The Lost Colony (Disney)

by Eoin Colfer

  The grenade exploded, blasting Holly into a sharp arc. The helmet absorbed most of the shock, and all of the shrapnel, but there was still enough force to shatter both of Holly’s shinbones and fracture one femur. She landed on Artemis’s back like a sack of rocks.

  “Ow,” she said, and passed out.

  Artemis and No1 were attempting to revive Qwan.

  “He’s alive,” said Artemis, checking the warlock’s pulse. “Steady heartbeat. He should come out of it soon. You keep a strong contact with him or he could disappear.”

  No1 cradled the old demon’s head. “He called me a warlock,” he said tearfully. “I am not alone.”

  “Time enough for a talk-show moment later,” said Artemis brusquely. “We need to get you out of here.”

  Kong’s men were in the gallery now, and shots were being fired. Artemis was confident that Butler and Holly could take care of a few thugs, but this confidence took a blow when there was a sudden explosion and a battered Holly landed on his back. Her body was instantly enveloped in a cocoon of blue light. Sparks dropped from the cocoon, like falling stars, pinpointing the most severe injuries.

  Artemis crawled out from beneath her, laying his recuperating friend gently on the floor beside Qwan.

  Kong’s men were now embroiled with Butler, and probably regretting choosing this line of work. He tore through them like a bowling ball into a pack of quivering pins, but with considerably more economy of movement.

  One made it past Butler. A tall man with a tattooed neck and an aluminium case. Artemis guessed that this case probably did not contain a selection of Asian spices, and realized that he would have to take action himself. While he was wondering exactly what it was he could do, the man sent him sprawling. By the time he made it back to Holly’s side, his friend was sitting up groggily and there was a suitcase handcuffed to her wrist. The man who had delivered the case had returned to the fray, where he had lasted less than a second before Butler took him out of it again.

  Artemis knelt by Holly’s side. “Are you all right?”

  Holly smiled, but it was an effort. “Just about, thanks to the magic. I’m out, though, not a drop left. So I would advise everyone to stay healthy until I can complete my ritual.” She shook her wrist, jangling the chain. “What’s in the case?”

  Artemis looked paler than usual. “I would guess nothing pleasant.” He flicked the clips and lifted the lid. “And I would be right. It’s a bomb. Big and complicated. They sneaked it past security somehow. Through an area still under construction, probably.”

  Holly blinked herself alert, shaking her head until the pain woke her up.

  “Okay. Bomb. Can you see a timer?”

  “Eight minutes. And counting.”

  “Can you disarm it?”

  Artemis pursed his lips. “Perhaps. I need to open the casing and get into the works before I know for sure. It could be a straight detonator, or we could have all kinds of decoys.”

  Qwan struggled to his elbows, coughing up large globs of dust and spit. “What? I’m flesh and bone after ten thousand years and now you’re telling me a bomb is going to blow me to a million pieces?”

  “This is Qwan,” explained No1. “He’s the most powerful warlock in the magic circle.”

  “I’m the only one now,” said Qwan. “I couldn’t save the rest. Just us two left, boy.”

  “Can you petrify the bomb?” asked Holly.

  “It will take several minutes before my magic is up and running. Anyway, the gargoyle’s touch only works on organic matter. Plants and animals. A bomb is full of man-made compounds.”

  Artemis raised an eyebrow. “You know about bombs?”

  “I was petrified. Not dead. I could see what was happening around me. The stories I could tell you. You wouldn’t believe where tourists stick gum.”

  Butler was piling unconscious bodies against the security doors.

  “We have to get out of here!” he called. “The police are in the hallway.”

  Artemis stood and took a half dozen steps away from the group, closing his eyes.

  “Artemis, this is no time to fall apart,” chided Minerva, crawling from behind a display case. “We need a plan.”

  “Shh, young lady,” said Butler. “He’s thinking.”

  Artemis gave himself twenty seconds to rack his brains. What he came up with was very far from perfect.

  “Very well. Holly, you must fly us out of here.”

  Holly did a few sums in her head. “It will take two trips, maybe three.”

  “No time for that. The bomb must go first. There are a lot of people in this building. I must go with the bomb, as there is a chance I can defuse it. And the fairies must come, too; it is imperative that they are not taken into custody. Hybras would be lost.”

  “I can’t allow this,” objected Butler. “I have a duty to your parents.”

  Artemis was stern with his protector. “I am giving you a new duty,” he said. “Look after Minerva. Keep her safe until we can rendezvous.”

  “Let Holly fly out over the sea and drop the bomb,” argued Butler. “We can mount a rescue mission later.”

  “It will be too late. If we don’t get these fairies out of here, the eyes of the world will be on Taipei. And anyway, the local seas are thronged with fishing boats. This is the only way. I will not allow humans or fairies to die when I might have prevented it.”

  Butler would not give up. “Listen to yourself. You sound like a…like a good guy! There’s nothing in this for you.”

  Artemis had no time for emotions. “In the words of HP Woodman, ‘Time is ticking on, and so we must be gone.’ Holly, tie us to your belt, all except Butler and Minerva.”

  Holly nodded, still slightly shell-shocked. She reeled out a number of pitons from her belt, wishing she had been issued one of Foaly’s Moonbelts, which generated a lo-grav field around everything attached to it.

  “Under the arms,” she instructed No1. “Then clip it back onto the loop.”

  Butler helped Artemis with his strap. “This is it, Artemis. I’ve had it, I swear. When we get home I am retiring. I’m older than I look, and I feel older than I am. No more plotting. Promise me?”

  Artemis forced a smile. “I am simply flying to the next building. If I cannot defuse the bomb, then Holly can fly it out to sea and endeavor to find a safe spot.”

  They both knew that Artemis was lying. If he could not defuse the bomb, there would be no time to find a safe drop point.

  “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. No1 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 No1. “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 mo
ment, 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 No1’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 No1’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 him-self 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<
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  OUT OF TIME

  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 No1, 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 sulfur stung their nostrils. The euphoria of materialization soon dissipated.