‘Of course, if you insist
‘No. This is no time for childishness.’
Butler smiled gently. Childishness was one thing Master Artemis was hardly likely to be accused of.
‘How long do I have?’
Holly shrugged. ‘As long as it takes. Obviously the sooner the better for everybody’s sake.’ She glanced at Artemis. ‘Especially his father’s.’
In spite of everything, Butler felt good. This was life at its most basic.
The hunt. Not exactly Stone Age, not with a large semi-automatic weapon under his arm. But the principle was the same: the survival of the fittest. And there was no doubt in Butler’s mind that he was the fittest.
He followed Holly’s directions to a service ladder, scaling it quickly to the doorway above. He waited beside the metal door until the light above changed from red to green, and the camouflaged entrance slid noiselessly back. The bodyguard emerged cautiously. While it was likely that the bridge was deserted, he could hardly explain himself away as a homeless person, dressed as he was in a dark designer suit.
Butler felt a breeze play across the shaven dome of his crown. The morning air felt good, even after a few hours below ground. He could easily imagine how fairies must feel, forced out of their native environment by humans. From what Butler had seen, if the People ever decided to reclaim what was theirs, the battle wouldn’t last long. But luckily for mankind, fairies were a peace-loving people, and not prepared to go to war over real estate.
The coast was clear. Butler stepped casually on to the riverside walkway, proceeding west towards the St Germain district.
A riverboat swept past on his right, ferrying a hundred tourists around the city. Butler automatically covered his face with a massive hand. Just in case some of those tourists had cameras pointed in his direction.
The bodyguard mounted a set of stone steps to the road above. Behind him the pointed spire of Notre-Dame rose into the sky, and to his left the Eiffel Tower’s famous profile punctured the clouds. Butler strode confidently across the main road, nodding at several French ladies who stopped to stare. He was familiar with this area of Paris, having spent a month recuperating here after a particularly dangerous assignment for the French Secret Service.
Butler strolled along Rue Jacob. Even at this hour, cars and lorries jammed the narrow street. Drivers leaned on their horns, hanging from car windows, Gallic tempers running wild. Mopeds dodged between bumpers, and several pretty girls strolled past. Butler smiled. Paris. He had forgotten.
Carrere’s apartment was on Rue Bonaparte, opposite the church.
Apartments in St Germain cost more per month than most Parisians made in a year. Butler ordered a coffee and croissant at the Bonaparte cafe, settling himself at an outside table. According to his calculations, it gave him the perfect view of Monsieur Carrere’s balcony.
Butler didn’t have long to wait. In less than an hour, the chunky Parisian appeared on the balcony, leaning on the ornate railing for several minutes. He very obligingly presented front and side views of himself.
Holly’s voice sounded in Butler’s ear. ‘That’s our boy. Is he alone?’
‘I can’t tell,’ muttered the bodyguard into his hand.The flesh-tone mike glued to his throat would pick up any vibrations and translate them for Holly.
‘Just a sec.’
Butler heard a keyboard being tapped, and suddenly the iris-cam in his eye sparked. The vision in one eye jumped into a completely different spectrum.
‘Heat-sensitive,’ Holly informed him. ‘Hot equals red. Cold equals blue.
Not a very powerful system, but the lens should penetrate an outer wall.’
81Butler cast a fresh eye over the apartment. There were three red objects in the room. One was Carrere’s heart, which pulsed crimson in the centre of his pink body. The second appeared to be a kettle or possibly a coffee pot, and the third was a TV.
‘OK. All clear, I’m going in.’
‘Affirmative. Watch your step. This is a bit too convenient.’
‘Agreed.’
Butler crossed the cobbled street to the four-storey apartment building.
There was an intercom security system, but this structure was nineteenth century, and a solid shoulder at the right point popped the bolt right out of its housing.
‘I’m in.’
There was noise on the stairs above. Someone coming this way. Butler wasn’t unduly concerned. Nevertheless he slid a palm inside his jacket, fingers resting on his handgun’s grip. It was unlikely he would need it. Even the most boisterous young bucks generally gave Butler a wide berth.
Something to do with his merciless eyes. Being over two metres tall didn’t hurt either.
A group of teenagers rounded the corner.
‘Excusez-moi,’ said Butler, gallantly stepping aside.
The girls giggled. The boys glared. One, a mono-eyebrowed rugby type, even thought about passing comment. Then Butler winked at him. It was a peculiar wink, somehow simultaneously cheerful and terrifying. No comments were passed.
Butler ascended to the fourth floor without incident. Carrere’s apartment was on the gable end. Two walls of windows. Very expensive.
The bodyguard was considering his breaking and entering options when he noticed the door was open. Open doors generally meant one of two things: one, nobody was left alive to close it, or two, he was expected. Neither of these options appealed to him particularly.
Butler entered cautiously. The apartment walls were lined with open crates. Battery packs and fire suits poked through the Styrofoam packing. The floor was littered with thick wads of currency.
‘Are you a friend?’ It was Carrere. He was slumped in an oversized armchair, a weapon of some kind nestling in his lap.
Butler approached slowly. An important rule of combat is that every opponent is taken seriously.
‘Take it easy.’
The Parisian raised the weapon. The grip was made for smaller fingers.
A child, or a fairy. ‘I asked if you were a friend.’
Butler cocked his own pistol. ‘No need to shoot.’
‘Stand still,’ ordered Carrere. ‘I’m not going to shoot you, just take your photo maybe. The voice told me.’
Holly’s voice sounded in Butler’s earpiece. ‘Get closer. I need to see the eyes.’
Butler bolstered his weapon, taking a step forward. ‘You see, no one has to get hurt here.’
‘I’m going to enhance the image,’ said Holly. ‘This may sting a bit.’
The tiny camera in his eye buzzed, and suddenly Butler’s vision was magnified by four — which would have been just fine had the magnification not been accompanied by a sharp jolt of pain. Butler blinked back a stream of tears from his eye.
Below, in the goblin shuttle, Holly studied Luc’s pupils. ‘He’s been mesmerized,’ she pronounced. ‘Several times. You see how the iris has actually become jagged. You mesmerize a human too much and they can go blind.’
Artemis studied the image. ‘Is it safe to mesmerize him again?’
Holly shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. He’s already under a spell. This particular individual is just following orders. His brain doesn’t know a thing about it.’
Artemis grabbed the mike stand. ‘Butler! Get out of there. Right now.’
In the apartment, Butler stood his ground. Any sudden movement might be his last.
‘Butler,’ said Holly. ‘Listen carefully. That gun pointed at you is a wide-bore low-frequency blaster. We call it a Bouncer. It was developed for tunnel skirmishes. If he pulls that trigger, a wide arc laser is going to ricochet off the walls until it hits something.’
‘I see,’ muttered Butler.
‘What did you say?’ asked Carrere.
‘Nothing. I just don’t like having my photo taken.’
