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CHAPTER 12: GONE

FOREVER

LA DOMAINE DES HOMMES, EXTINCTIONISTS’ COMPOUND, FEZ

ARTEMIS the younger agreed to accompany Doctor Kronski to his gated compound near the medina. Kronski’s Land Rover was considerably more luxurious than Artemis’s rented model, complete with powerful air-conditioning, water cooler and white-tiger upholstery.

Artemis ran a finger through the fur and was not surprised to find that it was real.

‘Nice seats,’ he commented drily.

Kronski did not answer. He hadn’t spoken much since losing the lemur, except to mutter to himself, cursing the unfairness of it all. It didn’t seem to bother him that his suit was covered in dye, which was transferring itself to his expensive upholstery.

Though it took barely five minutes to reach the compound, Artemis was glad of the thinking space. By the time the Land Rover was cleared through the reinforced gates, he had any wrinkles in his strategy straightened out and he’d used the spare two minutes to plot one of the romance novels he occasionally wrote under the pseudonym Violet Tsirblou.

A guard with bulk to match Butler’s waved them through underneath a walkway arch in the four-metre-high wall. Artemis kept his eyes open on the way in, noting the armed guards patrolling the ten-acre compound, and the position of the generator hut and the staff quarters.

Information is power.

The residential chalets were built in the style of Californian beachouses, flat roofs and plenty of glass, clustered around a man-made beach, complete with wave machine and lifeguard. There was a large conference centre in the middle of the compound, with a scaffold-clad spire jutting from its roof. Two men were perched on the scaffolding, putting the finishing touches to a brass icon on the spire’s tip. And even though most of the icon was wrapped in canvas, Artemis could see enough to know what it was. A human arm with the world in its fist. The symbol of the Extinctionists.

Kronski’s driver parked in front of the compound’s grandest chalet and the doctor led the way inside wordlessly. He flapped a hand towards a hide-covered sofa, and disappeared into his bedroom.

Artemis was hoping for a shower and a change of clothes, but apparently Kronski was too upset for courtesy, so Artemis was forced to tug at the collar of his itchy shirt and wait for his host’s return.

Kronki’s reception lounge was a macabre space. One wall was covered with certificates of extinction, complete with photographs of the unfortunate animals and the dates on which the Extinctionists managed to murder the last one of the particular species.

Artemis browsed the photo wall. Here was a Japanese sea lion, and a Yangtze river dolphin. A Guam flying fox and a Bali tiger.

All gone forever.

The only way to see these creatures was to somehow build up enough momentum to travel faster than the speed of light and go back in time.

There were further horrors in the room, all labelled for educational purposes. The sofa was upholstered with the pelts of Falkland Island wolves. The base of a standing lamp was fashioned from the skull of a western black rhinoceros.

Artemis struggled to maintain his composure.

I need to get out of here as quickly as possible.

But the faint voice of his conscience reminded him that leaving would not mean that this place no longer existed, and selling the strange creature to Kronski would only draw more people to it.

Artemis conjured a picture of his father in his mind.

Whatever it takes. Whatever I have to do.

Kronski entered the room showered and wearing a flowing kaftan. His eyes were red-rimmed, as though he’d been crying.

‘Sit down, Ah-temis,’ he said, gesturing towards the sofa with a hidebound fly swatter.

Artemis eyed the seat. ‘No. I think I’ll stand.’

Kronski sank into an office chair. ‘Oh, I get it. Grownup sofa. It’s difficult to be taken seriously when your feet don’t touch the ground.’ The doctor rubbed his eyes with stubby thumbs, then donned his trademark glasses.

‘You have no idea what it’s been like for me, Ah-temis. Hounded from country to country because of my beliefs, like some common criminal. And now that I have finally found somewhere to call home, now that I have persuaded the committee to meet here, I lose my trial animal. That lemur was the centrepiece of the entire conference.’ Kronski’s voice was steady and he seemed to have recovered himself since his breakdown at the leather souq.

‘The Extinctionists’ committee members are very powerful men, Ah-temis. They are accustomed to comfort and convenience. Morocco is hardly convenient. I had to build this compound to entice them down here, and promise a big opening to the conference. And now all I have to show is a shining hand.’ Kronski brandished his hand, which was largely slime free, but did seem to glow faintly.

‘All is not lost, Doctor,’ said Artemis soothingly. ‘I can provide you with something that will rejuvenate your society and make it globally relevant.’ Kronski’s frown was sceptical, but he leaned forward, arms slightly outstretched.

His face says no, thought Artemis. But his body language says yes.

‘What are you selling, Ah-temis?’

Artemis opened the gallery on his phone, selecting a photograph.

‘This,’ he said, passing the phone to Kronski.

The doctor studied the photograph and the scepticism in his eyes grew more pronounced.

‘What is this? Photo manipulation?’

‘No. Genuine. This creature is real.’

‘Come on, Ah-temis. What we’ve got here are latex and bone implants. Nothing more.’ Artemis nodded. ‘That’s a fair reaction. So you don’t pay until you’re satisfied.’ ‘I already paid.’

‘You paid for a lemur,’ Artemis countered. ‘This is an undiscovered species. Possibly a threat to mankind. This is what the Extinctionists are all about. Imagine how many members will clamour to donate to your church when you uncover this threat.’ Kronski nodded. ‘You put together a good argument for a ten-year-old. How much do I pay?’ ‘You pay five million euro. Non-negotiable.’

‘Cash?’

‘Diamonds.’

Kronski pouted. ‘I won’t pay a single stone until I verify the authenticity of your product.’ ‘That’s fair.’

‘That’s mighty accommodating of you, Fowl. How do you know I won’t double-cross you? After all, I’m pretty sure that you had a hand in whatever happened back at the souq. Payback is fair play where I come from.’ ‘You might double-cross me, Damon. But you won’t double-cross Butler. You are not a stupid man.’ Kronski grunted, impressed. ‘I got to hand it to you, boy. You have all the angles figured. You present ‘em well too.’ He stared absently at his glowing hand. ‘You ever think it strange, Ah-temis, how a kid like you winds up going eyeball to eyeball with an old crook like me?’ ‘I don’t understand the question,’ said Artemis truthfully.

Kronski clapped his hands and laughed. ‘It delights me, Ah-temis,’ he said, ‘that a boy such as you exists. It makes my day.’ The laughter stopped suddenly, as though cut off by a guillotine. ‘Now, how soon can I inspect the creature?’ ‘Immediately,’ replied Artemis.’

‘Good. Well, text your man to come hither. Let’s say it takes him thirty minutes to get here, another ten to clear security. We can meet him in the grand lodge in one hour.’ ‘I said immediately,’ said Artemis, clicking his fingers. Butler stepped out from behind a curtain, a Kevlar duffel bag under one arm.

Kronski squealed briefly, then rolled his eyes in frustration.

‘I can’t control that… Ever since the koala in Cleveland. It’s so embarassing …’ File and save, thought Artemis. Koala in Cleveland.

‘Anyway,’ continued the doctor, ‘how did he get in here?’

Butler shrugged. ‘I came in the same way you did, Doctor.’

‘You were in the Land Rover,’ breathed Kronski. ‘Very clever.’

‘Not really. More lax on your part than clever on ours.’

‘I will remember that. Do you have the merchandise with you?’

Butler’s mouth tightened and Artemis knew that he was pushed to the limits of his loyalty by this transaction. The lemur had been bad enough, but this female in the bag was some kind of person.

Wordlessly, the bodyguard placed the duffel on the desk. Artemis tugged on the zipper, but Butler stopped him.

‘She has some kind of hypnotizing skills. I once met a guy in Laos who could put the whammy on you, but nothing like this. She tried it on outside the souq and I nearly ran into a camel, so I taped her mouth. Also, as we know, she can turn invisible. When I opened the bag first, she wasn’t there. I think her juice is running out, though. There could be more stunts – who knows what tricks she has hidden in those pointed ears? Are you prepared to take that risk?’ ‘Yes,’ said Kronski, almost foaming at the mouth. ‘Absolutely, yes. Open the bag.’ Butler removed his hand and Artemis unzipped the duffel, exposing the figure inside.

Kronski stared into the mismatched eyes. Ran a hand across the inhumanly wide brow, tugged one of the ears, then staggered to the office bar, pouring himself a glass of water with shaky hands.

‘Five million at today’s market price,’ he said. ‘You said five and we agreed. No upping the price now.’ Artemis smiled. The doctor was hooked.

‘Five million,’ he said. ‘Plus expenses.’

Artemis the elder rode back to the landing site on a collapsible LEP scooter designed to resemble a 1950s human Lambretta. The resemblance was only bumper deep, as there were not many Lambrettas that came equipped with clean nuclear batteries, Gnommish satellite navigation and self-destruct buttons.

The Ifrane road outside the imperial city was part of the fertile Fez river basin and was lined with olive groves and golf courses.

Ancient and modern. Coexisting.

Overhead the stars seemed closer and fiercer than at home in Ireland, shining down like stadium lights, as though Africa were somehow closer to the rest of the universe.

I lost her. I lost Holly.

But he did have a plan. A half-decent plan. All it needed was a bit of fairy technology to open a few doors and then there was still a chance. Because, without Holly, all was lost. There would be no future for any of them.

It took almost an hour to find the particular golf course where Holly had parked the LEP shuttle. Not that there was much evidence of a craft on the spot besides a slightly flat plane of sand in the bunker. Holly had nosed the shuttle deep into the dry sand and left the shield powered on. Artemis only found it himself with the help of the bike’s navigation systems.

He collapsed the scooter into a Frisbee-sized disc and climbed down through the roof hatch.

Mulch Diggums was idly swivelling himself in the pilot’s chair.

‘That’s my scooter, Mud Boy,’ he said. ‘That came off the trolley, so I take it with me.’ Artemis shut the hatch behind him. ‘Where’s the lemur? Where’s Jayjay?’ Mulch answered these questions with some of his own. ‘Where’s Holly? Have you lost her?’ ‘Yes,’ Artemis admitted miserably. ‘The boy outwitted me. He knew we would come for the lemur. He sacrificed it for Holly.’ ‘Smart,’ said Mulch. ‘Anyway, I’m off. See you …’

‘See you? See you? One of your fairy comrades is in danger and you’re just going to desert her?’ Mulch raised his palms. ‘Hey, calm down, Mud Boy. The LEP are not my comrades. We had a deal; I get you the little furry fellow and you get me a trolley of LEP tech goodies. Job done, both parties happy.’ At that moment, Jayjay poked his head round the bathroom door.

‘What’s he doing in there?’

Mulch grinned. ‘Take two guesses.’

‘Lemurs cannot use advanced plumbing.’

‘See for yourself. Whatever’s in there, I’m blaming Jayjay.’

He clicked his furry fingers and the lemur ran along his arm, on to his head.

‘See. He accepts responsibility.’ Mulch frowned. ‘You’re not going to trade this fellow for Captain Short, are you?’ ‘No point,’ said Artemis, acccessing the LEP central database. ‘It would be like trying to trade a hairpin for Excalibur.’ Mulch chewed his lip. ‘I’m familiar with the Excalibur story, so I know what you’re trying to say there. A hairpin is useless, Excalibur is wonderful, and so on. But in some instances a hairpin is extremely useful. Now, if you had said a rubber hairpin. Do you see what I’m getting at?

Artemis ignored him, tapping furiously at the v-board that had appeared in front of him. He needed to know everything he could about the Extinctionists and Foaly had an extensive file on them.

Mulch ticked Jayjay under the chin. ‘I was getting pretty fond of Captain Short, against my better judgement. I suppose I could dig in and rescue her.’ This was a genuine offer and a fair point, so Artemis spared a moment to address it.

‘Not possible. Kronski has seen the tunnel rescue before and he won’t fall for it again. At any rate, you wouldn’t survive the temperature during the day. Even underground you wouldn’t be safe. The earth is so dry that cracks can penetrate up to fifteen metres in open ground. One pinprick of midday sun and you would crisp like an old book in a furnace.’ Mulch winced. ‘Now, you see, that image works really well. So what are you going to do?’ Artemis used the advanced fairy technology to print off a leopard-print card with an Extinctionists’ hologram flashing silver and purple in the centre.

‘I’m going to the Extinctionists’ banquet tonight,’ he said, flicking the card with his forefinger. ‘After all, I have been invited. All I need is a disguise and some medical supplies.’ Mulch was impressed. ‘That’s very good. You’re almost as devious as I am.’ Artemis turned back to the v-board. It would take time to firm up his cover.

‘You have no idea,’ he said.

The night of the Extinctionists’ banquet was upon him and Kronski’s nerves were frazzled. He danced around his chalet wearing nothing but a bath towel, anxiously humming his way through the tunes from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Kronski often dreamed that he was wearing the Technicolor coat and it was fashioned from the pelts of all the animals he had hunted to extinction. He always awoke smiling.

Everything has to be perfect. This is the biggest night of my life. Thank you, little Ah-temis.

There was a lot riding on this conference, and the banquet generally set the tone for the entire weekend. Pull off something big at the banquet trial and the members would be buzzing about it for days. The Internet would be alive with chatter.

And it doesn’t get any bigger than a brand-new sentient species. The Extinctionists are about to go global.

And just in time. Truth be told, the Extinctionists were old news. Subscriptions were dropping off and, for the first time since its inception, the conference was not a total sellout. In the beginning it had been wonderful – so many exciting species to hunt and nail to the wall. But now countries were protecting their rare animals, especially the big ones. There was no flying into India for a tiger shoot any more. And the sub-Saharan nations took it extremely badly if a group of well-armed Extinctionists showed up at one of their reserves and began taking pot shots at elephants. It was getting to the point where government officials were refusing bribes. Refusing bribes.

There was another problem with the Extinctionists, though Kronski would never admit it aloud. The group had become a touchstone for the lunatic fringe. His heartfelt hatred for the animal kingdom was attracting bloodthirsty crazies who could not see past putting a bullet in a dumb beast. They could not grasp the philosophy of the organization. Man is king, and animals survive only so long as they contribute to the comfort of their masters. An animal without uses is wasting precious air and should be wiped out.

But this new creature changed everything. Everyone would want to see her. They would film the entire trial and execution, leak the tape and then the world would come to Damon Kronski.

One year of donations, thought Kronski. Then I retire to enjoy my wealth.

Five million. This fairy, or whatever it is, is worth ten times that. A hundred times.

Kronski jiggled in front of the air-conditioner blast for a minute then selected a suit from his wardrobe.

Purple, he thought. Tonight I shall be emperor.

As an afterthought he plucked a matching tasselled Caspian tiger-skin hat from an upper shelf.

When in Fez, he thought brightly.

THE FOWL LEARJET, 10,000 METRES OVER GIBRALTAR

Ten-year-old Artemis Fowl tried his best to relax in one of the Learjet’s plush leather chairs, but there was a tension knot at the base of his skull.

I need a massage, he thought. Or some herbal tea.

Artemis was perfectly aware what was causing the tension.

I have sold a creature… a person to the Extinctionists.

Being as smart as he was, Artemis was perfectly capable of constructing an argument to justify his actions.

Her friends will free her. They almost outsmarted me; they can certainly outsmart Kronski. That fairy creature is probably on her way back to wherever she came from right now, with the lemur under her arm.

Artemis distracted himself from this shaky reasoning by concentrating on Kronski.

Something really should be done about that man.

A titanium Powerbook hummed gently on Artemis’s fold-out tray. He woke the screen and opened his personal Internet browser program that he had written as a school project. Thanks to a powerful and illegal antenna in the jet’s cargo bay he was able to pick up radio, television and Internet signals almost anywhere in the world.

Organizations like the Extinctionists live and die on their reputations, he thought. It would be an amusing exercise to destroy Kronski’s reputation using the power of the web.

All it would take was some research and the placement of a little video on a few of the Net’s more popular networking sites.

Twenty minutes later, Artemis Junior was putting the finishing touches to his project when Butler ducked through the cockpit door.

‘Hungry?’ asked the bodyguard. ‘There’s some hummus in the fridge and I made yoghurt and honey smoothies.’ Artemis embedded his video project on to the final website.

‘No, thank you,’ mumbled Artemis. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘That will be the guilt gnawing at your soul,’ said Butler candidly, helping himself from the fridge. ‘Like a rat on an old bone.’ ‘Thank you for the simile, Butler, but what’s done is done.’

‘Did we have to leave Kronski the weapon?’

‘Please, I put remote destruct charges in my hardware. Do you really think such an advanced race will leave their technology unprotected? I wouldn’t be surprised if that gun is melting in Kronski’s hands. I had to leave it as a sweetener.’ ‘I doubt the creature is melting.’

‘Stop this, Butler. I made a deal and that’s the end of it.’

Butler sat opposite him. ‘Hmm. So you are governed by some sort of code now. Honour among criminals. Interesting. So, what’s that you’re cooking up on your computer?’ Artemis rubbed the tense spot on his neck. ‘Please, Butler. All of this is for my father. You know it must be done.’ ‘One question,’ said Butler, ripping the plastic from a cutlery set. ‘Would your father want it to be done this way?’ Artemis did not answer, just sat and rubbed his neck.

Five minutes later, Butler took pity on the ten-year-old. ‘I thought we might turn the plane around and give those strange creatures a little help. Fez Saïss airport has re-opened so we could be back there in a couple of hours.’ Artemis frowned. It was the right thing to do, but it was not on his agenda. Returning to Fez would not save his father.

Butler folded his paper plate in half, trapping the debris from his meal inside.

‘Artemis, I would like to swing the jet around, and I intend to do that unless you instruct me not to. All you need to do is say the word.’ Artemis watched his bodyguard return to the cockpit, but said nothing.

MOROCCO

The Domaine des Hommes was buzzing with limo-loads of Extinctionists coming in from the airport, each one wearing their hatred for animals on their sleeve, or on their heads or feet. Kronski spotted a lady sporting thigh-length ibex boots. Pyrenean, if he wasn’t mistaken. And there was old Jeffrey Coontz-Meyers with his quagga-backed tweed jacket. And Contessa Irina Kostovich, her pale neck protected from the evening chill by a Honshu-wolf stole.

Kronski smiled and greeted each one warmly and most by name. Every year there were fewer newcomers to the ranks, but that would all change after the trial tonight. He skipped along towards the banquet hall.

The hall itself had been designed by Schiller-Haus in Munich, and was essentially a huge prefabricated kit which had arrived in containers and been erected by German specialists in less than four weeks. Incredible really. It was an impressive structure, more formal in appearance than the chalets, which was only proper, as serious business was conducted inside. Fair trials and then executions.

Fair trials, thought Kronski, and giggled.

The main doors were guarded by two burly Moroccan gentlemen in evening wear. Kronski had considered crested jumpsuits for the guards, but dismissed the idea as too Bond.

I am not Doctor No. I am Doctor No-Animals.

Kronski breezed past the guards, down a corridor carpeted with sumptuous local rugs and into a double-height banquet hall with a triple-glazed glass roof. The stars seemed close enough to reach out and capture.

The decor was a tasteful blend of classic and modern. Tasteful except for the gorilla-paw ashtrays dotted on each table and the row of elephant-foot champagne coolers on stands outside the kitchen doors. Kronski squeezed through the double doors, past a brushed-steel kitchen, to the walk-in freezer at the rear.

The creature sat flanked by three more guards. She was cuffed to a plastic baby chair borrowed from the compound’s crèche. Her features were alert and sullen. Her weapon lay out of reach on a steel trolley.

If looks were bullets, thought Kronski, picking up the tiny weapon and weighing it on his palm, I would be riddled.

He pointed the weapon at a frozen ham hock hanging on a chain and pulled the tiny trigger. There was no kick-back and no obvious flash of light, but the ham was now steaming and ready to serve.

Kronski raised the violet-coloured sunglasses that he wore day and night, to make sure his vision was accurate.

‘My goodness,’ he said in wonderment. ‘This is quite a toy.’

He stamped on the steel floor, sending a bong reverberating through the chamber.

‘No tunnelling out this time,’ he announced. ‘Not like the souq. Do you speak English, creature? Do you know what I am saying to you?’ The creature rolled her eyes.

I would answer you, her expression said, but there is tape across my mouth.

‘And for good reason,’ said Kronski, as though the sentence had been spoken aloud. ‘We know all about your hypnotism tricks. And the invisibility.’ He pinched her cheek, as one would a cute infant. ‘Your skin feels almost human. What are you? A fairy, is that it?’ Another eye roll.

If eye-rolling were a sport, this creature would be a gold-medal winner, thought the doctor. Well, perhaps silver medal. Gold would surely go to my ex-wife, who’s no slacker in the eye-rolling department herself.

Kronski addressed the guards.

‘Has she moved?’ he asked.

The men shook their heads. It was a stupid question. How could she move?

‘Very well. Good. All proceeds according to my plan.’ Now Kronski rolled his own eyes. ‘Listen to me. All proceeds according to my plan. That is so Doctor No. I should go and get myself some metal hands. What do you think, gentlemen?’ ‘Metal hands?’ said the newest guard, unaccustomed to Kronski’s rants. The other two were well aware that many of the doctor’s questions were rhetorical, especially the ones about Andrew Lloyd Webber or James Bond.

Kronski ignored the new guy. He placed a finger on pursed lips for a moment, to communicate the importance of what he was about to say, then took a deep whistling breath through his nose.

‘OK, gentlemen. Everyone listening? This evening couldn’t be more important. The future of the entire organization depends on it. Everything must be totally perfect. Do not take your eyes off the prisoner and do not remove her restraints or gag. No one is to see her until the trial begins. I paid five million in diamonds for the privilege of a grand reveal, so no one gets in here but me. Understood?’ This was not a rhetorical question, though it took the new guy a moment to realize it.

‘Yes, sir. Understood,’ he blurted a fraction after the other two.

‘If something does go wrong, then your final job of the evening will be burial duty.’ Kronski winked at the new guard. ‘And you know what they say, last in first out.’ The atmosphere at the banquet was a little jaded – until the food arrived. The thing about Extinctionists was that they were picky eaters. Some hated animals so much that they were vegetarians, which limited the menu somewhat. But this year Kronski had managed to poach a chef from a vegetarian restaurant in Edinburgh who could do things with a courgette that would make the most hardened carnivore weep.

They started with a subtle tomato-and-pepper soup in baby turtle shells. Then a light parcel of roast vegetables in pastry with a dollop of Greek yoghurt, served in a monkey-skull saucer. All very tasty, and by now the wine was relaxing the guests.

Kronski’s stomach was so churned with nerves that he could not eat a single bite, which was most unusual for him. He hadn’t felt this giddy since his very first banquet in Austin all those years ago.

I am on the verge of greatness. Soon my name will be mentioned in the same sentence as the Bobby Jo Haggard or Jo Bobby Saggart. The great evangelist Extinctionists. Damon Kronski, the man who saved the world.

Two things would make this banquet the greatest ever held.

The entrée and the trial.

The entrée would delight everyone, meat eaters and vegetarians alike. The vegetarians could not eat it, but at least they could marvel at the artistry it took to prepare the dish.

Kronski tapped a small gong beside his place setting and stood to introduce the dish, as was the custom.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘let me tell you a story of extinction. In July 1889, Professor D. S. Jordan visited Twin Lakes in Colorado and published his discoveries in the 1891 Bulletin of the United States Fish Commission. He found what he declared to be a new species, the “yellowfin cutthroat”. In his report Jordan described the fish as silvery olive with a broad lemon-yellow shade along the sides, lower fins bright golden yellow in life and a deep red dash on each side of the throat, hence the “cutthroat”. Until about 1903, yellowfin cutthroats survived in Twin Lakes. The yellowfin died out soon after rainbow trout were introduced to Twin Lakes. Other trout interbred with the rainbows, but the yellowfins quickly disappeared and are now completely extinct.’ Nobody shed a tear. In fact there was a smattering of applause for the E word.

Kronski raised a hand. ‘No, no. This is not a cause for joy. It is said that the yellowfin was a very tasty fish, with a particulary sweet flavour. What a pity we shall never taste it.’ He paused dramatically. ‘Or shall we …’ At the rear of the room, a large false wall slid aside to reveal a red velvet curtain. With great ceremony, Kronski pulled a remote control from his jacket and zapped the curtain, which drew back with a smooth swish. Behind it was an enormous trolley bearing what appeared to be a miniature glacier. Silver and steaming.

The guests sat forward, intrigued.

‘What if there was a flash freeze over a hundred years ago in Twin Lakes.’ A twittering began among the diners.

No.

Surely not.

Impossible.

‘What if a frozen chunk of lake was trapped by a landslide deep in an uncharted crevasse and kept solid by near-zero currents.’ Then that would mean …

Inside that chunk …

‘What if that chunk surfaced a mere six weeks ago on the land of my good friend Tommy Kirkenhazard. One of our own faithful members.’ Tommy stood to take a bow, waving his Texas-grey-wolf stetson. Though his teeth were smiling, his eyes were shooting daggers at Kronski. It was obvious to the entire room that there was bad blood between the two.

‘Then it would be possible, outrageously expensive and difficult but possible, to transport that chunk of ice here. A chunk that contains a sizeable shoal of yellowfin cutthroat trout.’ Kronski drew breath to allow this information to sink in. ‘Then we, dear friends, could be the first people to eat yellowfin in a hundred years.’ This prospect even had a few of the vegetarians salivating.

‘Watch, Extinctionists. Watch and be amazed.’

Kronski clicked his fingers and a dozen kitchen staff wheeled the ponderous trolley into the centre of the banqueting area, where it rested on a steel grille. The workers then stripped off their uniforms to reveal monkey costumes underneath.

Have I gone over the top with the monkey rigs? Kronski wondered. Is it just too Broadway?

But a quick survey of his guests assured him that they remained enthralled.

The kitchen staff were actually trained circus acrobats from one of the Cirque du Soleil knock-offs touring north Africa. They were only too glad to take a few days out from their schedule to put on this private show for the Extinctionists.

They swarmed up the huge ice-block, anchoring themselves on with ropes, crampons or grappling hooks, and began demolishing it with chainsaws, flaming swords and flamethrowers, all produced seemingly from nowhere.

It was a spectacular indulgence. Ice flew, showering the guests, and the buzz of machinery was deafening.

Quickly the shoal of yellowfin poked through the blue murk of ice. They hung wide-eyed and frozen in mid-turn, their bodies caught by the flash freeze.

What a way to go, thought Kronski. With absolutely no inkling. Wonderful.

The performers began carving the fish in blocks from the ice, and each one was passed down to one of a dozen line cooks who had appeared from the side doors, wheeling gas burners. Each individual block was slid into a heated colander to steam off excess ice, then the fish were expertly filleted and fried in olive oil with a selection of chunky-cut vegetables and a crushed clove of garlic.

For the vegetarians there was a Champagne mushroom risotto, though Kronski did not anticipate many takers. The non-meat eaters would accept the fish just to stab it.

The meal was a huge success and the level of delighted chatter rose to fill the hall.

Kronski managed to eat half a fillet, in spite of his nerves.

Delicious. Exquisite.

They think that was the highlight, he thought. They ain’t seen nothing yet.

After coffee, when the Extinctionists were loosening their cummerbunds or turning fat cigars for an even burn, Kronski instructed his staff to set up the courtroom.

They responded with the speed and expertise of a Formula One pit-team, as well they should after three months of being whipped into shape. Literally. The workers swarmed across the grid where the melted ice sloshed below like a disturbed swimming pool, a few stray yellowfins floating on the surface. They covered this section of floor and exposed a second pit, this one lined with steel and covered with scorch marks.

Two podiums and a dock were wheeled into the centre of the hall, taking the place of the ice-trolley. The podiums had computers on their swivel tops, and the wooden dock was occupied by a cage. The cage’s resident was masked by a curtain of leopard skin.

The diners’ chatter ceased as they held their breath for the big reveal. This was the moment everyone was waiting for, these millionaires and billionaires paying through the nose for a few moments of ultimate power: holding the fate of an entire species in their hands. Showing the rest of the planet who was boss. The guests did not notice the dozen or so sharpshooters placed discreetly on the upper terrace in case the creature on trial dispayed any new magical powers. There was little chance of a subterranean rescue as the entire hall was built on a foundation of steel rods and concrete.

Kronski milked the moment, rising slowly from his seat, sauntering across to the prosecutor’s podium.

He steepled his fingers, allowing the tension to build, then began his presentation.

‘Every year we put a rare animal on trial.’

There were a few hoots from the audience, which Kronski waved away good-naturedly.

‘A real trial where the host prosecutes and one of you lucky people gets to defend. The idea is simple. If you can convince a jury of your unprejudiced peers …’ More hooting.

‘… that the creature in this cage contributes positively to human existence on this planet, then we will free the creature. This, believe it or not, did happen once in 1983. A little before my time, but I am assured it actually happened. If the defence counsel’s peers are not convinced of the animal’s usefulness, then I press this button.’ And here Kronski’s bulbous fingers twiddled playfully with an oversized red button on his remote control. ‘And the animal drops from its cage into the pit, passing the laser beam that activates the gas-powered flame jets. Voilà: instant cremation.

‘Allow me to demonstrate. Indulge me, it’s a new pit. I’ve been testing it all week.’ He nodded at one of the staff, who yanked up a section of the grid with a steel hook. Kronski then picked a melon from a fruit platter and tossed it into the pit. There was a beep, followed by an eruption of blue-white flame gouts from nozzles ranged around the pit walls. The melon was burned to black floating crisps.

The display drew an impressed round of applause, but not everyone appreciated Kronski’s grandstanding.

Jeffrey Coontz-Meyers cupped both hands round his mouth. ‘Come on, Damon. What have we got tonight? Not another monkey. Every year it’s monkeys.’ Generally interruptions would irritate Kronski, but not tonight. On this night all hectoring, however witty, would be swept from people’s memories the second that curtain was drawn aside.

‘No, Jeffrey, not another monkey. What if …’

Jeffrey Coontz-Meyers groaned vocally. ‘Please, no more what ifs. We had half a dozen with the fish. Show us the blasted creature.’ Kronski bowed. ‘As you wish.’

He thumbed a button on his remote control and a large-view screen descended from the rafters, covering the back wall. Another button pushed and the curtain concealing the caged creature swished smoothly to one side.

Holly was revealed, cuffed to the baby chair, her eyes darting and furious.

At first the main reaction was puzzlement.

Was it a little girl?

It’s just a child.

Has Kronski gone mad? I knew he sang to himself, but this?

Then the Extinctionists’ eyes were drawn to the screen, which was displaying a feed from a camera clamped to the cage.

Oh, my Lord. Her ears. Look at her ears.

She’s not human.

What is that? What is it?

Tommy Kirkenhazard stood. ‘This better not be a hoax, Damon. Or we’ll string you up.’ ‘Two points,’ said Kronski softly. ‘First, this is no hoax. I have unearthed an undiscovered species – as a matter of fact, I believe it to be a fairy. Second, if this were a hoax, you would not be stringing anyone up, Kirkenhazard. My men would cut you down before you could wave that ridiculous hat of yours and shout yee-haw.’ Sometimes it was good to send a shiver down people’s spines. Remind them where the power was.

‘Of course, your scepticism is to be expected, welcomed in fact. To put your minds at rest, I will need a volunteer from the audience. How about you, Tommy? How’s that backbone of yours?’ Tommy Kirkenhazard gulped down half a glass of whiskey to bolster his nerves, then made his way to the cage.

Good performance, Tommy, thought Kronski. It’s almost as if we hadn’t arranged this little confrontation to give me a bit more credibility.

Kirkenhazard stood as close to Holly as he dared, then reached in slowly to tweak her ear.

‘My saints, it’s no fake. This is the real deal.’ He stood back and the truth of what was happening filled his face with joy. ‘We got ourselves a fairy.’ Kirkenhazard rushed across to Kronski’s podium, pumping his hand, clapping his back.

And so my biggest critic is converted. The rest will follow like sheep. Useful animals, sheep.

Kronski silently congratulated himself.

‘I will prosecute the fairy, as is the tradition,’ Kronski told the crowd. ‘But who will defend? Which unlucky member will draw the black ball? Who will it be?’ Kronski nodded at the mâitre d’.

‘Bring the bag.’

Like many ancient organizations, the Extinctionists were bound by tradition, and one of these traditions was that the creature on trial could be defended by any member of the assembly and, if no member were willing, one would be chosen by lottery. A bag of white balls, with one black. The spherical equivalent of the short straw.

‘No need for the bag,’ said a voice. ‘I will defend the creature.’ Heads turned to locate the speaker. It was a slender young man with a goatee and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing tinted glasses and a lightweight linen suit.

Kronski had noticed him earlier, but could not put a name to the face, which disturbed him.

‘And you are?’ he asked, while swivelling his laptop so that the built-in camera was aimed at this stranger.

The young man smiled. ‘Why don’t we give your identification software a moment to whisper the answer to you.’ Kronski thumbed enter, the computer captured an image and five seconds later plucked membership details from the Extinctionists’ file.

Malachy Pasteur. Young French-Irish heir to an abattoir empire. Made a sizeable donation to the Extinctionists’ coffers. His first conference. Like all the attendees, Pasteur was thoroughly vetted before his invitation was issued. A valuable addition to the ranks.

Kronski was all charm.

‘Master Pasteur, we are delighted to welcome you to Morocco. But, tell me, why would you wish to defend this creature? Her fate is almost certainly sealed.’ The young man walked briskly to the podium. ‘I enjoy a challenge. It is a mental exercise.’ ‘Defending vermin is an exercise?’

‘Especially vermin,’ retorted Pasteur, lifting the lid on his laptop. ‘It is easy to defend a servile, useful animal like the common cow. But this? This will be a hard-fought battle.’ ‘A pity to be crushed in battle so young,’ said Kronski, his lower lip hanging with mock sympathy.

Pasteur drummed his fingers on the podium. ‘I have always liked your style, Doctor Kronski. Your commitment to the ideals of Extinctionism. For years I have followed your career, since I was a boy in Dublin, in fact. Lately, however, I feel that the organization has lost its way, and I am not the only one with this notion.’ Kronski ground his teeth. So that was it. A naked challenge to his leadership.

‘Be careful what you say, Pasteur. You tread on dangerous ground.’ Pasteur glanced at the floor below him, where ice water still sloshed in the pit beneath. ‘You mean I could sleep with the fishes. You would kill me, Doctor? A mere boy. I don’t think that would bolster your credibility much.’ He’s right, fumed Kronski. I can’t kill him; I must win this trial.

The doctor forced his mouth to smile. ‘I don’t kill humans,’ he said. ‘Just animals. Like the animal in this cage.’ Kronski’s many supporters applauded, but that still left many silent.

I was wrong to come here, Kronski realized. It is too remote. Nowhere for private jets to land. Next year I will find somewhere in Europe. I will announce the move as soon as I crush this whelp.

‘Allow me to explain the rules,’ continued Kronski, thinking, Explaining the rules puts me in charge, giving me the upper hand, psychologically speaking.

‘No need,’ said Pasteur brusquely. ‘I have read several transcripts. The prosecutor puts his case, the defender puts his case. A few minutes of lively debate, then each table votes. Simple. Can we please proceed, Doctor? No one here appreciates their time being wasted.’ Clever, young man. Putting yourself on the same side as the jury. No matter. I know these people and they will never acquit a beast, no matter how pretty she is.

‘Very well. We shall proceed.’ He selected a document on his desktop. His opening statement. Kronski knew it by heart, but it was comforting to have the words easily accessible.

‘People say that we Extinctionists hate animals,’ began Kronski. ‘But this is not the case. We do not hate poor dumb animals, rather we love humans. We love humans and will do whatever it takes to ensure that we, as a race, survive for as long as possible. This planet has limited resources and I, for one, say we should hoard them for ourselves. Why should humans starve when dumb animals grow fat? Why should humans freeze when beasts lie toasty warm in their coats of fur?’ Malachy Pasteur made a noise somewhere between a cough and a chuckle. ‘Really, Doctor Kronski, I have read several variations on this speech. Every year, it seems, you trot out the same simplistic arguments. Can we please focus on the creature before us tonight?’ A tittering ripple spread among the banquet guests, and Kronski had to struggle to contain his temper. It seemed he had a battle on his hands. Very well, then.

‘Most amusing, boy. I was going to take it easy on you, but now the gloves are off.’ ‘We are delighted to hear it.’

We? We? Pasteur was swinging the Extinctionists his way without them even knowing it.

Kronski summoned every last drop of charisma from inside himself, flashing back to his youth, to those long summer days spent watching his evangelist daddy whip up the crowds inside a canvas tent.

He raised his arms high, each finger bent back until the tendons strained.

‘This is not what we are about, people,’ he thundered. ‘We did not travel all this way for some petty verbal sparring. This is what the Extinctionists are about.’ Kronski pointed a rigid finger at Holly. ‘Ridding our planet of creatures like this.’ Kronski shot a sideways glance at Pasteur, who was leaning, chin on hands, a bemused look on his face. Standard opposition behaviour.

‘We have a new species here, friends. A dangerous species. It can make itself invisible, it can hypnotize through speech. It was armed.’ And, to much oohing from the crowd, Kronski drew forth Holly’s Neutrino handgun from his pocket.

‘Do any of us wish to face a future where this could be pointed in our faces? Do we? The answer, I think, is clearly no. Now, I’m not going to pretend that this is the last one of its kind. I feel certain that there are thousands of these fairies, or aliens, or whatever, all around us. But does that mean we should grovel and release this little creature? I say no. I say we send a message. Execute one and the rest will know we mean business. The governments of the world despise us now, but tomorrow they will come banging down our door for guidance.’ Time for the big finish. ‘We are Extinctionists, and our time is now!’ It was a good speech and drew wave after wave of applause, which Pasteur rode out with the same bemused expression.

Kronski accepted the applause with a boxer’s rolling of the shoulders, then nodded towards the opposite podium.

‘The floor is yours, boy.’

Pasteur straightened and cleared his throat …

… Artemis straightened and cleared his throat. The fake beard glued to his chin itched like crazy, but he resisted the impulse to scratch it. In a fair arena, he would destroy Kronski’s arguments in about five seconds, but this was not a fair arena, or even a sane one. These people were bloodthirsty, jaded billionaires, using their money to buy illicit excitement. Murder was just another service that could be purchased. He needed to handle this crowd carefully. Push the right buttons. First of all he had to establish himself as one of them.

‘When I was young, and the family wintered in South Africa, my grandfather would tell me stories of a time when people had the right attitude towards animals. We kill ‘em when it suits us, he said to me. When it serves our purposes. This is what the Extinctionists used to be about. A species was not protected unless we humans benefited from its survival. We kill when it benefits us. If an animal is using the planet’s resources and not directly contributing to our health, safety and comfort, we wipe it out. Simple as that. This was an ideal worth fighting for. Worth killing for. But this …’ Artemis pointed at the pit below him and Holly in her cage. ‘This is a circus. This is an insult to the memory of our ancestors, who gave their time and gold to the Extinctionists’ cause.’ Artemis worked hard on his eye contact, connecting with as many people as possible in the audience. Lingering for a moment with everyone.

‘We have an opportunity to learn from this creature. We owe it to our predecessors to find out if she can contribute to our coffers. If this is in reality a fairy, then who knows what magic it possesses. Magic that could be yours. If we kill this fairy, we will never know what unimaginable wealth dies with it.’ Artemis bowed. He had made his point. It would not be enough to sway the bloodthirsty Extinctionists, he knew, but it might be enough to make Kronski feel a little less cocky.

The doctor was waving his hands before the echo of Artemis’s voice faded.

‘How many times must we listen to this argument?’ he wondered. ‘Master Pasteur accuses me of repeating myself while he repeats the tired argument of every defence counsel we have ever listened to.’ Kronski tapped his lips in horror. ‘Ooh, let us not kill the creature for it is potentially the source of all our power and wealth. I remember spending a fortune on a sea slug that was supposed to cure arthritis. All we got was very expensive goo. This is all supposition.’ ‘But this creature is magical,’ objected Artemis, banging the podium with a fist. ‘We have all heard how she can turn invisible. Even now her mouth is taped so she cannot hypnotize us. Imagine the power we could wield if we were to unlock the secrets of these gifts. If nothing else, they would better prepare us to deal with the rest of her kind.’ Kronski’s main problem was that he agreed with much of his opposition’s argument. It made perfect sense to save the creature and tease her secrets from her, but he could not afford to lose this argument. If he did, he might as well hand over the leadership.

‘We have tried to interrogate her. Our best men tried and she told us nothing.’ ‘It is difficult to talk with a taped mouth,’ Artemis noted drily.

Kronski drew himself to his full height, lowering the timbre of his voice for effect. ‘The human race faces its most deadly enemy and you want to cosy up to it. That is not how we Extinctionists do things. If there is a threat, we wipe it out. That is how it has always been.’ This brought a roar of approval from the crowd, bloodlust trumping logic every time. Several members were on their feet, hollering. They had had enough of argument and wanted some action.

Kronski’s face was flushed with victory.

He thinks it’s over, thought Artemis. Poor man, and then, This beard really itches.

He waited calmly until the furore had trailed away, then came out from behind the podium.

‘I was hoping to spare you this, Doctor,’ he said. ‘Because I respect you so much.’ Kronski flapped his lips. ‘Spare me what, Master Pasteur?’

‘You know what. I think you have pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes long enough.’ Kronski was not in the least worried. The boy was beaten and everything else was was just irritating chatter. Still, why not let Pasteur dig a hole for himself?

‘And what wool would that be?’

‘Are you certain you want me to continue?’

Kronski’s teeth glittered when he smiled. ‘Oh, absolutely certain.’ ‘As you wish,’ said Artemis, approaching the dock. ‘This creature was not our original defendant. Up until yesterday we had a lemur. Not quite a monkey, Mister Kirkenhazard, but close enough. I say we had a lemur, but in truth we almost had a lemur. It went missing at the pick-up. Then, and this is important, then we were sold this creature by the same boy who almost sold us the lemur, undoubtedly paid for from Extinctionists’ funds. Does anyone else think this is a little off? I do. This boy keeps his lemur and sells us a supposed fairy.’ Kronski was not so cocky now. This Pasteur fellow had a lot of information.

‘Supposed fairy?’

‘That’s right. Supposed. We have only your word for it, and of course that of Mister Kirkenhazard, who apparently is your worst enemy. Nobody is falling for that ruse, I assure you.’ ‘Examine the thing yourself,’ blurted Kronski, glossing over the Kirkenhazard accusation. ‘This is an easy argument to win.’ ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ said Artemis. ‘I believe I shall.’

Artemis approached the cage. This was the tricky part as it required sleight of hand and coordination, which were the elements in every plan that he usually left to Butler.

His pocket bulged slightly with a couple of adhesive Nu-skin bandages taken from Mulch’s medi-kit. He had told the security guard they were nicotine patches and so he had been allowed bring them through to the banquet. The bandages’ adhesive was activated by skin contact and they moulded themselves to the contours they were applied to, assuming the colour and texture of the surrounding skin.

Artemis’s fingers hovered over his pocket, but it was not yet time to touch a bandage. It would simply stick to his own hand. Instead, he reached into his other pocket for the phone he had stolen from the Bentley back at Rathdown Park.

‘This phone is invaluable to me,’ he told the Extinctionists. ‘It’s a little bulkier than other phones, but that is because I have been installing add-ons for years. It is an amazing thing, really. I can stream television, watch movies, check my stocks, all the standard stuff. But I also have an X-ray camera and display. Just give me a second.’ Artemis pressed a few buttons, linking the phone by Bluetooth to the laptops and from there to the large-view screen.

‘Ah, here we are,’ Artemis said, passing the phone in front of his hand. On screen an arrangement of phalanges, metacarpals and carpals stood out darkly inside a pale foam of flesh. ‘You see the bones of my hand quite clearly. This is a very good projection system you have, Doctor Kronski. I congratulate you.’ Kronski’s smile was as fake as the congratulations had been.

‘Do you have a point, Pasteur, or are you just showing us how clever you are?’ ‘Oh, I have a point, Doctor. And the point is that were it not for the wideness of the brow and the pointed ears, this creature would seem remarkably like a little girl.’ Kronski snorted. ‘A pity about the ears and brow. But for them you would have an argument.’ ‘Precisely,’ said Artemis, and passed the phone before Holly’s face. On screen, he played a short movie file he had constructed back in the shuttle. It showed Holly’s skull with dark dense shapes on temples and ears.

‘Implants,’ crowed Artemis. ‘Clearly the result of surgery. This fairy is a clever fake. You have tried to dupe us, Kronski.’ Kronski’s denials were lost in the roar of the crowd. The Extinctionists surged to their feet, decrying this despicable con-job.

‘You lied to me, Damon!’ shouted Tommy Kirkenhazard, with something like anguish. ‘To me.’ ‘Put him in the pit,’ called Contessa Irina Kostovich, her face as feral as that of the Honshu wolf on her shoulder. ‘Make Kronski extinct. He deserves it for dragging us here.’ Kronski upped the volume on his podium mike. ‘This is ridiculous. If you have been tricked, then so have I. No! I will not believe it. This boy, this Pasteur, is lying. My fairy is real. Just give me a chance to prove it.’ ‘I have not finished, Doctor,’ cried Artemis, stepping boldly to the dock. In both hands he held a Nu-skin patch, slipped into his palms during the confusion. He could feel pinpricks of heat on his flesh as the adhesive was activated. He had to act quickly or his plans would be reduced to two flesh-coloured pads on his own hands.

‘These ears do not seem right to me. And your friend Mister Kirkenhazard was most gentle with them.’ Artemis scrunched one Nu-skin patch into a rough cone, sealing the adhesive on itself. He thrust the other hand through the bars and make a great show of tugging on the tip, while in reality spreading the second bandage over Holly’s ear. Covering the entire tip and most of the auricle.

‘It’s coming away,’ he grunted, making sure to mask the cage’s camera with his forearm. ‘I have it.’ Seconds later the bandage was dry and one of Holly’s ears was totally obscured. Artemis looked her in the eye and winked.

Play along, the wink said. I will get you out of this.

At least Artemis hoped this was what his wink communicated and not something like any chance of another kiss later?

Back to business.

‘It’s a fake,’ called Artemis, holding high the crumpled flesh-coloured bandage. ‘It came off in my hand.’ Holly obligingly presented her profile to the web cam. No more pointed ear.

Outrage was the dominant reaction from the Extinctionists.

Kronski had tricked them all or, even worse, he had been bamboozled by a boy.

Artemis held the supposed fake ear aloft, squeezing it as though he were strangling a poisonous snake.

‘Is this the man we want to lead us? Has Doctor Kronski displayed sound judgement in this case?’ Artemis threw the ‘ear’ to the ground. ‘And supposedly this creature can hypnotize us all. I rather think her mouth is covered so she cannot speak.’ With one sharp movement, he ripped the tape from Holly’s mouth. She winced and shot Artemis a dour glare, but then quickly dissolved into tears, playing the part of human victim to perfection.

‘I didn’t want to do it,’ she sobbed.

‘Do what?’ Artemis prompted.

‘Doctor Kronski took me from the orphanage.’

Artemis raised an eyebrow. The orphanage? Holly was ad-libbing.

‘He told me if I had the implants, then I could live in America. After the operation I changed my mind, but the doctor wouldn’t let me go.’ ‘An orphanage,’ said Artemis. ‘Why, that’s bordering on the unbelievable.’ Holly’s chin dropped. ‘He said he’d kill me if I told.’

Artemis was outraged. ‘He said he’d kill you. And this is the man steering our organization. A man who hunts humans as well as animals.’ He pointed an accusing finger at a bewildered Kronski. ‘You, sir, are worse than the creatures we all despise, and I demand you release this poor girl.’ Kronski was finished and he knew it. But something could still be salvaged from this mess. He still had the group’s account numbers and he was the only one with the combination to the compound safe. He could be out of this place in two hours with enough riches to last a few years. All he had to do was somehow stop this Pasteur boy hamming it up.

And then he remembered. Ham!

‘And what about this?’ he shouted, brandishing Holly’s gun. ‘I suppose this is fake too.’ The Extinctionists drew back. Cowering behind their seats.

‘Absolutely,’ sneered Artemis. ‘A child’s toy. Nothing more.’

‘Would you stake your life on it?’

Artemis appeared to hesitate. ‘N-no need for dramatics, Doctor. Your cause is lost. Accept it.’ ‘No,’ snapped Kronski. ‘If the gun is real, then the creature is real. And if she is not real, as you insist, then you have nothing to fear.’ Artemis summoned his courage. ‘Very well, do your worst.’ He stood squarely before the tiny needle barrel, offering his chest.

‘You are about to die, Pasteur,’ said Kronski, without much sympathy.

‘Perhaps I would be, if you could squeeze your chubby finger into the trigger guard,’ said Artemis, almost as if he were goading the doctor into action.

‘To hell with you, then!’ barked Kronski, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing much happened. A spark and a slight hum from the inner workings.

‘It’s broken,’ gasped the doctor.

‘You don’t say,’ said Artemis, who had remote-destructed the Neutrino’s charge pack from the shuttle.

Kronski raised his palms. ‘OK, boy. OK. Give me a moment to think.’ ‘Just let the girl go, Doctor. Save a shred of dignity. We don’t execute humans.’ ‘I am in charge here. I just need a second to gather myself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is not how she said it would go …’ The doctor rested his elbows on the lectern, rubbing his eyes beneath the round tinted spectacles.

How she said it would go? thought Artemis. Were there unseen forces at work here?

While Artemis was puzzling and Kronski’s world collapsed around his ample shoulders, mobile phones began to ring in the banqueting hall. A lot of people were receiving messages all of a sudden. In moments the room rang with a discordant symphony of beeps, brrrs and polyphonic tunes.

Kronski ignored this strange development, but Artemis was anxious. He had things under control now and did not need anything to redress the scales, or for that matter tip Kronski over the edge.

The reactions to the incoming messages were a mixture of shock and glee.

Oh, my God. Is this true? Is it real?

Play it again. Turn up the volume.

I don’t believe this. Kronski, you fool.

That’s the last straw. We are a joke. The Extinctionists are finished.

Artemis realized that all these messages were in fact the same message. Someone had an Extinctionists’ database and was sending them all a video.

Artemis’s own phone trilled gently. Of course it would, he had put his fake identity on every Extinctionist database he could find. And as his phone was still linked to the giant screen, the video mail began to play automatically.

Artemis recognized the scene immediately. The leather souq. And the main player was Kronski, standing on one leg, squealing with a high-pitched ruptured-balloon intensity. Comical was not the word for it. Ridiculous, farcical and pathetic were words that came close. One thing was certain, having seen the video, no one in their right mind could respect this man ever again, much less follow his lead.

While the video played, a short message scrolled below the picture.

Here we see Doctor Damon Kronski, the president of the Extinctionists, displaying surprising balance for a man his size. This reporter has learned that Kronski turned against animals when he was mauled by an escaped koala at one of his politician father’s rallies in Cleveland. Witnesses to the mauling say that young Damon ‘squealed so sharp he coulda cut glass’. A talent the good doctor does not seem to have lost. Squeal, baby, squeal.

Artemis sighed. I did this, he realized. It’s just the kind of thing I would do.

At another time, he would have appreciated this touch, but not now. Not when he was so close to freeing Holly.

Speaking of Holly.

‘Artemis, get me out of here,’ she hissed.

‘Yes, of course. Time to go.’

Artemis rifled his pockets for a handy wipe. Inside the wipe were three long, coarse hairs donated by Mulch Diggums. Dwarf hairs are actually antennae that dwarfs use to navigate in dark tunnels, and have been adapted by the resourceful race to serve as skeleton keys. No doubt, Holly’s Omnitool would have been handier, but Artemis could not risk losing that to security. The wipe had kept the hairs moist and pliable until they were needed.

Artemis removed the first hair, blew a speck of moisture from its tip and inserted it into the cage lock, working it through the cogs. As soon as he felt the hair harden in his fingers, he turned the makeshift key and the door sprang open.

‘Thank you, Mulch,’ he whispered, then went to work on Holly’s centrally locked cuffs. The third hair would not even be needed. In seconds Holly was free and rubbing her wrists.

‘Orphanage?’ said Artemis. ‘You don’t think that was overdoing it?’ ‘Boo hoo,’ said Holly briskly. ‘Let’s just get back to the shuttle.’ It was not to be that straightforward.

Kronski was being herded into a corner by a group of Extinctionists. They harangued and even prodded and poked the doctor, ignoring his arguments, while overhead the video message played again and again.

Oops, thought Artemis, closing his phone.

Inevitably perhaps, Kronski cracked. He batted his tormentors aside like bowling pins, clearing a circle of breathing space for himself, then, panting, he pulled a walkie-talkie from its clip on his belt.

‘Secure the area,’ he wheezed into the device. ‘Use all necessary force.’ Even though the Domaine des Hommes security guards were technically working for the Extinctionists, their loyalties lay with the man who paid their salaries. That man was Damon Kronski. He might dress like a demented peacock and have the manners of a desert dog, but he knew the combination to the safe and paid the wages on time.

The sharpshooters on the upper terrace sent a few warning shots over the crowd’s head, which caused utter pandemonium.

‘Lock the building down,’ said Kronski into the walkie-talkie. ‘I need time to gather my funds. Ten thousand dollars in cash for every man who stands by me.’ There was no need for further incentive. Ten thousand dollars was two years’ wages to these men.

Doors and shutters were slammed down and manned by burly guards, each one brandishing a rifle or a custom-made Moroccan nimcha sword with rhino grip that Kronski had had made for the security team.

The spooked Extinctionists bolted towards bathrooms or alcoves, anywhere that might have a window. They frantically punched numbers into their phones, screaming for help from anyone, anywhere.

A few were more resourceful. Tommy Kirkenhazard pulled out a ceramic handgun he had smuggled in under his hat and took a few potshots at the upper terrace from behind a heavy teak bar. He was answered by a volley from above, with shattered bottles, mirrors and glasses sending slivers flying like arrowheads.

With a straight fingered jab to the solar plexus, a tall Asian man quickly disarmed a door guard.

‘This way!’ he called, flinging the fire door wide. The portal was quickly jammed with Extinctionist torsos.

Artemis and Holly sheltered behind the cage, watching for a way out.

‘Can you shield?’

Holly twisted her chin and one arm rippled out of sight. ‘I’m low on juice. I have just about enough for a minute or two. I’ve been saving it.’ Artemis scowled. ‘You are always low on juice. Didn’t Number One fill you up with his signature magic?’ ‘Maybe if your bodyguard hadn’t plugged me with a dart – twice. Maybe if I hadn’t had to heal you at Rathdown Park. And maybe if I hadn’t been shielding in the souq, trying to find your monkey.’ ‘Lemur,’ said Artemis. ‘At least we saved Jayjay.’

Holly ducked as a hail of glass shot over her head. ‘My goodness, Artemis. You sound like you actually care about an animal. Nice beard by the way.’ ‘Thank you. Now, do you think you could shield for long enough to disarm those two guards on the kitchen door behind us?’ Holly sized the two men up. Both had shotguns and were radiating enough malevolence to ripple the air. ‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’ ‘Good. Do it quietly. We don’t want another bottleneck. If we do get separated, let’s meet somewhere close. At the souq.’ ‘OK,’ said Holly, vibrating into invisibility.

A second later Artemis felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard a disembodied voice in his ear.

‘You came for me,’ whispered Holly. ‘Thank you.’ Then the hand was gone.

All magic has a price. When fairies shield, they sacrifice fine motor skills and clear thought. It is infinitely more difficult to do a jigsaw when your body is vibrating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, even if your brain could stop rattling for long enough to focus on the puzzle.

In the LEP Academy, Holly had picked up a tip from an Atlantean gym coach. It really helped to beat the shield-shakes if you sucked your lower abdominals in and up, strengthening your core. It gave you something to focus on and held your torso a little tighter.

Holly practised the exercise as she crossed the banquet floor towards the kitchen. When a frantic, butter-knife-wielding Extinctionist missed her by a shade, she thought that sometimes being invisible was more dangerous than being in plain sight.

The two guards on the door were actually growling at anyone who ventured too close. They were big, even for humans, and Holly was glad that no fine motor skill would be called for. Two quick jabs into the nerve cluster above the knee should be plenty to bring these guys down.

Simple, thought Holly, then, I shouldn’t have thought that. Whenever you think that, something goes wrong.

Of course she was dead right.

Someone started firing on Kronski’s guards. Silver darts streaked through the air, then punctured skin with a sickening thunk.

Holly knew instinctively who the shooter was, then her suspicions were confirmed when she spotted a familiar silhouette anchored in the roof beams.

Butler!

The bodyguard was draped in a desert blanket, but Holly identified him from the shape of his head and also from his unmistakable shooting position: left elbow cocked out a little more than most marksmen preferred.

Young Artemis sent him back to clear a path for us, she realized. Or maybe Butler made the decision himself.

Whichever it was, Butler was not helping as much as he hoped. With the guards dropping at the fire exit, the Extinctionists were piling over their fallen captors, desperate to be free of this building.

Caged Extinctionists, thought Holly. I’m sure Artemis appreciates that irony.

Just as Holly drew back her fists, the two guards at the kitchen door clutched their necks and pitched forward, unconscious before they hit the floor.

Nice shooting. Two shots in under a second from eighty metres out. With darts too, which are about as accurate as wet sponges.

She was not the only one to notice the unguarded door. A dozen hysterical Extinctionists rushed the portal, screaming like rock-band fans.

We need to exit this building. Now.

Holly turned towards Artemis, but he was lost in a clump of advancing Extinctionists.

He must be somewhere in there, she thought, then she was pinned by the mob, borne aloft and into the kitchen.

‘Artemis,’ she called, completely forgetting that she was still invisible. ‘Artemis!’ But he was nowhere to be seen. The world was a melee of elbows and torsos. Sweat and screams. Voices were in her ears and ragged breath on her face, and by the time she had disentangled herself from the pack, the banquet hall was virtually deserted. A few stragglers, but no Artemis.

The souq, she thought. I will find him in the souq.

Artemis tensed himself to run. As soon as Holly took the guards out of commission, he would sprint as fast as he could and pray that he didn’t trip and fall. Imagine, to endure all of this only to be defeated by a lack of coordination. Butler would be sure to say I told you so when they met in the afterlife.

Suddenly the pandemonium level jumped a few notches, and the screaming of the Extinctionists reminded Artemis of Rathdown Park’s panicked animals.

Caged Extinctionists, he thought. Oh, the irony.

The kitchen-door guards fell, clutching their throats.

Nice work, Captain.

Artemis bent low, like a sprinter waiting for the gun, then catapulted himself from his hiding place behind the dock.

Kronski hit him broadside with his full weight, tumbling them both through the railings into the dock. Artemis landed heavily on the baby chair and it collapsed underneath him, one of its arms raking along his side.

‘This is all your fault,’ squealed Kronski. ‘This was supposed to be the best night of my life.’ Artemis felt himself being smothered. His mouth and nose were jammed by sweat-soaked purple material.

He intends to kill me, thought Artemis. I have pushed him too far.

There was no time for planning and, even if there were time, this was not one of those situations where a handy mathematical theorem could be found to get Artemis out of his predicament. There was only only one thing to do: lash out.

So Artemis kicked, punched and gouged. He buried his knee in Kronski’s ample stomach and blinded him with his fists.

All very superficial blows which had little lasting effect, except one. Artemis’s right heel brushed against Kronski chest. Kronski didn’t even feel it. But the heel connected briefly with the oversized button on the remote control in the doctor’s pocket, releasing the dock trapdoor.

The second his brain registered the loss of back support, Artemis knew what had happened.

I am dead, he realized. Sorry, Mother.

Artemis fell bodily into the pit, breaking the laser beam with his elbow. There was a beep and half a second later the pit was filled with blue-white flame that blasted black scorch marks in the walls.

Nothing could have survived.

Kronski braced himself against the dock rails, perspiration dripping from the tip of his nose into the pit, evaporating on the way down.

Do I feel bad about what just happened? he asked himself, aware that psychologists recommended facing trauma head-on in order to avoid stress in later life.

No, he found. I don’t. In fact, I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

Kronski raised himself up with a great creaking and cracking of knees.

Now, where’s the other one? he wondered. I still have some weight to lose.

Artemis saw the flames blossom around him. He saw his skin glow blue with their light and heard their raw roar, then he was through, unscathed.

Impossible.

Obviously not. Obviously, these flames had more bark about them than bite.

Holograms?

The pit floor yielded beneath his weight with a hiss of pneumatics, and Artemis found himself in a sub-chamber looking up at heavy steel doors swinging closed above him.

The view from inside a swing-top bin.

A very high-tech swing-top bin, with expanding gel hinges. Fairy design, without a doubt.

Artemis remembered something Kronski had said earlier.