The Lost Colony (22 page)

“Here,” said Butler, handing him a flat leather wallet. “My picks. So you can at least get into the works.”

“Thank you.”

Holly was loaded to the chin. N
^o
1 and Qwan clung to her waist, while Artemis was cinched to the front.

“Okay. Everyone ready?”

“I wish my magic would return,” grumbled Qwan. “I’d turn myself back into a statue.”

“Terrified,” said N
^o
1. “Freaking. Planking. Up the creek.”

“Colloquialisms,” said Artemis. “Very good.”

Butler closed the case. “One building across. That’s as far as you need to go. Get that panel off and go straight for the explosive itself. Rip out the detonator if you have to.”

“Understood.”

“Okay. I won’t say good-bye, just good luck. I will see you as soon as I can talk us out of here.”

“Thirty minutes, if that.”

Up to that point Minerva had hung back, looking shamefaced. Now she came forward. “I’m sorry, Artemis. I shouldn’t have gone near Mr. Kong.”

Butler bodily lifted her aside. “No, you shouldn’t have, but there’s no time for apologies now. Just stand by the door and look innocent.”

“But I—”

“Innocent! Now!”

Minerva obliged, wisely realizing that this was not the time for arguing.

“Okay, Holly,” said Artemis. “Lift off.”

“Check,” said Holly, activating her backpack. The wings struggled with the extra weight for a moment, and there was something about the engine vibration that Holly didn’t like, but gradually her rig took the strain and lifted all four of them off the floor.

“Okay,” she said. “I think we’re good.”

Butler nudged the flying group toward a window. This was all so risky, he couldn’t believe that he was letting it happen. But there was no time to deliberate. It was do or die.

He reached up and yanked down on the window’s security catch. The entire six foot pane swung wide, allowing the high-altitude wind to scream into the building. Suddenly everyone was deafened and under attack from the elements. It was hard to see anyone, and even harder to hear them.

Holly floated the group outside. They would have been whipped away had Butler not held on for a second.

“Go with the wind,” he shouted to Holly, releasing his grip. “Make your descent gradual.”

Holly nodded. Her wing motor skipped a beat and they dropped six feet. Artemis’s stomach lurched.

“Butler,” he called, his voice thin and childlike in the wind.

“Yes, Artemis, what?”

“If something goes wrong, wait for me. No matter how it looks, I will return. I will bring them all back.”

Butler nearly jumped out after them. “What are you planning, Artemis? What are you going to do?”

Artemis called back, but the wind caught his words, and his bodyguard could only stand, framed by steel and glass, shouting into the wind.

They dropped quickly. A bit more quickly than Holly would have liked.

The wings can’t take it
, she realized.
Not the weight and the wind. We’re not going to make it
.

She rapped a knuckle on Artemis’s head. “Artemis!” she shouted.

“I know,” shouted the Irish boy. “Too much weight.”

If they fell now, the bomb would detonate in the middle of Taipei. That was unacceptable. There was only one thing to do. Artemis had not mentioned this option to Butler, as he knew the bodyguard would reject it no matter how sound his own reasoning.

Before Artemis had time to act on his theory, Holly’s wings spluttered, jerked, and died. They fell in ragged free fall, like a sack of anchors, head over heels, dangerously close to the skyscraper wall.

Artemis’s eyes were scalded by wind, his limbs were folded back to breaking point by rushing air, and his cheeks were ballooned to comical proportions, though there was nothing funny about falling hundreds of feet to a certain death.

No!
said Artemis’s iron core.
I will not let this be the end
.

With a grim and physical determination that he must have picked up from Butler, Artemis raised his arms and grabbed N
^o
1’s arm. The object he sought was right there, almost in his face and yet seemingly impossible to reach.

Impossible or not, I must reach it
.

It was like trying to push against the skin of a giant balloon, but push Artemis did.

The ground rushed up from below, smaller skyscrapers jutting up like spears. And still Artemis pushed.

Finally, his fingers closed around N
^o
1’s silver bracelet.

Good-bye, world, he thought. One way or another.

And he ripped the bracelet off, flinging it into air. Now the demonkind were no longer anchored to this dimension. For a second there was no obvious reaction to this, but then, just as they were passing between the first of the lower skyscrapers, a revolving purple trapezoid opened in the sky and swallowed them as neatly as a kid catching a Cheerio in his mouth.

Butler staggered back from the window, trying to process what he had seen. Holly’s wings had failed, that much was clear, but then what? What?

It dawned on him suddenly. Artemis must have had a secondary plan; that boy always did. Artemis wouldn’t go to the bathroom without a back-up. So they weren’t dead. There was a good chance of that. They had just disappeared into the demon dimension. He would have to keep telling himself that until he believed it.

Butler noticed that Minerva was crying. “They’re all dead, aren’t they? Because of me.”

Butler placed a hand on her shoulder. “If they were all dead, it would be because of you. But they’re not. Artemis has everything under control. Now, chin up, we have to talk our way out of here, daughter.”

Minerva frowned. “Daughter?”

Butler winked, though he felt anything but cheery. “Yes, daughter.”

Seconds later, a squad of Taiwanese regular police heaved open the door, flooding the room with blue-and-gray uniforms. Butler found himself looking down the barrels of a dozen police special pistols. Most of these barrels were wobbling slightly.

“No, you dolts,” squealed Mr. Lin, threading his way through the policemen, slapping at their gun arms. “Not that one. He is my good friend. Those other ones, the unconscious ones. They are the ones who broke in here; they knocked me down. It is a miracle my friend and his ...”

“Daughter,” prompted Butler.

“And his daughter were not harmed.”

Then the curator noticed his demolished exhibit and faked a faint. When no one rushed to aid him, he picked himself up, went off into a corner, and had a little cry.

An inspector who wore his gun cowboy style ambled across to Butler.

“You did this?”

“No. Not me. We were hiding behind a crate. They blew up the sculpture then started fighting among themselves.”

“Do you have any idea why these people would want to destroy a sculpture?”

Butler shrugged. “I think they think they’re anarchists. Who knows with these people.”

“They have no ID,” said the inspector. “Not one of them. I find that a bit strange.”

Butler smiled bitterly. After all Billy Kong had done, he would only be prosecuted for property damage. Of course, they could mention the kidnapping, but that would lead to weeks, possibly months, of red tape in Taiwan. And Butler did not particularly want anyone looking too deeply into his past, or indeed the selection of false passports in his jacket pocket.

Then something struck him. Something about Kong from a conversation back in Nice.

Kong used a kitchen knife on his friend
, Foaly had said.
There’s still a warrant out for him there, under the name Jonah Lee
.

Kong was wanted for murder in Taiwan, Butler realized, and there was no statute of limitations on murder.

“I heard them talking to that one,” said Butler, pointing to the supine Billy Kong. “They called him Mr. Lee, or Jonah. He was the boss.”

The inspector was interested. “Oh, really. Did you hear anything else? Sometimes the smallest detail can be important.”

Butler frowned, thinking about it. “One of them said something, I don’t even know what it means. . . .”

“Go on,” urged the inspector.

“He said . . . let me think. He said ‘You’re not such a tough guy, Jonah. You haven’t notched your barrel in years.’What does that mean, notching your barrel?”

The inspector pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “It means that man is a murder suspect.” He hit ONE, then SPEED DIAL. “Base? Chan here. I need you to run the name Jonah Lee through records, go back a few years.” He closed the phone. “Thanks, Mister . . . ?”

“Arnott,”said Butler.“Franklin Arnott, New York City.” He had been using the Arnott passport for several years. It was genuinely rumpled.

“Thanks Mr. Arnott, you may just have caught a murderer.”

Butler blinked. “A murderer! Wow. Do you hear that, Eloise? Daddy caught a murderer.”

“Well done, Daddy,” said
Eloise
, looking unhappy.

The inspector turned to pursue his inquiries, then stopped.

“The curator said there was another person. A boy. A friend of yours?”

“Yes. And no. He’s my son. Arty.”

“I don’t see him around.”

“He just stepped out, but he’ll be back.”

“Are you sure?”

Butler’s eyes lost their focus. “Yes, I’m sure. He told me.”

CHAPTER 13

The journey
between dimensions was more violent than Artemis remembered. There was no time to reflect on various scenery changes, and barely time for his senses to register sights, sounds, or temperature changes. They were ripped from their own dimension and dragged through wormholes of space and time with only their consciousnesses intact. Only once did they materialize for the briefest second.

The landscape was gray, bleak, and pockmarked, and in the distance Artemis could see a blue planet camouflaged by cloud cover.

I’m on the moon, thought Artemis, then they were gone again, drawn by the lure of Hybras.

It was an unnatural feeling, this out-of-body, out-of-mind travel. How am I still aware? thought Artemis. How is any of this possible?

And stranger still, when he concentrated, Artemis could feel the thoughts of the others swirling around him. It was mostly broad emotions, such as fear or excitement, but after a bit of mental twiddling, Artemis detected specific thoughts, too.

There was Holly, wondering if her weapon would arrive intact. Typical soldier. And there was N
^o
1, fretting incessantly, not about the journey itself but about someone who would be waiting for him in Hybras. Abbot. A demon named Abbot.

Artemis reached out and found Qwan floating in the ether. His mind was formidable, juggling complex computations and philosophical puzzles.

You are keeping the mind active, young human
.

Artemis’s consciousness realized that this thought was directed at him. The warlock had felt his clumsy probe.

Artemis could feel a difference between his mind and the others. They had something different. An alien energy. It was difficult to explain a feeling without senses, but for some reason it seemed to be blue. A blue plasma, electric and alive. Artemis allowed this rich feeling to flow through his mind and was instantly jolted by its energy.

Magic
, he realized.
Magic is in the mind
. Now this was something worth knowing. Artemis retreated to his own mind-space, but he took a sample of the blue plasma with him. You never know when a touch of magic would come in handy.

They materialized on Hybras, inside the crater itself. Their arrival was accompanied by a flash of displaced energy. The group lay on the soot-blackened slopes, panting and steaming. The ground beneath them was warm to the touch, and the acrid stink of sulphur stung their nostrils. The euphoria of materialization soon dissipated.

Artemis breathed experimentally, the air from his mouth blowing up small dust eddies. Volcanic gas made his eyes water, and flat flakes of ash instantly coated every exposed patch of skin.

“This could be hell,” he commented.

“Hell or Hybras,” said N
^o
1, climbing to his knees. “I got some of this ash on a tunic before. It never comes out.”

Holly was up, too, running a system’s check on her equipment.

“My Neutrino is fine. But I can’t get a lock on a communications signal. We’re on our own. And I seem to have lost the bomb.”

Artemis knelt, his knees cracking through the ash crust, releasing the heat below. He glanced at his watch and caught sight of his own face. His hair was gray with ash, and for a second he thought he was looking at his father.

A thought struck him. I look like my father, a father I may never see again. Mother. Butler. I have only one friend left.

“Holly,” he said. “Let me look at you.”

Holly did not look up from her wrist computer.

“No time right now, Artemis.”

Artemis padded across to her, walking gingerly on the thin crust.

“Holly, let me look at you,” he said again, holding her shoulders.

Something in Artemis’s voice made Holly stop what she was doing and pay attention. This was not a tone Artemis Fowl used very often. It could almost classify as tenderness.

“I just need to make sure you’re still you. Things get mixed up between dimensions. On my last trip I switched fingers.”

He held up his hand for her to see. “Strange, I know. But you seem to be fine. All present and correct.”

Something flashed in the corner of Artemis’s eye. There was a metal case half buried in the ash farther up the crater wall.

“The bomb,” sighed Artemis. “I thought we’d lost it in transit. There was a flash when we landed.”

Qwan hurried across to the bomb. “No. That was energy displacement. Mostly mine. Magic is almost another being. It flows where it will. Some of mine did not flow back to me in time, and ignited on reentry. I am happy to say that the rest of my power is fired up and ready to go.”

Artemis was struck by how much of this prehistoric being’s language was similar to NASA jargon. No wonder we don’t have a chance against the fairies, he thought. They were solving dimensional equations when we were still knocking stones together.

Artemis helped the warlock heave the bomb from the ash’s grip. The timer had been knocked for a loop by the time-jump and now read more than five thousand hours. Finally, a stroke of luck.

Artemis used Butler’s picks to examine the bomb’s workings. Maybe he could disarm it if he had a few months, a couple of computers, and some laser tools. Without those things, there was about as much chance of him disarming this weapon as there was of a squirrel making a paper airplane.

“This bomb is perfectly operational,” he said to Qwan. “Only the timer was affected.”

The warlock stroked his beard. “That makes sense. That instrument is relatively simple, compared to the complexity of our bodies. The dimension tunnel would have no trouble reassembling it. The timer is another matter. It will be affected by any time flares we run across here. It could blow at any second, or never.”

Not never, thought Artemis. I may not be able to disarm this thing, but I can certainly blow it when I need to.

Holly peered at the deadly device. “Is there any way we can dispose of it?”

Qwan shook his head. “Inanimate objects cannot travel unaccompanied in the time tunnel. We, on the other hand, could get sucked back in at any moment. We need to get some silver on us immediately.”

Holly glanced at Artemis. “Maybe some of us want to get sucked back in.”

“Maybe you do,” said Qwan. “But only under certain conditions. If you just let yourselves go, who knows where you’ll end up. Or when. Your natural space and time will attract you, but with the spell deteriorating, you could arrive encased in rock a mile below the surface, or stranded on the moon.”

This was a sobering thought. It was one thing to have a quick tourist’s look at the surface of the moon. It was quite another to be stuck there forever. Not that you would know anything about it after the first minute.

“So we’re stuck here?” said Holly. “Come on, Artemis. You have a plan. You always have a plan.”

The others gathered around Artemis. There was something about him that always made people assume that he was the leader. Perhaps it was the way he assumed it himself. Also, in this instance, he was the tallest person in the group.

He smiled briefly.
So this is how Butler feels all the time
.

“We all have our reasons for wanting to go back,” he began. “Holly and I have left friends and family behind who we would dearly love to see again. N
^o
1 and Qwan, you need to get your people out of this dimension. The spell is unraveling, and soon nowhere on this island will be safe. If my calculations are correct, and I feel certain that they are, then not even silver can anchor you here for much longer. Now, you can go when the spell dictates, or
we
can decide when to make the jump.”

Qwan did his sums in his head. “Not possible. It took seven warlocks and a volcano to move the island here. To get us back I would need seven magical beings. Warlocks, preferably. And of course, a live volcano, which we don’t have.”

“Does it have to be a volcano? Wouldn’t any energy source do?”

“Theoretically,” agreed Qwan. “So you’re saying we could use the bomb?”

“It’s possible.”

“Highly unlikely, but possible. I still need seven magical beings.”

“But the spell is already cast,” argued Artemis. “The infrastructure is there. Couldn’t you do it with fewer?”

Qwan wagged a finger at Artemis. “You are a smart Mud Boy. Yes, maybe I could do it with fewer. Of course, we would not know until we arrived.”

“How many?”

“Five. Five at the absolute least.”

Holly ground her teeth. “We have only three, and N
^o
1’s a novice. So we need to find two demons with magic on this island.”

“Impossible,” snapped Qwan. “Once an imp warps, that’s the end of any magic they might have. Only warlocks, like myself and N
^o
1, do not warp. So we keep our magic.”

Artemis brushed ash from his jacket.

“Our first priority is to get out of this crater and find some silver. I suggest we leave the bomb here. The temperature is not enough to ignite it, and if it does explode, the volcano will absorb some of the force. If we are going to find some other magical creature, we will undoubtedly have a better chance outside this crater. At any rate, the sulfur is giving me a headache.”

Artemis did not wait for an agreement. He turned and made for the crater lip. After a moment, the others followed, struggling with each footfall through the crust of ash. It reminded Artemis of a giant sand dune he’d trudged up with his father once. Here, falling would have harsher consequences.

It was a difficult and treacherous hike. The ash concealed grooves in the rock and small crevasses that vented warm air from the volcano. Colorful fungi grew in clusters around these vents, and they glowed in the crater shadows like coral night-lights.

Nobody spoke much during the climb. N
^o
1 muttered his way through large tracts of the dictionary, but the others realized that this was his way of keeping his chin up.

Artemis glanced upward occasionally. The sky was dawn-red, and glowed above him like a lake of blood.

That’s a cheery metaphor, thought Artemis. Maybe it says something about my character that a lake of blood is the only image I can come up with.

N
^o
1’s build was best suited for the steep climb. He had a low center of gravity, and could rest on his stumpy tail if need be. His thick feet anchored him securely, and armored plates covering his body protected him from sparks or bruising in the event of a fall.

Qwan was clearly suffering. The old warlock had been a statue for the past ten thousand years and was still working the kinks out of his bones. Magic soothed the process somewhat, but even magic could not completely erase the pain. He winced each time his foot punctured the soot crust.

Finally the group reached the summit. If time had passed, it was impossible to tell how much. The sky still had the same red tinge, and all timepieces had virtually stopped.

Holly jogged ahead the last few steps, then raised her right hand, fingers closed in a fist.

“That means halt,” Artemis told the others. “It’s a military thing. Human soldiers use the exact same sign.”

Holly poked her head above the rim for a moment, then returned to the group.

“What does it mean if there are a lot of demons on their way up the mountain?”

Qwan smiled. “It means our brother demons saw the flash of our arrival and are coming to greet us.”

“And what does it mean if they are all armed with crossbows?”

“Hmm,” mused Qwan. “That could be a touch more serious.”

“How bad can they be?” asked Artemis. “We’ve faced trolls together.”

“It’s fine,” said Holly, powering up her handgun. “They’re not so big. We’re going to be fine. Really.”

Artemis frowned. Holly only bothered reassuring him when they were in deep trouble.

“That bad?” he said.

Holly whistled, shaking her head. “You have no idea.”