The Last Guardian

Butler placed a finger to his lips.

 

“And that would mean you wish me to be quiet. Oh, I understand.”

 

Artemis’s words were enough to elicit a reaction from inside the lab, taking the form of an aluminium arrow that penetrated the partition wall, thunking through the plasterboard, sending flakes fluttering.

 

Butler and Holly did not discuss a strategy, as they were both experienced soldiers and knew that the best time to attack was directly after shots had been fired—or in this case, arrows.

 

“Left,” said Butler, and that was all he needed to say. Translated for the layman, his utterance signified that he would take any hostiles on the left of the room, leaving the right side for Holly.

 

They darted low going in, splitting into two targets as they crossed the floor. Butler had the advantage of being extremely familiar with the lab’s layout, and he knew that the only logical hiding place would be behind the long stainless steel workbench where Artemis played around with the unknown and built his experimental models.

 

I have always wondered how secure this thing is, he thought, before charging it like a football player entering a scrimmage where the cost of losing was death. He heard an arrow whistle past his ear a second before his shoulder rammed the stainless steel, lifting the bench from its supply cables in a flurry of sparks and a hiss of gas.

 

Gobdaw clambered on top of the bench, and he had both a short sword and fire stick raised to strike when the Bunsen burner gas said hello to the electric cable. Sparks and a brief explosion resulted, flipping the Berserker backward into the velvet curtains.

 

Bellico assessed the situation quickly and bolted toward the office.

 

Butler saw her go. “I’m after Juliet,” he barked at Holly. “You subdue Myles.”

 

Perhaps the boy is unconscious, thought Holly, but this hope faded as she saw Myles Fowl disentangle himself from the velvet curtains. The look in his eyes told her that there was still a Berserker in that body and that he was not in the mood for surrender. He was armed only with a short blade now, but Holly knew the Berserkers would fight to the last drop of blood, even if the blood was not, strictly speaking, their own.

 

“Don’t hurt him,” said Artemis. “He’s only four years old.”

 

Gobdaw grinned, showing a mouthful of baby teeth, which Myles cleaned religiously with a toothbrush modeled on Einstein’s head, the bristles being Einstein’s trademark spiky hair. “That’s right, traitor. Gobdaw is only four years old, so don’t hurt me.”

 

Holly wished that Artemis would stay out of it. This Gobdaw might look innocent, but he had far more battle experience than she would ever wish to have; and, judging by the way he was twirling the blade on his palm, he hadn’t lost any of his knife skills.

 

If this guy was in his own body, he would take me apart, she realized.

 

Holly’s problem was that her heart was not in this fight. Quite apart from the fact that she was battling Artemis’s little brother, this was Gobdaw, for heaven’s sake. Gobdaw the legend. Gobdaw, who had led the charge at Taillte. Gobdaw, who had carried a wounded comrade across an icy lake at Bellannon. Gobdaw, who’d been cornered by two wolves in a cave after the Cooley raid and come out of that cave wearing a new fur coat.

 

The two soldiers circled each other.

 

“Is it true about the wolves?” Holly asked in Gnommish.

 

Gobdaw missed a step, surprised. “The wolves at Cooley? How do you know this tale?”

 

“Are you kidding?” said Holly. “Everyone knows that. At school, it was part of the pageant, every year. To be honest, I am sick of that story. Two wolves, right?”

 

“There were two,” said Gobdaw. “One was sickly, though.”

 

Gobdaw began his strike in mid-sentence, as Holly had known he would. His blade hand darted forward, aiming for his opponent’s midriff; but he didn’t have quite the reach he used to possess, and Holly rapped him hard on the nerve cluster in his deltoid, deadening the arm. That arm was about as much use now as a lead pipe hanging from his shoulder.

 

“D’Arvit,” swore Gobdaw. “You are a tricky one. Females were ever treacherous.”

 

“Keep talking,” said Holly. “I am liking you less and less, which should make my job a lot easier.”

 

Gobdaw took three running steps and jumped onto a Regency hall chair, grabbing one of two crossed reproduction pikes from the wall.

 

“Be careful, Myles!” shouted Artemis, from force of habit. “That’s very sharp.”

 

“Sharp is it, Mud Boy? That’s the way I like my spears.” The warrior’s face twisted as though on the point of sneezing, then Myles broke through for a second.

 

“It’s not a spear, idiot. It’s a pike. You call yourself a warrior?”

 

Then the features twisted again, and Gobdaw was back. “Shaddup, boy. I’m in charge of this body.”