of which would have been fatal to a normal person. They bounced off Butler like a fly bouncing off a Tiger tank. That’s not to say they didn’t hurt. Kong’s trained hands felt like heated brands where they impacted. Butler’s only reaction to the pain was a slight tightening around the corners of his mouth.

“Holly?” he said.

“Pull,” said Holly, aiming her Neutrino at a point in space.

Butler catapulted Billy Kong straight up, and Holly plucked him out of the air with a blast from her weapon. Kong spun across the floor, still throwing spasmodic punches.

“The snake’s head is out of action,” said Artemis. “Let’s hope the rest will follow suit.”

Minerva decided to take advantage of Billy Kong’s unconsciousness to indulge in some payback. She stalked over to her prone kidnapper.

“You, Mr. Kong, are nothing but a thug,” she said, kicking him in the leg.

“Young lady,” said Butler sharply. “Move away. He may not be completely out.”

“If my father has as much as a hair out of place,” continued Minerva, oblivious to Butler’s warnings, “I will personally ensure that you spend the maximum time in prison.”

Kong cracked open an eye. “That’s no way to talk to your staff,” he croaked, and wrapped steely fingers around her ankle.

Minerva realized that she had made a drastic mistake, and decided that the best course of action was to scream as shrilly as possible. Which she did.

Butler was torn. His duty was to protect Artemis, not Minerva, but through years of working with Artemis and, indeed Holly, he had unconsciously adopted the role of general protector. Whenever somebody was in danger, he helped them to get out of it. And this foolish girl was certainly in danger. Mortal danger.

Why is it, he wondered, that the smart ones always think they’re invincible?

And so Butler made a decision, the consequences of which would haunt his dreams and waking hours for years to come. As a professional bodyguard, he knew the futility of second-guessing his own actions, but in the nights ahead he would often sit by the fire, with his head in his hands, and replay the moment in his mind, wishing that he had acted differently. Whatever way he played it out, the results were tragic, but at least they would not have been tragic for Artemis.

So Butler acted. He took four steps away from the door to disentangle Minerva from Kong’s grasp. It was a simple thing; the man was barely conscious. He seemed to be operating on some kind of psychotic energy. Butler simply stepped down hard on his wrist, then rapped him sharply between the eyes with the knuckle of his index finger.

Kong’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his fingers relaxed ike the legs of a dying spider.

Minerva stepped out of Kong’s range.

“That was very foolish of me. I apologize.”

“It’s a little late for that,” reprimanded Butler. “Now, will you please take cover?”

The entire mini-episode took about four seconds, but in that four seconds a lot happened on the other side of the security door. Don, who was holding the bomb, and had recently been punched for no good reason by his boss, decided to win Kong’s favor by bursting into the gallery and taking on the giant in there. He put his shoulder to the door at the exact moment that Butler stepped away from the other side, and to his own surprise went tumbling headfirst into the room, followed quickly by four more of Kong’s henchmen, brandishing an assortment of weapons.

Holly, who was covering the door with her Neutrino, was not unduly worried. She began to worry when a grenade rolled out of the tangle of men and tapped against her foot. It would be easy enough for her to escape the explosion, but Artemis and No1 would be well within the blast radius.

Think fast!

There was a solution, but it was costly in terms of equipment. She holstered her weapon, whipped off her helmet, and jammed it down over the grenade, holding it there with her own weight. This was a trick she had employed before with mixed results. She had hoped it wouldn’t become a habit.

She squatted there like a frog on a toadstool for what seemed like a long time, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. She noticed from the corner of her eye that a thug with a silver case was slapping the man who had rolled the grenade. Perhaps using lethal force had been against orders.