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CHAPTER 8: TO RUSSIA WITH GLOVES

LENIN PROSPEKT, MURMANSK

MIKHAEL Vassikin was growing impatient. For over two years now he’d been on babysitting duty. At Britva’s request. Not that it had actually been a request. The term request implied that you had a choice in the matter. You did not argue with Britva. You did not even protest quietly. The Menidzher, or manager, was from the old school where his word was law.

Britva’s instructions had been simple: feed him, wash him and, if he doesn’t come out of the coma in another year, kill him and dump the body in the Kola.

Two weeks before the deadline, the Irishman had bolted upright in his bed. He awoke screaming a name. That name was Angeline. Kamar got such a shock, he’d dropped the bottle of wine he’d been opening. The bottle smashed, piercing his Ferruci loafers and cracking a big toenail. Toenails grow back, but Ferruci loafers were hard to come by in the Arctic Circle. Mikhael had been forced to sit on his partner to stop him killing the hostage.

So now they were playing the waiting game. Kidnapping was an established business and there were rules. First you sent the teaser note, or in this case the e-mail. Wait a few days to give the pigeon a chance to put some funds together, then hit him with the ransom demand.

They were locked in Mikhael’s apartment on Lenin Prospekt, waiting for the call from Britva. They didn’t even dare to go out for air. Not that there was much to see. Murmansk was one of those Russian cities that had been poured directly from a concrete mould. The only time Lenin Prospekt looked good was when it was buried in snow.

Kamar emerged from the bedroom. His sharp features were stretched in disbelief. ‘He wants caviar, can you believe it? I give him a nice bowl of stroganina and he wants caviar, the ungrateful Irlanskii.’ Mikhael rolled his eyes. ‘I liked him better asleep.’

Kamar nodded, spitting into the fireplace. ‘The sheets are too rough, he says. He’s lucky I don’t wrap him in a sack and roll him into the bay – ‘ The phone rang, interrupting his empty threats.

‘This is it, my friend,’ Vassikin said, clapping Kamar on the shoulder. ‘We are on our way.’ Vassikin picked up the phone. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s me,’ said a voice, made tinny by old wiring.

‘Mister Brit -‘

‘Shut up, idiot! Never use my name!’

Mikhael swallowed. The Menidzher didn’t like to be connected to his various businesses. That meant no paperwork and no mention of his name if it could be recorded. It was his custom to make calls while driving around the city so that his location could not be triangulated.

‘I’m sorry, boss.’

‘You should be,’ continued the Mafiya kingpin. ‘Now listen, and don’t talk. You have nothing to contribute.’ Vassikin covered the handset. ‘Everything’s fine,’ he whispered, giving Kamar the thumbs up. ‘We’re doing a great job.’ ‘The Fowls are a clever outfit,’ continued Britva. ‘And I have no doubt they are concentrating on tracing the last e-mail.’ ‘But I spiked the last –’

‘What did I tell you?’

‘You said not to talk, Mister Brit… sir.’

‘That’s right. So send the ransom message and then move Fowl to the drop point.’ Mikhael paled. ‘The drop point?’

‘Yes, the drop point. No one will be looking for you there, I guarantee it.’ ‘But –’

‘Again with the talking! Get yourself a spine, man. It’s only for a couple of days. So, you might lose a year off your life. It won’t kill you.’ Vassikin’s brain churned, searching for an excuse. Nothing came.

‘OK, boss. Whatever you say.’

‘That’s right. Now listen to me. This is your big chance. Do this right and you move up a couple of steps in the organization.’ Vassikin grinned. A life of champagne and expensive cars beckoned.

‘If this man really is young Fowl’s father, the boy will pay up. When you get the money, dump them both in the Kola. I don’t want any survivors to start a vendetta. Call me if there’s any trouble.’ ‘OK, boss.’

‘Oh, and one more thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t call me.’

The line went dead. Vassikin was left staring at the handset as though it were a handful of plague virus.

‘Well?’ asked Kamar.

‘We are to send the second message.’

A broad grin split Kamar’s face. ‘Excellent. At last this thing is nearly over.’ ‘Then we are to move the package to the drop zone.’

The broad grin disappeared like a fox down a hole.

‘What? Now?’

‘Yes. Now.’

Kamar paced the tiny living room. ‘That is crazy. Completely insane. Fowl cannot be here for a couple of days at the earliest. There’s no need for us to spend two days breathing in that poison. What is the reasoning?’ Mikhael extended the phone. ‘You tell him. I’m sure the Menidzher will appreciate being told he is a madman.’ Kamar sank on to the threadbare sofa, dropping his head into his hands. ‘Will this thing never end?’ His partner fired up their ancient sixteen-megabyte hard drive. ‘I don’t know for certain,’ he said, sending the pre-prepared message. ‘But I do know what will happen if we don’t do what Britva says.’ Kamar sighed. ‘I think I’ll go shout at the prisoner for a while.’ ‘Will that help?’

‘It won’t,’ admitted Kamar. ‘But it will make me feel better.’ E93, ARCTIC SHUTTLE PORT

The Arctic Station had never been high on the fairy Bodytextt list. Sure, icebergs and polar bears were pretty, but nothing was worth saturating your lungs with irradiated air for.

Holly docked the shuttle in the only serviceable bay. The terminal itself resembled nothing more than a deserted warehouse. Static conveyer belts snaked along the floor and low-level heating pipes rattled with insect life.

Holly handed out human overcoats and gloves from an ancient locker.

‘Wrap up, Mud Boys. It’s cold outside.’

Artemis did not need to be told. The terminal’s solar batteries had long since shut down, and the ice’s grip had cracked the walls like a nut in a vice.

Holly tossed Butler his coat from a distance. ‘You know something, Butler? You stink!’ she said, laughing.

The manservant growled. ‘You and your radiation gel. I think my skin’s changed colour.’ ‘Don’t worry about it. Fifty years and it’ll wash right off.’ Butler buttoned a Cossack greatcoat up to his neck. ‘I don’t know why you’re getting all wrapped up. You’ve got the fancy suits.’ ‘The coats are camouflage,’ explained Holly, smearing rad gel on her face and neck. ‘If we shield, the vibration makes the suits useless. Might as well dip your bones in a reactor core. So for tonight only, we’re all humans.’ Artemis frowned. If the fairies couldn’t shield, it would make rescuing his father all the more difficult. His evolving plan would have to be adjusted.

‘Less of the chat,’ growled Root, pulling a bearskin hat over his pointed ears. ‘We move out in five. I want everybody armed and dangerous. Even you, Fowl, if your little wrists can support a weapon.’ Artemis selected a fairy handgun from the shuttle’s arsenal. He jacked the battery into its slot, flicking the setting up to three.

‘Don’t worry about me, Commander. I’ve been practising. We have quite a stash of LEP weaponry at the manor.’ Root’s complexion cranked up one more notch. ‘Well, there’s a big difference between stunning a cardboard cutout and a real person.’ Artemis gave his vampire smile. ‘If everything proceeds according to plan, there will be no need for weapons. The first stage is simplicity itself: we set up a surveillance post near Vassikin’s apartment. When the opportunity arises, Butler will snatch our Russian friend and the five of us can have a little chat. I’m sure that he will tell us everything we need to know under the influence of your mesmer. Then, it will be a simple matter to stun any guards and rescue my father.’ Root pulled a heavy scarf over his mouth. ‘And what if things don’t go according to plan?’ Artemis’s eyes were cold and determined. ‘Then, Commander, we will have to improvise.’ Holly felt a shiver rattle around her stomach. And it had nothing to do with the climate.

*

The terminal was buried twenty metres below an ice pack. They took the courtesy elevator to the surface, and the party emerged into the Arctic night looking for all the world like an adult and three children. Albeit three children with inhuman weaponry clanking under every loose fold of cloth.

Holly checked the GPS locator on her wrist. ‘We’re in the Rosta district, Commander. Twenty klicks north of Murmansk.’ ‘What’s Foaly got on the weather? I don’t want to be caught in the middle of a blizzard miles from our destination.’ ‘No luck. I can’t get a line. Magma flares must still be up.’ ‘D’ Arvit!’ swore Root. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll have to take our chances on foot. Butler, you’re the expert here, you take point. Captain Short, bring up the rear. Feel free to boot any human backside if it lags behind.’ Holly winked at Artemis. ‘No need to tell me twice, sir.’

‘I’ll bet there isn’t,’ grunted Root, with only the barest hint of a smile playing about his lips.

The motley band trudged south-east by moonlight until they reached the railway line. Walking along the sleepers was the one place they could be safe from drifts and suck holes. Progress was slow. A northerly wind snaked through every pore in their clothing, and the cold attacked any exposed skin like a million electric darts.

There was little conversation. The Arctic had that effect on people, even if three of them were wearing coil-heated suits.

Holly broke the silence. Something had been nagging at her for a while. ‘Tell me something, Fowl,’ she said from behind him. ‘Your father. Is he like you?’ Artemis’s step faltered for an instant. ‘That’s a strange question. Why do you ask?’ ‘Well, you’re no friend to the People. What if the man we’re trying to rescue is the man who will destroy us?’ There was a long silence, broken only by the chattering of teeth. Holly saw Artemis’s chin drop on to his chest.

‘You have no cause to be alarmed, Captain. My father, though some of his ventures were undoubtedly illegal, was… is… a noble man. The idea of harming another creature would be repugnant to him.’ Holly tugged her boot from twenty centimetres of snow. ‘So, what happened to you?’ Artemis’s breath came over his shoulder in icy sheets. ‘I… I made a mistake.’ Holly squinted at the back of the human’s head. Was this actual sincerity from Artemis Fowl? It was hard to believe. Even more surprising was the fact that she didn’t know how to react. Whether to extend the hand of forgiveness, or the boot of retribution. Eventually, she decided to reserve judgement. For the moment.

They passed into a ravine, worn smooth by the whistling wind. Butler didn’t like it. His soldier’s sense was beating a tattoo on the inside of his skull. He raised a clenched fist.

Root double-timed until he caught up.

‘Trouble?’

Butler squinted into the snow field, searching for footprints. ‘Maybe. Nice spot for a surprise attack.’ ‘Maybe. If anyone knew we were coming.’

‘Is that possible? Could someone know?’

Root snorted, breath forming clouds in the air before him. ‘Impossible. The chute is totally isolated, and LEP security is the tightest on the planet.’ And that was when the goblin hit squad soared over the ridge.

Butler grabbed Artemis by the collar, unceremoniously flinging him into a drift. His other hand was already drawing his weapon.

‘Keep your head down, Artemis. Time for me to earn my salary.’ Artemis would have responded testily had his head not been under a metre of snow.

There were four goblins flying in loose formation, dark against the starlit sky. They quickly rose to three hundred metres, making no attempt to conceal their presence. They neither attacked nor fled, simply hovered overhead.

‘Goblins,’ grunted Root, pulling a Far shoot neutrino rifle into his shoulder. ‘Too stupid to live. All they had to do was pick us off.’ Butler picked a spot, spreading his legs for steadiness. ‘Do we wait until we see the whites of their eyes, Commander?’ ‘Goblin eyes don’t have whites,’ responded Root. ‘But even so, holster your weapon. Captain Short and I will stun them. No need for anyone to die.’ Butler slid the Sig Sauer into its pouch beneath his arm. It was next to useless at that range anyway. It would be interesting to see how Holly and Root handled themselves in a firefight. After all, Artemis’s life was pretty much in their hands. Not to mention his own.

Butler glanced sideways. Holly and the commander were pumping the triggers of various weapons. Without any result. Their weapons were as dead as mice in a snake pit.

‘I don’t understand it,’ muttered Root. ‘I checked these myself.’ Artemis, naturally, was first to figure it out. He shook the snow from his hair.

‘Sabotage,’ he proclaimed, tossing aside the useless fairy handgun. ‘There is no other alternative. This is why the B’ wa Kell needs Softnose weapons, because it has somehow disabled fairy lasers.’ But the commander was not listening, and neither was Butler. This was no time for clever deductions; this was a time for action. They were sitting ducks out here, dark against the pale Arctic glow. This theory was confirmed when several Softnose laser bursts bored hissing holes in the snow at their feet.

Holly activated her helmet Optix, zooming in on the enemy.

‘It looks like one of them has a Softnose laser, sir. Something with a long barrel.’ ‘We need cover. Fast!’

Butler nodded. ‘Look. An overhang. Under the ridge.’

The manservant grabbed his charge by the collar, hoisting him aloft as easily as a child would lift a kitten. They struggled through the snow to the shelter of the overhang. Maybe a million years ago the ice had melted sufficiently for a layer to slump slightly, then freeze up again. The resulting wrinkle had somehow lasted through the ages and could now possibly save their lives.

They dived underneath the lip, wriggling backwards against a wall of ice. The frozen canopy was easily thick enough to withstand gunfire from any conventional weapon.

Butler shielded Artemis with his body, risking an upward glance.

‘Too far. I can’t make them out. Holly?’

Captain Short poked her head from under the frozen ledge and her Optix zoomed into focus.

‘Well, what are they up to?’

Holly waited a beat, until the figures sharpened.

‘Funny thing,’ she commented. ‘They’re all firing now, but…’ ‘But what, Captain?’

Holly tapped her helmet to make sure the lenses were working. ‘Maybe I’m getting some Optix distortion, sir, but it looks like they’re missing on purpose, shooting way over our heads.’ Butler felt the blood pounding in his brain. ‘It’s a trap!’ he roared, reaching behind him to grab Artemis. ‘Everybody out! Everybody out!’ And that was when the goblin charges sent fifty tonnes of rock, ice and snow tumbling to the ground.

They nearly made it. Of course, nearly never won a bucket of squid at gnommish roulette. If it hadn’t been for Butler, not one of the group would have survived. Something happened to him. An inexplicable surge of strength, not unlike the energy bursts that allow mothers to lift fallen trees off their children. The manservant grabbed Artemis and Holly, spinning them forward like stones across a pond. It wasn’t a very dignified way to travel, but it certainly beat having your bones pulverized by falling ice.

For the second time in so many minutes, Artemis landed nose first in a snowdrift. Behind him, Butler and Root were scrabbling from beneath the ledge, boots slipping on the icy surface. The air was rent by avalanche thunder, and the pack ice beneath them heaved and split. Thick chunks of rock and ice speared the cave’s opening like bars. Butler and Root were trapped.

Holly was on her feet, racing towards her commander. But what could she do? Throw herself back underneath the ledge?

‘Stay back, Captain,’ said Root into his helmet mike. ‘That’s an order!’ ‘Commander,’ Holly breathed. ‘You’re alive.’

‘Somehow,’ came the reply. ‘Butler is unconscious and we’re pinned down. The ledge is on the point of collapsing. The only thing holding it up is the debris. If we brush that aside to get out…’ They were alive then at least. Trapped, but alive. A plan, they needed a plan.

Holly found herself strangely calm. This was one of the qualities that made her such an excellent field agent. In times of excessive stress, Captain Short had the ability to target a course of action. Often the only viable course. In the combat simulator for her captain’s exam, Holly had defeated insurmountable virtual enemies by blasting the projector. Technically, she had defeated all her enemies, so the panel had to pass her.

Holly spoke into her helmet mike. ‘Commander, undo Butler’s Moonbelt and strap yourselves on. I’m going to haul you both out of there.’ ‘Roger, Holly. Do you need a piton?’

‘If you can get one out to me.’

‘Standby.’

A piton dart jetted through a gap in the icy bars, landing a metre from Holly’s boots. The dart trailed a length of fine-grade cord.

Holly snapped the piton into the cord receptacle on her own belt, making sure there were no kinks in the line. Meanwhile, Artemis had dragged himself from the drift.

‘This plan is patently ridiculous,’ he said, brushing the snow from his sleeves. ‘You cannot hope to drag their combined weight with sufficient velocity to break the icicles and avoid being crushed.’ ‘I’m not going to drag them,’ snapped Holly.

‘Well then, who is?’

Captain Short pointed down the track. There was a green train winding its way towards them.

‘That is,’ she said.

There were three goblins left. Their names were D’Nall, Aymon and Nyle. Three rookies vying for the recently vacated lieutenant’s spot. Lieutenant Poll had handed in his resignation when he’d strayed too close to the avalanche and been swatted by a five-hundred-kilo pane of transparent ice.

They hovered at three hundred metres, well out of range. Of course, they weren’t out of fairy-weapon range, but LEP weapons weren’t operational at the moment. Koboi Laboratories’ upgrades had seen to that.

‘That was some hole in Lieutenant Poll,’ whistled Aymon. ‘I could see right through. ‘im.An’ I don’t mean that like he was a bad liar.’ Goblins didn’t get too attached to each other. Considering the amount of backstabbing, backbiting and general vindictiveness that went on in the B’ wa Kell, it didn’t pay to make any special friends.

‘What you think?’ asked D’Nall, the handsome one, relatively speaking. ‘Maybe one of you guys should take a spin down there.’ Aymon snorted. ‘Sure thing. We go down and get sparked by the big one. Just how dumb do you think we are?’ ‘The big one is out of the picture. I sparked him myself. Sweet shot.’ ‘My shot set off the avalanche,’ objected Nyle, the baby of the gang. ‘You’re always claimin’ my kills.’ ‘What kills? The only thing you ever killed was a stink worm. And that was an accident.’ ‘Rubbish,’ sulked Nyle. ‘I meant to kill that worm. He was buggin’ me.’ Aymon swooped between the two. ‘All right. Keep your scales on, the pair of you. All we gotta do is throw a few rounds into the survivors from up here.’ ‘Nice plan, genius,’ sneered D’ Nall. ‘Except it won’t work.’ ‘And why not?’

D’ Nall pointed below with a manicured nail. ‘Because they’re boarding that train.’ Four green carriages were winding in from the north, dragged along by an ancient diesel engine. A maelstrom of snow flurries coiled in its wake.

Salvation, thought Holly. Or perhaps not. For some reason, the mere sight of the clanking locomotive set her stomach bubbling with acid. Still, she was in no position to be choosy.

‘It’s the Mayak Chemical train,’ said Artemis.

Holly glanced over her shoulder. Artemis seemed even paler than usual. ‘The what?’ ‘Environmentalists worldwide call it the Green Machine, something of an irony. It transports spent uranium and plutonium assemblies to the Mayak Chemical Combine for recycling. One driver locked up in the engine. No guards. Fully loaded, this thing is hotter than a nuclear submarine.’ ‘And you know about this because…’

Artemis shrugged. ‘I like to keep track of these things. After all, radiation is the world’s problem.’ Holly could feel it now. Uranium tendrils eating through the rad gel on her cheeks. That train was poison. But it was her only chance of getting the commander out alive.

‘This just keeps getting better and better,’ Holly muttered.

The train was closer. Obviously. Motoring along at about ten klicks an hour. No problem for Holly on her own, but with two men down and one next-to-useless Mud Boy, it was going to take quite a feat to get on board that locomotive.

Holly spared a second to check on the goblins. They were holding steady at three hundred metres. Goblins were no good at improvisation. This train was unexpected; it would take them at least a minute to work out a new strategy. The big hole in their fallen comrade might give them further pause for thought.

Holly could feel the radiation emanating from the carriages, burning through the tiniest gap in the radiation gel, prickling her eyeballs. It was only a matter of time before her magic ran out. After that, she was living on borrowed time.

No time to think about it now. Her priority was the commander. She had to get him out of there alive. If the B’ wa Kell was brazen enough to mount an operation against the LEP, there was obviously something pretty big going on below ground. Whatever it was, Julius Root would be needed to spearhead the counterattack. She turned towards Artemis.

‘OK, Mud Boy. We’ve got one shot at this. Grab on to whatever you can.’ Artemis couldn’t hide an apprehensive shiver.

‘Don’t be afraid, Artemis. You can make it.’

Artemis bristled. ‘It’s cold, fairy. Humans shiver in the cold.’ ‘That’s the spirit,’ said the LEP captain, and she began to run. The piton wire played out behind her like a harpoon cable. Though it had the approximate grade of fishing line, the cable could easily suspend two struggling elephants. Artemis raced after her as fast as his loafered feet could manage.

They ran parallel to the tracks, feet crunching through the snow. Behind them the train grew closer, pushing a buffer of air before it.

Artemis struggled to keep up. This was not for him. Running and sweating. Combat, for heaven’s sake. He was no soldier. He was a planner. A mastermind. The hurly-burly of actual conflict was best left to Butler and people like him. But his manservant wasn’t there to take care of the physical tasks this time. And he never would be again if they didn’t manage to board this train.

Artemis’s breath came short, crystallizing in front of his face, blurring his vision. The train had drawn level now, steel wheels spewing ice and sparks into the air.

‘Second carriage,’ panted Holly. ‘There’s a runner. Mind your footing.’ Runner? Artemis glanced behind. The second carriage was coming up fast. But the noise was blurring his vision. Was that possible? It was terrific. Unbearable. There, below the steel doors. A narrow board. Wide enough to stand on. Barely.

Holly alighted easily, flattening herself against the carriage wall. She made it look so effortless. A simple skip and she was safe from the grab of those pulverizing wheels.

‘Come on, Fowl,’ shouted Holly. ‘Jump.’

Artemis tried, he really did. But the toe of his loafer snagged on a sleeper. He stumbled forward, pin-wheeling for balance. A painful death came rushing up to meet him.

‘Two left feet,’ muttered Holly, grabbing her least favourite Mud Boy by the collar. Momentum swung Artemis forward, slamming him into the door like something out of a cartoon.

The piton cord was slapping against the carriage. Only seconds left before Holly departed from the train as quickly as she’d arrived. The LEP captain searched for a strongpoint to anchor herself. Root and Butler’s weight may have been reduced by the Moonbelt, but the jerk when it came, would be more than sufficient to drag her from the locomotive. And if that happened, it was all over.

Holly hooked one arm through a rung on the carriage’s external ladder. She noticed magical sparks playing over a rip in her suit. They were counteracting the radiation damage. How much longer could her magic last under these conditions? Constant healing really took it out of a girl. She needed to complete the power-restoring Ritual. And the sooner the better.

Holly was about to unclip the cable and attach it to one of the rungs when it snapped taut, pulling Holly’s legs from beneath her. She held on to the rung grimly, fingernails digging into her own skin. On reflection, this plan needed a bit of work. Time seemed to stretch, elastic as the cord and, for a moment, Holly thought her elbow would pop right out of its socket. Then the ice gave and Root and Butler were twanged out of their icy tomb like a bolt from a crossbow.

Seconds later, they slapped against the side of the train, their reduced weight keeping them aloft, for now. But it was only a matter of time before what little gravity they had pushed them under the steel wheels.

Artemis latched on to the rung beside her. ‘What can I do?’ She nodded at a shoulder pocket. ‘In there. A small vial. Take it out.’ Artemis ripped open the Velcro flap, pulling out a tiny spray bottle. ‘OK. Got it.’ ‘Good. It’s up to you now, Fowl. Up and over.’

Artemis’s mouth dropped open. ‘Up and …?’

‘Yes. It’s our only hope. We have to get this door open to reel in Butler and the commander. There’s a bend in the track two klicks away. If this train slows down even one revolution, they’re gone.’ Artemis nodded. ‘The vial?’

‘Acid. For the lock. The mechanism’s on the inside. Cover your face and squeeze. Give it the whole tube. Don’t get any on you.’ It was a long conversation under the circumstances. Especially since every second was vital. Artemis did not waste another one on goodbyes.

He dragged himself to the next rung, keeping the length of his body pressed close to the carriage. The wind was whipping along the length of the train, tiny motes of ice in every gust. They stung like bees. Nevertheless, Artemis pulled off his gloves with chattering teeth. Better frostbite than being crushed beneath the wheels.

Upwards. One rung at a time, until his head poked above the carriage. Every shred of shelter was now gone. The air pounded his forehead, forcing itself down his throat. Artemis squinted through the blizzard, along the carriage’s roof. There! In the centre. A skylight. Across a desert of steel, blasted smooth as glass by the elements. Not a handhold within five metres. The strength of a rhino would be of no use here, Artemis decided. At last an opportunity to use his brain. Kinetics and momentum. Simple enough, in theory.

Keeping to the front rim of the carriage, Artemis inched on to the roof. The wind wormed beneath his legs, raising them five centimetres from the deck, threatening to float him off the train.

Artemis curled his fingers around the rim. These were not gripping fingers. Artemis hadn’t gripped anything bigger than his mobile phone in several months. If you wanted someone to type Paradise Lost in under twenty minutes, then Artemis was your man. But as for hanging on to carriage roofs in a blizzard. Dead loss. Which, fortunately, was all part of the plan.

A millisecond before his finger joints parted company, Artemis let go. The slipstream shot him straight through the skylight’s metal housing.

Perfect, he would have grunted, had there been a cubic centimetre of air in his lungs. But even if he had said it, the wind would have snatched away any words before his own ears heard them. He had moments now before the wind dug its fingers beneath his torso, flipping him on to the icy steppes. Cannon fodder for the goblins.

Artemis fumbled the acid vial from his pocket, snapping the top between his teeth. A fleck of the acid flew past his eye. No time to worry about that now. No time for anything.

The skylight was secured by a thick padlock. Artemis dribbled two drops into the keyhole. All he could spare. It would have to be enough.

The effect was immediate. The acid ate through the metal like lava through ice. Fairy technology. Best under the world.

The padlock pinged open, exposing the hatch to the wind’s power. It flipped upwards and Artemis tumbled through on to a pallet of barrels. Not exactly the picture of a gallant rescuer.

The train’s motion shook him from the cargo. Artemis landed face up, gazing at the triple-triangled symbol for radiation stamped on the side of each container. At least the barrels were sealed, though rust seemed to have taken hold on quite a few.

Artemis rolled across the slatted floor, clambering to his knees alongside the door. Was Captain Short still anchored there, or was he alone now? For the first time in his life. Truly alone.

‘Fowl! Open the door, you pasty-faced Mud Weasel!’

Ah well. Not alone then.

Covering his face with a forearm, Artemis drenched the carriage’s triple bolt with fairy acid. The steel lock melted instantly, dripping to the floor like a stream of mercury. Artemis dragged the sliding door back.

Holly was hanging on grimly, her face steaming where radiation was eating through the gel.

Artemis grabbed her waistband. ‘On three?’

Holly nodded. No more energy for speech.

Artemis flexed his digits. Fingers, don’t fail me now. If he ever got out of this, he would buy one of those ridiculous home gymnasiums advertised on the shopping channels.

‘One.’

The bend was coming. He could see it out of the corner of his eye. The train would slow down or derail itself.

‘Two.’

Captain Short’s strength was almost spent. The wind rippled her frame like a windsock.

‘Three!’

Artemis pulled with all the strength in his thin arms. Holly closed her eyes and let go, unable to believe she was trusting her life to this Mud Boy.

Artemis knew a little something about physics. He timed his count to take advantage of swing, momentum and the train’s own forward motion. But nature always throws something into the mix that can’t be anticipated. In this case the something was a slight gap between two sections of the track. Not enough to derail a locomotive, but certainly enough to cause a bump.

This bump sent the carriage door crashing into its frame like a five-tonne guillotine. But it looked like Holly had made it. Artemis couldn’t really tell because she had crashed into him, sending them both careering into the wooden siding. She seemed to be intact, from what he could see. At least her head was still attached to her neck, which was good. But she did seem to be unconscious. Probably trauma.

Artemis knew that he was going to pass out too. He could tell by the darkness eating at the corners of his vision, like some malignant computer virus. He slipped sideways, landing on Holly’s chest.

This had more severe repercussions than you might think. Because Holly was unconscious, her magic was on autopilot. And unsupervised magic flows like electricity. Artemis’s face made contact with the fairy’s left hand, diverting the flow of blue sparks. And while this was good for him, it was most definitely bad for her. Because although Artemis didn’t know it, Holly needed every spark of magic she could muster – not all of her had made it inside the train.

Commander Root had just activated his piton cord winch when he received a most unexpected poke in the eye.

The goblin D’ Nall removed a small rectangular mirror from his tunic and checked his scales were smooth.

‘These Koboi wings are great. You think we’ll be allowed to keep ‘em?’ Aymon scowled. Not that you’d notice. Goblin lizard ancestry meant that facial movement was pretty limited. ‘Quiet, you hot-blooded fool!’ Hot-blooded. That was a pretty serious insult for one of the B’ wa Kell.

D’ Nall bristled. ‘Be careful, friend, or I’ll tear that forked tongue right out of your head.’ ‘We won’t have a tongue between us if those elves escape!’ retorted Aymon.

It was true. The generals did not take disappointment well.

‘So what do we do? I got the looks in this outfit. That must make you the brains.’ ‘We shoot at the train,’ interjected Nyle. ‘Simple.’

D’ Nall adjusted his Koboi DoubleDex, hovering across to the squad’s junior member.

‘Idiot,’ he snapped, administering a swift slap to the head. ‘That thing is radioactive, can’t you smell it? One stray burst and we’ll all be ash floating on the breeze.’ ‘Good point,’ admitted Nyle. ‘You’re not as stupid as you look.’ ‘Thank you.’

‘Welcome.’

Aymon throttled down, descending to a hundred and fifty metres. It was so tempting. One tightly focused burst to take out the elf clinging to the carriage, another to dispatch the human on the roof. But he couldn’t risk it. One degree off target and he’d sucked his last stink-worm spaghetti.

‘OK,’ he announced into his helmet mike. ‘Here’s the plan. With all the radiation in that carriage, chances are the targets will be dead in minutes. We follow the train for a while just to make sure. Then we go back and tell the general we saw the bodies.’ D’ Nall buzzed down beside him. ‘And do we see the bodies?’ Aymon groaned. ‘Of course not, you fool! Do you want your eyeballs to dry up and fall out?’ ‘Duh.’

‘Exactly. So are we clear?’

‘Crystal,’ said Nyle, drawing his Softnose Redboy handgun. He shot his comrades from behind. Close range, point blank. They never had a chance. He followed their bodies to Earth on full magnification. The snow would cover them in minutes. Nobody would be stumbling over those particular corpses until the polar caps melted.

Nyle holstered his weapon, punching in the coordinates for the shuttle terminal on his flight computer. If you studied his reptilian face carefully, it was just possible to make out a grin. There was a new lieutenant in town.