The Last Guardian (Disney)

by Eoin Colfer

  The small craft lost its wings sliding down the avenue, then flipped onto its roof, coming to a shuddering halt at the front steps.

  “That could have been a lot worse,” said Holly, smacking her seat-belt buckle.

  Indeed, thought Artemis, watching blood on the tip of his nose seem to drip upward.

  Suddenly something that looked like a giant, angry peach slid down what was left of the windshield, buckling the anti-shatter glass and coming to a wobbly stop on the bottom step.

  Mulch made it, thought Artemis. Good.

  Mulch literally crawled up the manor steps, desperate for food to replace his jettisoned fat. “Can you believe that supermodels do that every month?” he moaned.

  Artemis beeped the door and the dwarf disappeared inside, clattering down the main hallway toward the kitchen.

  It was left to Artemis and Holly to lug Butler the length of the steps, which in the bodyguard’s limp, unconscious state was about as easy as lugging a sack of anvils.

  They had made it to the third step when an uncommonly bold robin redbreast fluttered down and landed on Butler’s face, hooking its tiny claws over the bridge of the bodyguard’s nose. This in itself would have been surprising enough, but the note clamped in the bird’s beak made the little creature altogether more sinister.

  Artemis dropped Butler’s arm. “That was quick,” he said. “Opal’s ego doesn’t waste any time.”

  Holly tugged the tiny scroll free. “You were expecting this?”

  “Yes. Don’t even bother reading it, Holly. Opal’s words are not worth the paper they are written on, and I can tell that’s inexpensive paper.”

  Of course Holly did read the note, and her cheeks glowed brighter with every word.

  “Opal requests the pleasure of our company for the great cleansing. If we turn ourselves in, just me and you, then she will let your brothers live. Also she promises to spare Foaly, when she is declared empress.”

  Holly balled the note and flicked it at the robin redbreast’s head. “You go and tell Opal no deal.”

  The bird whistled aggressively and flapped its wings in a way that seemed insulting.

  “You want to take me on, Berserker?” said Holly to the tiny bird. “Because I may have just crawled out of a plane crash, but I can still kick your tail feathers.”

  The redbreast took off, its birdsong trailing behind it like a derisive chuckle as it flew back to its mistress.

  “You’d better fly, Tweety!” Holly shouted after it, allowing herself an unprofessional outburst, and it did make her feel marginally better. Once the bird had disappeared over the tree line, she returned to her task.

  “We must hurry,” she said, hooking her arm under Butler’s. “This is a trick. Opal will have more Berserkers on our tails. We’re probably being watched by . . . worms . . . right now.”

  Artemis did not agree. “No. The gate is paramount now. She will not risk more soldiers hunting for us. But we must hurry all the same. Dawn is only a couple of hours away, and we have time for only one more assault.”

  “So we’re ignoring that note, right?”

  “Of course. Opal is toying with our emotions for her own gratification. Nothing more. She wishes to place herself in a position of power, emotionally.”

  The steps were coated with seasonal ice crystals, which twinkled like movie frost in the moonlight. Eventually Artemis and Holly succeeded in rolling Butler over the threshold and onto a rug, which they dragged underneath the stairs, making the hefty bodyguard as comfortable as possible with some of the throw pillows that Angeline Fowl liked to strew casually on every chair.

  Holly’s back clicked as she straightened. “Okay. Death cheated one more time. What’s next, brainiac?”

  Holly’s words were glib, but her eyes were wider than usual, with desperation in the whites. They were so close to unthinkable disaster that it seemed even Artemis, with his knack of pulling last-minute miraculous rabbits out of his hat, could not possibly save humanity.

  “I need to think,” said Artemis simply, quick-stepping up the stairs. “Have something to eat and maybe take a nap. This will take ninety minutes at least.”

  Holly clambered after him, struggling up the human-size steps.

  “Wait! Just wait,” she called, overtaking Artemis and looking him in the eye from one step up. “I know you, Artemis. You like to play your genius card close to your chest until the big reveal. And that’s worked out for us so far. But this time you need to let me in. I can help. So, tell me the truth, do you have a plan?”

  Artemis met his friend’s gaze and lied to her face.

  “No,” he said. “No plan.”

  Police Plaza, Haven City, the Lower Elements

  The LEP had several operatives working undercover in human theme parks around the world, because humans did not even bat an eyelash at the sight of a dwarf or fairy as long as they were standing beside a roller coaster or animatronic unicorn. Foaly had once reviewed footage from a ride in Orlando that the conspiracy theorists on the Council were certain was a training base for a secret government group of fairy killers. In this particular ride, the customers were put on a subway train that drove into an underground station. A station that was promptly subjected to every natural disaster known to man or fairy. First an earthquake split the tunnel, then a hurricane whipped up a storm of debris, then a flood pulled vehicles down from above, and finally an honest-to-gods lava stream lapped the windows.

  When Foaly finally got back to his office, he looked down on the streets of Haven from the fourth floor of the Police Plaza building, and it occurred to him that his beloved city reminded him of that Orlando subway station. Totally trashed, almost beyond recognition.

  But my city cannot be reassembled by the touch of a button.

  Foaly pressed his forehead against the cool glass and watched the emergency services work their magic.

  Paramedic warlocks treated the wounded with rapid bursts of magic from their insulated mitts. Firegnomes cut through girders with buzz-lasers, clearing paths for ambulances, and structural engineers rappelled from rock hooks, plugging fissures with flexi-foam.

  It’s funny, thought Foaly. I always thought that the humans would destroy us.

  The centaur placed his fingertips on the glass. No. We are not destroyed. We will rebuild.

  Any new tech had exploded, but there was plenty of outdated stuff that had not been recycled due to budget cuts. Most of the fire department vehicles were operational, and none of the backup generators had been refitted in the past five years. Commander Kelp was overseeing a clean-up operation on a scale never before seen in Haven. Atlantis had been hit just as badly, if not worse.

  At least the dome was shored up. If that had imploded, the death count would have been huge. Not human huge, but pretty big all the same.

  All because one psychotic pixie wanted to rule the world.

  A lot of families lost someone today. How many fairies are sick with worry right now?

  Foaly’s thoughts turned to Holly, stranded on the surface, trying to deal with this situation without LEP support.

  If she’s even alive. If any of them are alive.

  Foaly had no way of knowing. All of their long-range communication was out, as most of it was piggybacked on human satellites that had by now been reduced to space garbage.

  Foaly tried to comfort himself with the thought that Artemis and Butler were with his friends.

  If anyone can thwart Opal, it’s Artemis.

  And then he thought, Thwart? I’m using words like thwart now. Opal would love that. It makes her sound like a supervillain.

  Mayne clopped up beside him.

  “Mak dak jiball, Oncle. We’ve got something on your lab screens.”

  Foaly’s nephew had no difficulty speaking Unicorn, but the boy had some difficulty getting to the point.

  “They’re big screens, Mayne. Usually, there’s something on them.”

  Mayne scraped his forehoof. “I know that, but this is so
mething interesting.”

  “Really. Lots of interesting stuff going on today, Mayne. Can you specificate?”

  Mayne frowned. “Specificate means to identify the species of a creature. Is that what you mean?”

  “No. I meant can you be more specific?”

  “About what species?”

  Foaly scraped a hoof, scoring the tiling. “Just tell me what’s so interesting on the screen. We’re all busy here today, Mayne.”

  “Have you been drinking sim-coffee?” his nephew wondered. “Because Aunty Caballine said you get a little jittery after two cups.”

  “What’s on the screen?” thundered Foaly, in what he thought of as his majestic tone, but which was actually a little shrill.

  Mayne reared back a few paces, then gathered himself, wondering why people always reacted to him in this way.

  “You remember those ARClights you sent to Fowl Manor?”

  “Of course I remember. They’re all dead. I send them, Artemis finds them. It’s a little game we play.”

  Mayne jerked a thumb over his shoulder, toward the screen, where the blank square used to be.

  “Well, one of those suckers just came back to life. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  Foaly aimed a kick at Mayne, but the youngster had already trotted out of range.

  * * *

  Fowl Manor

  Artemis locked his office door behind him and gave the perimeter cams and sensors a cursory glance to make sure they were safe for the moment. It was as he expected. The only activity on the estate was over a mile away, where the Martello tower used to be and where the Berserker Gate now poked from Opal’s impact crater. As a precaution he set the alarm to the SIEGE setting, which featured deterrents not available on standard house systems, such as electrified windowpanes and flash bombs in the locks. Then again, Fowl Manor hadn’t been a standard house since Artemis had decided to keep his kidnapped fairy in the basement.

  Once he was satisfied they were locked down, Artemis opened a coded drawer in his desk and pulled out a small lead box. He tapped the lid with a nail and was satisfied to hear a skittering inside.

  Still alive, then.

  Artemis slid the box open and inside, latched on to a three-volt battery, was a tiny bio-cam dragonfly. One of Foaly’s little toys, which were usually shorted out in Artemis’s regular bug sweeps; but he had decided to keep this one and feed it, in case he ever needed a private line through to Foaly. He had hoped to use this camera to announce the success of their assault on the Berserker Gate, but now the little bug would convey a more somber message.

  Artemis shook the bug onto his desk, where it skittered around for a while before its face recognition software identified Artemis as the prime target and decided to focus in on him. The tiny lenses in its eyes buzzed almost inaudibly, and a couple of stemmed microphones extended like an ant’s antennae.

  Leaning in close, Artemis began to speak softly so he could not possibly be overheard, even though his own sensors assured him that his was the only warm body of significant mass within twenty feet.

  “Good morning, Foaly. I know there is not so much as an atom of Koboi technology in this little mutation, so in theory it can transmit, and I hope you are still alive to receive the transmission. Things are bad up here, my friend, very bad. Opal has opened the Berserker Gate and is working on the second lock. If she succeeds, a wave of coded earth magic will be released to destroy humanity utterly. This, in my opinion, is a bad thing. To stop this disaster from happening I need you to send me a couple of items in one of your drone mining eggs. There is no time for permits and committees, Foaly. These items must be in Fowl Manor in less than two hours, or it will be too late. Get what I need, Foaly.”

  Artemis leaned in even closer to the tiny living camera and whispered urgently.

  “Two things, Foaly. Two things to save the world.”

  And he told the little bug what he needed and where exactly he needed them sent.

  Police Plaza, Haven City, the Lower Elements

  The color drained from Foaly’s face.

  Koboi was working on the second lock.

  This was catastrophic—though there were many fairies in Haven who would dance in the streets to celebrate the eradication of humanity, but no rational ones.

  Two items.

  The first wasn’t a problem. It was a toy, for heaven’s sake.

  I think I have one in my desk.

  But the second. The second.

  That is a problem. A major problem.

  There were legal issues and moral issues. If he even mentioned it to the Council, they would want to form a taskforce and a subcommittee.

  What Artemis asked was technically possible. He did have a prototype mining egg in the testing area. All he had to do was program the coordinates into the navigation system, and the egg would speed toward the surface. Built to transport miners from cave-ins, the egg could withstand huge pressures and fly at the speed of sound three times around the world. So, Artemis’s time limit shouldn’t be a problem.

  Foaly chewed a knuckle. Should he do what Artemis asked? Did he want to?

  The centaur could ask himself questions until time had run out, but there was really only one question that mattered.

  Do I trust Artemis?

  Foaly heard breathing behind him and realized that Mayne was in the room.

  “Who else has been in here?” he asked the technician.

  Mayne snorted. “In here? You think the alpha fairies are going to hang around dork central when there’s a big old crisis going down? No one has been in here, and no one has seen this video. Except me.”

  Foaly paced the length of his office. “Okay. Mayne, my young friend, how would you like a full-time job?”

  Mayne squinted suspiciously. “What would I have to do?”

  Foaly grabbed item number one from his desk drawer and headed for the door.

  “Just your usual,” he replied. “Hang around the lab and be useless.”

  Mayne made a copy of Artemis’s video just in case he was being implicated in some kind of treason.

  “I could do that,” he said.

  Fowl Manor; Ninety-Eight Minutes Later

  Artemis was making final preparations in his office, updating his will and trying to master his feelings, tamping down a flat gray sky of sadness that threatened to cloud his resolve. He knew that Dr. Argon would advise him against bottling up his emotions as it would lead to psychological scarring in the long-term.

  But there will be no long-term, Doctor, he thought wryly.

  After so many adventures, Artemis felt he should have known that things never turned out exactly as planned, but still he felt surprised at the finality of this step he was being forced to take—and also that he was willing to even consider taking it.

  The boy who kidnapped Holly Short all those years ago would never have entertained the notion of sacrificing himself.

  But he was no longer that boy. His parents were restored to him, and he had brothers.

  And dear friends.

  Something else Artemis had never anticipated.

  Artemis watched his hand shake as he signed his last will and testament. How valid many of his bequests were in this new age, he was not sure. The banking system was almost definitely irretrievably damaged, as were the world’s stock exchanges. So there went the stocks, bonds, and shares.

  All that time spent accumulating wealth, Artemis thought. What a waste.

  Then:

  Come, now. You are simply being maudlin. You love gold almost as much as Mulch Diggums loves chicken. And, given the chance, you would probably do the same again.

  It was true. Artemis didn’t believe in deathbed conversions. They were far too opportunistic. A man must be what he is and take whatever judgments were forthcoming on the chin.

  If there is a Saint Peter, I will not argue with him at the Pearly Gates, he promised his subconscious, though Artemis knew that, if his theory was correct, he coul
d be stuck on this plane as a spirit, just as the Berserkers were.

  I can be a supernatural bodyguard to Myles and Beckett.

  This notion gave Artemis comfort and made him smile. He realized that he was not at all afraid, as if what he was about to attempt were a simulation in a role-playing game rather than an actual course of action.

  This changed when Artemis sealed the will in an envelope and propped it against the desk lamp. He stared at the document, feeling the finality in the moment.

  No going back now.

  And then the fear dropped on him like a ton weight, pinning him to the office chair. He felt a block of lead solidify in his stomach, and suddenly his limbs seemed grafted on and out of his control.

  Artemis took several deep breaths just to stop himself from throwing up, and gradually his calm returned.

  I had always imagined that there would be time for good-byes. A moment for meaningful words with those I love.

  There was no time. No time for anything but action.

  The fear had passed, and Artemis was still set on his course.

  I can do it, he realized. I can think with my heart.

  Artemis pushed his oxblood chair back on its casters, clapped his knees once, and stood to face his ordeal.

  Holly burst into the office with murder in her eyes.

  “I saw what came out of the wine cellar, Artemis.”

  “Ah,” said Artemis. “The egg arrived.”

  “Yes, it arrived. And I had a look inside.”

  Artemis sighed. “Holly, I am sorry you saw. Mulch was supposed to hide it.”

  “Mulch is my friend too, and I told him you would try to pull something. He was digging himself a last-minute escape tunnel when the egg came in on autopilot. Mulch figures this is the something you are trying to pull.”

  “Holly, it’s not what you think.”

  “I know what you’re planning. I figured it out.”

  “It seems radical, I know,” said Artemis. “But it’s the only way. I have to do this.”