The countdown on Roots chest ticked faster than before, flickering through the numbers. There were only moments left now.
The commander struggled to his feet, raising the visor on his helmet. His eyes were steady and fearless. He smiled gently at Holly. A smile that laid no blame. For once there wasnt even a touch of feverish temper in his cheeks.
Be well, he said, and then an orange flame blossomed in the centre of his chest.
The explosion sucked the air from the tunnel, feeding on the oxygen. Multicoloured flames roiled like the plumage of battling birds. Holly was shunted backwards by a wall of shock waves, the force impacting on every surface inch facing the commander. Microfilaments blew in her suit as they were overloaded with heat and force. The camera cylinder on her helmet popped right out of its groove, spinning into E37.
Holly herself was borne bodily into the chute, spinning like a twig in a cyclone. Sonix sponges in her earpieces sealed automatically as the sound of the explosion caught up with the blast. The commander had disappeared inside a ball of flame. He was gone, there was no doubt about it. Even magic could not help him now. Some things are beyond fixing.
The contents of the access tunnel, including Root and Scalene, disintegrated into a cloud of shrapnel and dust, particles ricocheting off the tunnel walls. The cloud surged down the path of least resistance, which was, of course, directly after Holly. She barely had time to activate her wings and climb a few metres before flying shrapnel drilled a hole in the chute wall below her.
Holly hovered in the vast tunnel, the sound of her own breathing filling her helmet. The commander was dead. It was unbelievable. Just like that, at the whim of a vengeful pixie. Had there been a sweet spot on the device? Or had she actually missed the target? She would probably never know. But to the LEP observers it would seem as though she had shot her own commander.
Holly glanced downwards. Below her, fragments from the explosion were spiralling towards the Earths core. As they neared the revolving magma sphere, the heat ignited each one, utterly cremating all that was left of Julius Root. For the briefest moment the particles twinkled, gold and bronze, like a million stars falling to earth.
Holly hung there for several minutes, trying to absorb what had happened. She couldnt. It was too awful. Instead, she froze the pain and guilt, preserving it for later. Right now she had an order to follow. And she would follow it, even if it were the last thing she ever did, because it had been the last order Julius Root would ever give.
Holly increased the power to her wings, rising through the massive charred chute. There were Mud Men to be saved.
* * *
Chapter 4: Narrow Escapes
M UNICH
Munich during working hours was like any other major city in the world: utterly congested. In spite of the U-Bahn, an efficient and comfortable rail system, the general population preferred the privacy and comfort of their own cars, with the result that Artemis and Butler were stuck on the airport road in a rush-hour traffic jam that stretched all the way from the International Bank to the Kronski Hotel.
Master Artemis did not like delays. But today he was too focused on his latest acquisition, The Fairy Thief, still sealed in its perspex tube. Artemis itched to open it, but the previous owners, Crane & Sparrow, could somehow have booby-trapped the container. Just because there were no visible traps didnt mean that there couldnt be an invisible one. An obvious trick would be to vacuum-pack the canvas, then inject a corrosive gas that would react with oxygen and burn the painting.
It took almost two hours to reach the hotel, a journey that should have taken twenty minutes. Artemis changed into a dark cotton suit, then called up Fowl Manors number on his mobile phones speed dial. But before he connected, he linked the phone by firewire to his Powerbook so he could record the conversation. Angeline Fowl answered on the third ring.
Arty, said his mother, sounding slightly out of breath, as though she had been in the middle of something. Angeline Fowl did not believe in taking life easy, and was probably halfway through a Tai Bo workout.
How are you, Mother?
Angeline sighed down the phone line. Im fine, Arty, but you sound like youre doing a job interview, as usual. Always so formal. Couldnt you call me Mum or even Angeline? Would that be so terrible?
I dont know, Mother. Mum sounds so infantile. I am fourteen now, remember?
Angeline laughed. How could I forget? Not many teenage boys ask for a ticket to a genetics symposium for their birthday.