“What!” exclaimed Butler. “Where did they spring from?”
“They’re shielded,” explained Artemis. “Vibrating at high speed. Too fast for the human eye to follow . . .”
“But not for the camera,” nodded Butler. Master Artemis. Always two steps ahead. “If only I could carry it around with me.”
“If only. But we do have the next best thing. . . .”
Artemis lifted a headset gingerly from the workbench. It was the remains of Holly’s helmet. Obviously, trying to cram Butler’s head into the original helmet would be like trying to fit a potato into a thimble. Only the visor and control buttons were intact. Straps from a hard hat had been rigged to fit the manservant’s cranium.
“This thing is equipped with several filters. It stands to reason that one of them is anti-shield. Let’s try it out, shall we?”
Artemis placed the set over Butler’s ears.
“Obviously, with your eye span, there are going to be blind spots, but that shouldn’t hamper you unduly. Now, run the camera.”
Butler set the camera rolling again, while Artemis slotted down one filter after another.
“Now?”
“No.”
“Now ...”
“Everything’s gone red. Ultraviolet. No fairies.”
“Now?”
“No. Polaroid, I think.”
“Last one.”
Butler smiled. A shark that’s spotted a bare behind.
,
“Got em.”
Butler was seeing the world as it was, complete with LEPretrieval team sweeping the avenue.
“Hmm,” said Artemis. “Strobe variation, I would guess. Very high frequency.”
“I see,” fibbed Butler.
“Metaphorically or literally?” His employer smiled.
“Exactly.”
Artemis shook himself. More jokes. Next thing he’d be wearing clown shoes and turning cartwheels in the main hall.
“Very well, Butler. Time for you to do what you do best. We appear to have intruders in the grounds. . . .”
Butler stood. No further instructions were necessary. He tightened the hard-hat straps, striding brusquely to the door.
“Oh, and, Butler . . .”
“Yes, Artemis?”
“I prefer scared to dead. If possible.”
Butler nodded. If possible.
LEPretrieval One were the best and the brightest. It was every little fairy’s dream that one day he would grow up to don the stealth-black jumpsuit of the Retrieval commandos. These were the elite. Trouble was their middle name. In the case of Captain Kelp, Trouble was actually his first name. He’d insisted on it at his manhood ceremony, having just been accepted into the Academy.
Trouble led his team down the sweeping avenue. As usual, he took the point position himself, determined to be the first into the fray if, as he fervently hoped, a fray developed.
“Check in,” he whispered into the mike that wound snakelike from his helmet.
“Negative on one.”
“Nothing, Captain.”
“A big negatori, Trouble.”
Captain Kelp winced.
“We’re in the field, Corporal. Follow procedure.”
“But Mommy said!”
“I don’t care what Mommy said, Corporal! Rank is rank! You will refer to me as Captain Kelp.”
“Yessir, Captain,” sulked the corporal. “But don’t ask me to iron your tunic anymore.”
Trouble zeroed in on his brother’s channel, shutting out the rest of the squad.
“Shut up about Mommy, will you? And the ironing. You’re only on this mission because I requested you! Now start acting like a professional or get back to the perimeter!”
“Okay, Trubs.”
“Trouble!” shouted Captain Kelp. “It’s Trouble. Not Trubs, or Trub. Trouble! Okay?”
“Okay. Trouble. Mommy’s right. You’re only a baby.”
Swearing very unprofessionally, Captain Kelp switched his headset back to the open channel. He was just in time to hear an unusual sound.
“Arrkk.”
“What was that?”
“What?”
“Dunno.”
“Nothing, Captain.”
But Trouble had done a Sound Recognition in-service for his captain’s exam, and he was pretty sure the “Arrkk” had been caused by someone getting a chop across the windpipe. More than likely his brother had walked into a shrub.
“Grub? Are you all right?”
“That’s Corporal Grub to you.”
Kelp viciously kicked a daisy.
“Check in. Sound off in sequence.”
“One, Okay.”
“Two, fine.”
“Three, bored but alive.”
“Five, approaching west wing.”
Kelp froze.“Wait. Four? You there, Four? What’s your situation?”
“.................” Nothing except static.
“Right. Four is down. Possibly an equipment malfunction. Still, we can’t afford to take any chances. Regroup by the main door.”
Retrieval One crept together, making slightly less noise than a silk spider. Kelp did a quick head count. Eleven. One short of a full complement. Four was probably wandering around the rose bushes, wondering why nobody was talking to him.
Then Trouble noticed two things—one, a pair of black boots was sticking out of a shrub beside the door, and two, there was a massive human standing in the doorway. The figure was cradling a very nasty-looking gun in the crook of his arm.
“Go silent,” whispered Kelp, and immediately eleven full-face visors slid down to seal in the sounds of his squad’s breathing and communications.
“Now, nobody panic. I think I can trace the sequence of events here. Four is skulking around outside the door. The Mud Man opens it. Four gets a whack on the noggin and lands in the bushes. No problem. Our cover is intact. Repeat intact. So no itchy fingers, please. Grub . . . Sorry, Corporal Kelp, check Four’s vitals. The rest of you make a hole and keep it quiet.”
The squad stepped back carefully, until they were standing on the manicured grassy verge. The figure before them was indeed impressive, without doubt the biggest human any of them had ever seen.
“D’Arvit,” breathed Two.
“Maintain radio silence, except in emergencies,” ordered Kelp. “Swearing is hardly an emergency.” Secretly, however, he concurred with the sentiment. This was one time he was glad to be shielded. That man looked as if he could squash half a dozen fairies in one massive fist.
Grub returned to his slot. “Four is stable. Concussed, I’d guess. But otherwise okay. His shield’s off, though, so I stuffed him in the bushes.”
“Well done, Corporal. Good thinking.”
The last thing they needed was for Four’s boots to be spotted.
The man moved, lumbering casually along the path. He may have glanced left or right, it was difficult to tell beneath the hood pulled over his eyes. Odd for a human to wear a hood on such a fine night.
“Safety catches off,” ordered Trouble.
He imagined his men rolling their eyes. Like they hadn’t had their safeties off for the last half an hour. Still, you had to go by the book, in case of a tribunal later on. There was a time when Retrieval blasted first and answered questions never. But not anymore. Now there was always some do-gooder civilian banging on about civil rights. Even for humans, if you can believe it.