Anyway, the
Holly was about to insist that her friend please shut up, when Shelly ignited his methane cells, decimating his old shell and sending tons of debris hurtling skywards. The shock-wave took Holly from below, like a giant’s punch, sending her pinwheeling. She felt her suit flex to avoid the shock, the tiny scales closing ranks against the impact like the shields of a demon battalion. There was a slight hiss as her helmet plumped the safety bags protecting her brain and spinal cord. The screens in her visor flickered, jumped, then settled.
The world spun by her visor in a series of blues and greys. The artificial horizon in her helmet did several revolutions, end over end, though Holly realized that in actuality she was the one revolving and not the display.
Foaly broke in on her thoughts.‘… heart rate is up, though I don’t know why. One would think you’d be used to these situations by now. The four humans made it, you will be delighted to know, since you risked your life and my technology to save them. What if one of my Floaters had fallen into human hands?’
Holly used a combination of gestures and blinks to fire short bursts from several of her wings’ twelve engines, wrestling back control of her rig.
She opened her visor to cough and spit, then answered his accusation.
‘I’m fine, thanks for asking. And all LEP equipment is fitted with remote destruct. Even me! So the only way your precious Floaters were ever going to fall into human hands was if
‘Which reminds me,’ said Foaly. ‘I need to get rid of those darts.’
Below was pandemonium. It seemed as though half of Helsinki’s inhabitants had already managed to launch themselves in various crafts, and a veritable flotilla was heading towards the explosion site, led by a coastguard vessel, two powerful outboards churning at its stern, nose up for speed. The kraken itself was obscured by smoke and dust, but charred fragments of its shell rained down like volcanic ash, coating the decks of the boats below and draping a dark blanket over the Baltic Sea.
Twenty metres to Holly’s left, the floating men bobbed happily through the air, riding the last ripples of explosive shock, trousers hanging in tattered ruins from their waists.
‘I am surprised,’ said Holly, zooming in on the men. ‘No screaming or wetting themselves.’
‘A little drop of relaxant in the dart,’ chuckled Foaly. ‘Well, I say a little drop. Enough to have a troll missing his mummy.’
‘Trolls occasionally eat their mothers,’ commented Holly.
‘Exactly.’
Foaly waited until the men had dropped to within three metres of the ocean’s surface, then remote detonated the tiny charge in each dart. Four small pops were followed by four loud splashes. The men were in the water no more than a few seconds before the coastguard reached them.
‘OK,’ said the centaur, obviously relieved. ‘Potential disaster averted and our good deed done for the day. Kick up your boots and head back for the shuttle station. I have no doubt that Commander Kelp will want a detailed report.’
‘Just a second — I have mail.’
‘Mail! Mail! Do you really think this is the time? Your power levels are down, and the rear panels of your suit have taken a severe pasting. You need to get out of there, before your shield fails altogether.’
‘I have to read this one, Foaly. It’s important.’
The mail icon flashing in Holly’s visor was tagged with Artemis’s signature. Artemis and Holly colour-coded their mail icons. Green was social, blue was business and red was urgent. The mail icon in Holly’s visor pulsed a bright red. She blinked at the icon, opening the short message.
Holly felt a cold dread in her stomach and the world seemed to lurch before her eyes.
The situation must be desperate if Artemis was asking her to bring the powerful demon warlock.
She flashed back to the day, eighteen years ago, when her own mother had passed away. Almost two decades now, and the loss was still as painful as a raw wound. A thought struck her.
Coral Short had been a doctor with LEPmarine, which patrolled the Atlantic, cleaning up after humans, protecting endangered species. She had been mortally injured when a particularly rancid-looking tanker they were shadowing accidentally doused their submarine with radioactive waste. Dirty radiation is poison to fairies and it had taken her mother a week to die.
‘I will make them pay,’ Holly had vowed, crying at her mother’s bedside in Haven Clinic. ‘I will hunt down every last one of those Mud Men.’
‘No,’ her mother had said with surprising force. ‘I spent my career
It was one of the last things she would ever say. Three days later, Holly stood stony-faced at her mother’s recycling ceremony, her green dress uniform buttoned to the chin. The Omnitool that her mother had given her as a graduation present in its holster on her belt.
And now Artemis’s mother was dying. Holly realized that she didn’t think of Artemis as a human any more, just as a friend.
‘I need to go to Ireland,’ she said.
Foaly did not bother to argue: he had sneaked a peek at the
‘Go. I can cover for you here for a few hours. I could say you’re completing the Ritual. As it happens there’s a full moon tonight and we still have a few magical sites near Dublin. I’ll send a message to Section Eight. Maybe Qwan will let Number One out of the magi-lab for a few hours.’
‘Thanks, old friend.’
‘You’re welcome. Now go. I’m going to get out of your head for a while and monitor the chatter here. Maybe I can plant a few ideas in the human media. I like the idea of an underground natural gas pocket. It’s almost the truth.’
Holly couldn’t help applying the phrase to Artemis’s mail. So often the Irish boy manipulated people by telling them
She chided herself silently. Surely not. Even Artemis Fowl would not lie about something this serious.
Everyone had their limits.
Didn’t they?
CHAPTER 3: ECHOES OF MAGIC
ARTEMIS Senior assembled his troops in Fowl Manor’s conference room, which had originally been a banqueting hall. Until recently the soaring Gothic arches were hidden by a false ceiling, but Angeline Fowl had ordered the ceiling to be removed and the hall restored to its original double-height glory.
Artemis, his father and Butler sat in black leather Marcel Breuer chairs round a glass-topped table with space for ten more people.
