There was no time to scream; all No1 could do was disappear into a million flashing pinpoints of light, which quickly wound themselves into a tight band following a path to another dimension. In seconds there was nothing left to show that No1 had ever been there but a spinning silver bangle.
It would be a long time, relatively speaking, before anyone missed him. And no one would care enough to come looking.
THE MASSIMO BELLINI THEATRE, SICILY
To look at Artemis Fowl, you would have thought that he was here simply for the opera. One hand trained a pair of opera glasses on the stage; the other hand conducted expertly, following the score note for note.
‘Maria Callas is the acknowledged seminal Norma,’ he said to Holly, who nodded politely, then rolled her eyes at Butler. ‘But I have a confession: I actually prefer Montserrat Caballé. She took the role on in the seventies. Of course, I have only heard recordings, but to me, Caballé’s performance is more robust.’
‘Really,’ said Holly. ‘I’m trying to care, Artemis, really. But I thought it was all supposed to be over when the fat lady sings. Well, she’s singing, but it doesn’t appear to be over.’
Artemis smiled, exposing his incisors. ‘That’s Wagner you’re thinking of.’
Butler did not participate in the opera-related chit-chat. To him it was just another layer of distraction to be zoned out. Instead, he decided to test the night-vision filter on Holly’s new helmet. If it could indeed overcome the white-out problem, as Holly claimed, then he would have to ask Artemis to procure one for him.
Needless to say, Holly’s helmet would not fit Butler’s head. In fact, it would barely slot over his fist, so the bodyguard folded the filter’s left wing out until he could squint through it by holding the helmet to his cheek.
The effect was impressive. The filter successfully equalized the light throughout the building. It boosted or dimmed so that every person in the building was seen in the same light. Those on the stage appeared caked in make-up, and those in the boxes had no shadows to hide in.
Butler panned across the boxes, satisfying himself that there was no threat present. He saw plenty of nose-picking and handholding, sometimes by the same people. But nothing obviously dangerous. But in a second-tier box, adjacent to the stage, there was a girl with a head of blonde curls, all dressed up for a night of theatre.
Butler immediately recalled seeing the same girl at the materialization site in Barcelona. And now she was here too? Coincidence? There was no such thing. In the bodyguard’s experience, if you saw a stranger more than once, either they were following you, or you were both after the same thing.
He scanned the rest of the box. There were two men behind the girl. One in his fifties, paunchy, expensive tuxedo, was filming the stage with his mobile-phone camera. This was the first man from Barcelona. The second man was there too, possibly Chinese, wiry, spiked hair. He had apparently not yet recovered from his leg injury and was adjusting one of his crutches. He flipped it round, removed a rubber grip from the foot, then nestled it against his shoulder like a rifle.
Butler automatically moved between Artemis and the man’s line of fire. Not that the crutch was aimed at his charge; it was pointed stage right. A metre from the soprano. Just where Artemis was expecting his demon to show up.
‘Holly,’ he said in a low, calm voice. ‘I think you should shield.’
Artemis lowered his opera glasses. ‘Problems?’
‘Maybe,’ replied Butler. ‘Though not for us. I think somebody else knows about the new materialization figures, and I think they’re planning to do more than just observe.’
Artemis tapped his chin with two fingers, thinking fast. ‘Where?’
‘Tier two. Beside the stage. I see one possible weapon trained on the stage. Not a standard gun. Maybe a modified dart rifle.’
Artemis leaned forward, gripping the brass rail. ‘They plan to take the demon alive, if one turns up. In that case, they will need a distraction.’
Holly was on her feet. ‘What can we do?’
‘It’s too late to stop them,’ said Artemis, a frown slashing his brow. ‘If we interfere, we may upset the distraction, in which case the demon will be exposed. If these people are clever enough to be here, you may be sure their plan is a good one.’
Holly claimed her helmet, slotting it over her ears. Air pads automatically inflated to cradle her head. ‘I can’t just let them kidnap a fairy.’
‘You have no choice,’ snapped Artemis, risking the audience’s displeasure. ‘Best and most likely case scenario, nothing happens. No materialization.’
Holly scowled. ‘You know as well as I do that fortune never sends the best-case scenario our way. You have too much bad karma.’
Artemis had to chuckle. ‘You’re right, of course. Worst-case scenario, a demon appears, they anchor it with the dart rifle, we interfere and in the confusion the demon is swept up by the local polizia and we all end up in custody.’
‘Not good. So we just sit back and watch.’
‘Butler and I sit back and watch. You get over there and record as much data as possible. And when these people go, you go after them.’
Holly activated her wings. They slid from her backpack, crackling blue as the flight computer sent a charge through them.
‘How much time do I have?’ asked Holly, as she faded from sight.
Artemis checked the stopwatch on his watch.
‘If you hurry,’ he said, ‘none.’
Holly launched herself out over the audience, controlling her trajectory using the joystick built into the thumb of her glove. She soared above the gathered humans, invisible.
With the aid of her helmet’s filters, she could clearly see the occupants of the stage-side box.
Artemis was wrong. There was time to stop this. All she had to do was throw the shooter’s aim off a little. The demon would never get anchored, and Section Eight could track these Mud Men at their leisure. It was simply a matter of touching the marksman’s elbow with her buzz baton to make him lose control of all his motor functions for a few seconds. Plenty of time for a demon to appear, then disappear.
Then Holly smelled burning ozone and felt heat on her arm. Artemis was not wrong. There was no time. Someone was coming.
No1 appeared on the stage, more or less intact. The trip had cost him the last knuckle on his right index finger, and about two gigabytes worth of memories. But they were mostly bad memories and he had never been very good with his hands.
Dematerialization isn’t a particularly painful process, but materialization happens to be a thoroughly enjoyable one. The brain is so happy to register all the body’s essential bits and bobs coming together again that it releases a surge of happy endorphins.
No1 looked at the nub where his previously whole index finger used to be.
‘Look,’ he said, tittering. ‘No finger.’
Then he noticed the humans. Scores of them, arranged in rings, rising up to the heavens. No1 knew instantly what this must be.
‘A theatre. I’m in a theatre. With only seven and a half fingers. I have only seven and a half fingers, not the theatre.’ This observation brought on another fit of giggles, and that would have been about it for No1. He would have been whisked off to the next stop on his interdimensional jaunt, had not a human near the stage aimed a tube at him.