Eoin Colfer: Artemis Fowl: The Eternity Code

He could see Madame Ko before him, nondescript in her khaki suit,

for all the world an ordinary Japanese housewife. But how many housewives of any nationality could strike so quickly that the air hissed?

You are a disgrace, Butler. A disgrace to your name. It would better suit your talents to get a job mending shoes. Your principal has already been neutralized.

Butler moved as though in a dream. The very air seemed to hold him back as he raced for the kitchen doors. He knew what would have happened. Arno Blunt was a professional. Vain perhaps — a cardinal sin among bodyguards — but a professional nevertheless. Professionals always inserted earplugs if there was any danger of gunfire.

The tiles were slick beneath his feet, but Butler compensated by leaning forward and digging his rubber-soled toes into the surface. His intact eardrums picked up irregular vibrations from the restaurant.

Conversation. Artemis was speaking with someone. Arno Blunt, no doubt.

It was already too late.

Butler came through the service door at a speed that would have shamed an Olympian. His brain began calculating odds the moment pictures arrived from his retinas: Blunt was in the act of firing. Nothing could be done about that now. There was only one option. Without hesitation, Butler took it.

In his right hand, Blunt held a silenced pistol.

‘You first,’ he said. ‘Then the ape.’

Arno Blunt cocked the gun, took aim briefly and fired.

Butler came from nowhere. He seemed to fill the entire room, flinging himself in the bullet’s path. From a greater distance, the Kevlar in his bulletproof vest might have held, but at point-blank range, the Teflon-coated bullet drilled through the waistcoat like a hot poker through snow.

It entered Butler’s chest a centimetre below the heart. It was a fatal wound. And this time Captain Short was not around to save him with her fairy magic.

The bodyguard’s own momentum, combined with the force of the bullet, sent Butler crashing into Artemis, pinning him to the dessert trolley. Nothing of the boy was visible, save one Armani loafer.

Butler’s breathing was shallow and his vision gone, but he was not dead yet. His brain’s electricity was rapidly running out, but the bodyguard held on to a single thought: protect the principal.

Arno Blunt drew a surprised breath, and Butler fired six shots at the sound. He would have been disappointed with the spread had he been able to see it. But one of the bullets found its mark, clipping Blunt’s temple. Unconsciousness was immediate, concussion inevitable. Arno

Blunt joined the rest of his team, on the floor.

Butler ignored the pain squashing his torso like a giant fist. Instead he listened for movement. There was nothing locally, just the scratch of lobster claws on the tiles. And if one of the lobsters decided to attack,

Artemis was on his own.

Nothing more could be done. Either Artemis was safe, or he was not. If not, Butler was in no condition to fulfil the terms of his contract.

This realization brought tremendous calm. No more responsibility. Just his own life to live, for a few seconds at any rate. And anyway, Artemis wasn’t just a principal. He was part of the bodyguard’s life. His only true friend. Madame Ko might not like this attitude, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now. There wasn’t much anybody could do.

Artemis had never liked desserts. And yet, he found himself submersed in eclairs, cheesecake and pavlova. His suit would be absolutely destroyed. Of course, Artemis’s brain was only throwing up these facts so he could avoid thinking about what had happened. But a ninety-kilogram deadweight is a hard thing to ignore.

Luckily for Artemis, Butler’s impact had actually driven him through to the trolley’s second shelf, while the bodyguard remained on the ice-cream ledge above. As far as Artemis could tell, the Black Forest gateau had cushioned his impact sufficiently to avoid serious internal injury. Still, he had no doubt that a visit to the chiropractor would be called for.

Possibly for Butler too, though the man had the constitution of a troll.

Artemis struggled out from underneath his manservant. With each movement, malignant cream horns exploded in his direction.

‘Really, Butler,’ grumbled the teenager. ‘I must begin choosing my business associates more carefully. Hardly a day goes by when we aren’t the victims of some plot.’

Artemis was relieved to see Arno Blunt unconscious on the restaurant floor.

‘Another villain dispatched. Good shooting, Butler, as usual. And one more thing, I have decided to wear a bulletproof vest to all future meetings. That should make your job somewhat easier, eh?’

It was at this point that Artemis noticed Butler’s shirt. The sight knocked the air from his chest like an invisible mallet. Not the hole in the material, but the blood leaking from it.

‘Butler, you’re injured. Shot. But the Kevlar?’

The bodyguard didn’t reply, nor did he have to. Artemis knew science better than most nuclear physicists. Truth be told, he often posted lectures on the Internet under the pseudonym Emmsey Squire. Obviously the bullet’s momentum had been too great for the jacket to withstand. It had possibly been coated with Teflon for extra penetration.

A large part of Artemis wanted to drape his arms across the bodyguard’s frame and cry as he would for a brother. But Artemis repressed that instinct. Now was the time for quick thinking.

Butler interrupted his train of thought.

‘Artemis. . is that you?’ he said, the words coming in short gasps.

‘Yes, it’s me,’ answered Artemis, his voice trembling.

‘Don’t worry. Juliet will protect you. You’ll be fine.’

‘Don’t talk, Butler. Lie still. The wound is not serious.’

Butler spluttered. It was as close as he could get to a laugh.

‘Very well, it is serious. But I will think of something. Just stay still.’

With his last vestige of strength, Butler raised a hand.

‘Goodbye, Artemis,’ he said. ‘My friend.’

Artemis caught the hand. The tears were streaming now.

Unchecked.

‘Goodbye, Butler.’

The Eurasian’s sightless eyes were calm. ‘Artemis, call me — Domovoi.’

The name told Artemis two things. Firstly, his lifelong ally had been named after a Slavic guardian spirit. Secondly, graduates of the Madame Ko Academy were instructed never to reveal first names to their principals. It helped to keep things clinical. Butler would never have broken this rule. . unless it no longer mattered.

‘Goodbye, Domovoi,’ sobbed the boy. ‘Goodbye, my friend.’

The hand dropped. Butler was gone.

‘No!’ shouted Artemis, staggering backwards.

This wasn’t right. This was not the way things should end. For some reason, he had always imagined that they would die together — facing insurmountable odds, in some exotic location. On the lip of a reactivated Vesuvius perhaps, or on the banks of the mighty Ganges. But together, as friends. After all they had been through, Butler simply could not be defeated at the hands of some grandstanding second-rate muscleman.

Butler had almost died before. The year before last, he had been mauled by a troll from the deep tunnels below Haven City. Holly Short had saved him then, using her fairy magic. But now there were no fairies around to save the bodyguard. Time was the enemy here. If Artemis had more of it, he could figure out how to contact the LEP and persuade Holly to use her magic once again. But time was running out. Butler had perhaps four minutes before his brain shut down. Not long enough, even for an intellect such as Artemis’s — he needed to buy some more time. Or steal some.

Think, boy, think. Use what the situation provides. Artemis shut off the wellspring of tears. He was in a restaurant, a fish restaurant. Useless!