Butler knew it was his function to play devil’s advocate. “Won’t that just lock us in here with a bunch of pirates?”
Artemis smiled. “Or lock them in here with us.”
Salton Finnacre was bemoaning the loss of his own body to his mate J’Heez.
“Remember those arm muscles I had?” he said wistfully. “They woz like tree trunks. Now look at me.” He jiggled his left arm to demonstrate how the flaps of flesh hung loosely from his bones. “I can barely hold this fire stick.”
“It ain’t a fire stick,” said J’Heez. “They’re called guns. That’s a simple enough word to remember, ain’t it?”
Salton looked at the automatic handgun in his bony fingers. “I suppose. Just point and pull, is it?”
“That’s what Bellico said.”
“Did you hear that, Berserkers?” Salton asked the half dozen pirates squashed into the stairwell behind him. “Just point and shoot. And don’t worry about hitting the person in front of you, because we are already dead.”
They stood in the red-bricked corridor, praying for some humans to wander past. After all this time, it would be a shame if they didn’t get to kill anyone.
Ten feet below, in the wine cellar, Butler hefted two bottles of Macallan 1926 Fine and Rare whiskey.
“Your father will not be pleased,” he said to Artemis. “This is thirty thousand euros per missile.”
Artemis wrapped his fingers around the door handle. “I feel certain he will understand, given the circumstances.”
Butler chuckled briefly. “Oh, we’re telling your father about the circumstances this time? That will be a first.”
“Well, perhaps not all the circumstances,” said Artemis, and he opened the door wide.
Butler stepped into the gap and lobbed the bottles at the ceiling over the pirates’ heads. Both smashed, showering the Berserkers with high-alcohol liquid. Holly stepped under Butler’s legs and shot a single flare into their midst. In less than a second the entire bunch of pirates was engulfed in a whoosh of blue and orange flames, which painted the ceiling black. It didn’t seem to bother the pirates too much, except for the one with the peg legs, who was soon left without a leg to stand on. The rest lived on as skeletons, bringing their guns around to bear on the cellar door.
“The house will save us?” asked Holly nervously. “That’s what you said.”
“Three,” said Artemis. “Two…one.”
Right on cue, the manor’s fire-safe system registered the rise in temperature and instructed eight of its two hundred nozzles to submerge the flames in sub-zero extinguisher foam. The pirates were driven to their knees by the force of the spray, and they yanked their triggers blindly, sending ricochets zinging off the walls and down the stairs. The bullets played out their kinetic energy on the steel bannisters and fell to the ground, smoking. In the corridor, the pirates’ bone temperature dropped over a hundred degrees in less than ten seconds, making them as brittle as pressed leaves.
“Here we go,” said Butler, and he charged up the stairs, crashing through the disoriented pirates like a vengeful bowling ball. The unfortunate Berserkers shattered under the lightest impact, disintegrating into a million bone crystals, which fluttered in the air like snowflakes. Holly and Artemis followed the bodyguard, racing down the corridor, their feet crunching on bone shards, not stopping to collect weapons—most of which had exploded in the fire, rendering them useless.
As usual, Artemis was sandwiched between Butler and Holly as they fled.
“Keep moving,” Holly called from behind. “There will be more of them, count on it.”
There were more pirates in the panic room, feeling very pleased with themselves.
“This is the smartest thing we ever done,” said Pronk O’Chtayle, acting commander. “They comes in here to hide from us, but we is already here.” He gathered his bony crew around him. “Let’s go over it again. What does we do when we hears them?”
“We hides,” said the pirates.
“And what does we do when they comes in?”
“We pops up real sudden,” said the pirates gleefully.
Pronk pointed a bony finger. “What does you do, specifically?”
A small pirate who seemed to be wearing the remains of a barrel stood by the wall. “I bangs on this here button, dropping the steel door so’s we’re all trapped in here.”
“Good,” said Pronk. “Good.”
The sound of staccato gunfire bounced off the vaulted ceilings and echoed along the corridor to the panic room.
“They’re coming, comrades,” said Pronk. “Remember to kill ’em several times just to be sure. Stop slicing when yer arms fall off.”
They squatted in the gloom, light from the outside glinting on their blades.
If Bellico had probed a little deeper into Juliet’s memories, she would have realized that the panic room could be accessed or sealed from the outside, remotely, or with a voice-activation program. But even if she had known, it would not have made any sense for the humans to lock themselves out of their own haven. That would be pure insanity. Butler barely paused on his way past the panic-room door to talk into the small speaker set into the steel frame.
“Butler D.,” he said clearly. “Authorization prime. Lock.”
A heavy door dropped down, sealing the panic room completely and locking the giddy bunch of Berserker pirates inside. Artemis had barely a second to glance under the door.
Is that a pirate wearing a barrel? he thought. Nothing would surprise me today.
On reaching the laboratory/office work suite, Butler held up his fist. Artemis was not familiar with military hand signals and crashed into the bodyguard’s broad back. Fortunately the teen did not have the heft behind him to budge the bodyguard, for if Butler had taken so much as a stumbled step forward, he would have surely been skewered by one of his sister’s arrows.
“I see,” whispered Artemis. “The raised fist means Stop.”
Butler placed a finger to his lips.
“And that would mean you wish me to be quiet. Oh, I understand.”
Artemis’s words were enough to elicit a reaction from inside the lab, taking the form of an aluminium arrow that penetrated the partition wall, thunking through the plasterboard, sending flakes fluttering.
Butler and Holly did not discuss a strategy, as they were both experienced soldiers and knew that the best time to attack was directly after shots had been fired—or in this case, arrows.
“Left,” said Butler, and that was all he needed to say. Translated for the layman, his utterance signified that he would take any hostiles on the left of the room, leaving the right side for Holly.
They darted low going in, splitting into two targets as they crossed the floor. Butler had the advantage of being extremely familiar with the lab’s layout, and he knew that the only logical hiding place would be behind the long stainless steel workbench where Artemis played around with the unknown and built his experimental models.
I have always wondered how secure this thing is, he thought, before charging it like a football player entering a scrimmage where the cost of losing was death. He heard an arrow whistle past his ear a second before his shoulder rammed the stainless steel, lifting the bench from its supply cables in a flurry of sparks and a hiss of gas.
Gobdaw clambered on top of the bench, and he had both a short sword and fire stick raised to strike when the Bunsen burner gas said hello to the electric cable. Sparks and a brief explosion resulted, flipping the Berserker backward into the velvet curtains.
Bellico assessed the situation quickly and bolted toward the office.
Butler saw her go. “I’m after Juliet,” he barked at Holly. “You subdue Myles.”
Perhaps the boy is unconscious, thought Holly, but this hope faded as she saw Myles Fowl disentangle himself from the velvet curtains. The look in his eyes told her that there was still a Berserker in that body and that he was not in the mood for surrender. He was armed only with a short blade now, but
Holly knew the Berserkers would fight to the last drop of blood, even if the blood was not, strictly speaking, their own.
“Don’t hurt him,” said Artemis. “He’s only four years old.”
Gobdaw grinned, showing a mouthful of baby teeth, which Myles cleaned religiously with a toothbrush modeled on Einstein’s head, the bristles being Einstein’s trademark spiky hair. “That’s right, traitor. Gobdaw is only four years old, so don’t hurt me.”
Holly wished that Artemis would stay out of it. This Gobdaw might look innocent, but he had far more battle experience than she would ever wish to have; and, judging by the way he was twirling the blade on his palm, he hadn’t lost any of his knife skills.
If this guy was in his own body, he would take me apart, she realized.
Holly’s problem was that her heart was not in this fight. Quite apart from the fact that she was battling Artemis’s little brother, this was Gobdaw, for heaven’s sake. Gobdaw the legend. Gobdaw, who had led the charge at Taillte. Gobdaw, who had carried a wounded comrade across an icy lake at Bellannon. Gobdaw, who’d been cornered by two wolves in a cave after the Cooley raid and come out of that cave wearing a new fur coat.
The two soldiers circled each other.
“Is it true about the wolves?” Holly asked in Gnommish.
Gobdaw missed a step, surprised. “The wolves at Cooley? How do you know this tale?”
“Are you kidding?” said Holly. “Everyone knows that. At school, it was part of the pageant, every year. To be honest, I am sick of that story. Two wolves, right?”
“There were two,” said Gobdaw. “One was sickly, though.”