After several minutes he was satisfied, and he was on the point of returning the device to the case when it registered a tiny electrical field. Nothing much, barely a single flickering blue bar on the indicator. The first bar solidified, then turned bright blue. The second bar began to flicker. Something electronic was closing in on them. Most men would have discounted the reading; after all, there were several thousand electronic devices within a square mile of the Kronski Hotel. But normal electronic fields did not register on the Eye Spy, and Butler was not most men. He extended the sweepers aerial and panned the device around the room. The reading spiked when the aerial was pointing at the window. A claw of anxiety tugged at Butlers intestines. Something airborne was coming closer at high speed.
He dashed to the window, ripping the net curtains from their hooks and flinging the window wide open. The winter air was pale blue, with remarkably few clouds. Jet trails criss-crossed the sky like a giants game of noughts and crosses. And there, twenty degrees up, a gentle spiralling curve, was a tear-shaped rocket of blue metal. A red light winked on its nose and white-hot flames billowed from its rear end. The rocket was heading for the Kronski, no doubt about it.
Its a smart bomb, Butler said to himself, without one iota of doubt. And Master Artemis is the target.
Butlers brain began flicking through his list of alternatives. It was a short list. There were only two choices really: get out or die. It was how to get out that was the problem. They were three storeys up, with the exit on the wrong side. He spared a moment to take one last look at the approaching missile. It was unlike anything hed ever seen. Even the emission was different from conventional weapons, with hardly any vapour trail. Whatever this was, it was brand new. Somebody must very badly want Artemis dead.
Butler turned from the window and barged into Artemiss bedroom. The young master was busy conducting his tests on The Fairy Thief.
Is there a problem? asked Artemis.
Butler did not reply, because he didnt have time. Instead he grabbed the teenager by the scruff of the neck and hoisted him on to his own back.
The painting! Artemis managed to shout, his voice muffled by the bodyguards jacket.
Butler grabbed the picture, unceremoniously stuffing the priceless masterpiece into his jacket pocket. If Artemis had seen the century-old oil paint crack, he would have sobbed. But Butler was paid to protect only one thing, and it was not The Fairy Thief.
Hang on extremely tightly, advised the massive bodyguard, hefting a king-size mattress from the bed.
Artemis held on tightly as hed been told, trying not to think. Unfortunately his brilliant brain automatically analysed the available data: Butler had entered the room at speed and without knocking, therefore there was danger of some kind. His refusal to answer questions meant that the danger was imminent. And the fact that he was on Butlers back, hanging on tightly, indicated that they would not be escaping the aforementioned danger through conventional exit routes. The mattress would indicate that some cushioning would be needed
Butler, gasped Artemis. You do know that were three storeys up?
Butler may have answered, but his employer did not hear him, because by then the giant bodyguard had propelled them through the open double windows and over the balcony railing.
For a fraction of a second, before the inevitable fall, the air currents spun the mattress round and Artemis could see back into his own bedroom. In that splinter of a moment, he saw a strange missile corkscrew through the bedroom door and come to a complete halt, directly over the empty perspex tube.
There was some kind of tracker in the tube, said the tiny portion of his brain that wasnt panicking. Someone wants me dead.
Then came the inevitable fall. Ten metres. Straight down.
Butler automatically spread his limbs in a skydiving X, bearing down on the four corners of the mattress to stop it flipping. The trapped air below the mattress slowed their fall slightly, but not much. The pair went straight down, fast, G-force increasing their speed with every centimetre.
Sky and ground seemed to stretch and drip like oil paints on a canvas, and nothing seemed solid any more. This impression came to an abrupt halt when they slammed into the extremely solid tiled roof of a maintenance shed at the hotels rear. The tiles seemed almost to explode under the impact, though the roof timbers held, just. Butler felt as though his bones had been liquidized, but he knew that he would be OK after a few moments unconsciousness. He had been in worse collisions before.
His last impression before his senses deserted him was the feel of Master Artemiss heartbeat through his jacket. Alive then. They had both survived. But for how long? If their assassin had seen his attempt fail, then maybe he would try again.
Artemiss impact was cushioned by Butler and the mattress. Without them he would certainly have been killed. As it was, the bodyguards muscle-bound frame was dense enough to break two of his ribs. Artemis bounced a full metre into the air before coming to rest on the unconscious bodyguards back, facing the sky.
Each breath was short and painful, and two nubs of bone rose like knuckles from his chest. Sixth and seventh ribs, he guessed.
Overhead, a block of iridescent blue light flashed from his hotel window. It lit the sky for a split second, its belly busy with even brighter blue flares that wriggled like hooked worms. No one would pay much attention; the light could easily have come from an oversized camera flash. But Artemis knew better.