rtemis smiled. 'Oh yes, the restoring booster. I suppose I did promise.'
'Yes. Human promised.'
'Very well. But before we administer it, I must warn you that purging is not pleasant. You're not
going to enjoy this one bit.'
The fairy gestured around her at the squalid filth. 'You think I enjoy this? I want to fly again.'
Butler loaded the second vial, shooting this one straight into the carotid artery.
The sprite immediately collapsed on the mat, her entire frame quivering violently.
'Time to leave,' commented Artemis. 'A hundred years of alcohol leaving a body by any means
possible is not a pretty sight.'
The Butlers had been serving the Fowls for centuries. It had always been the way. Indeed there
were several eminent linguists of the opinion that this was how the noun originated. The first record
of this unusual arrangement was when Virgil Butler had been contracted as servant, bodyguard and
cook to Lord Hugo de Pole for one of the first great Norman crusades.
At the age of ten, Butler children were sent to a private training centre in Israel, where they were
taught the specialized skills necessary to guard the latest in the Fowl line. These skills included
cordon bleu cooking, marksmanship, a customized blend of martial arts, emergency medicine and
information technology. If, at the end of their training, there was not a Fowl to guard, then the
Butlers were eagerly snapped up as bodyguards for various royal personages, generally in Monaco or
Saudi Arabia.
Once a Fowl and a Butler were put together, they were paired for life. It was a demanding job,
and lonely, but the rewards were handsome if you survived to enjoy them. If not, then your family
received a six-figure settlement plus a monthly pension.
The current Butler had been guarding young Master Artemis for twelve years, since the moment
of his birth. And, though they adhered to the age-old formalities, they were much more than master
and servant. Artemis was the closest thing Butler had to a friend, and Butler was the closest Artemis
had to a father, albeit one who obeyed orders.
Butler held his tongue until they were aboard the Heathrow connection from Bangkok, then he
had to ask.
'Artemis?'
Artemis looked up from the screen of his PowerBook. He was getting a head start on the
translation.
'Yes?'
'The sprite. Why didn't we simply keep the Book and leave her to die?'
'A corpse is evidence, Butler. My way, the People will have no reason to be suspicious.'
'But the sprite?'
'I hardly think she will confess to showing humans the Book. In any case, I mixed a slight
amnesiac into her second injection. When she finally wakes up, the last week will be a blur.'
Butler nodded appreciatively. Always two steps ahead, that was Master Artemis. People said he
was a chip off the old block. They were wrong. Master Artemis was a brand-new block, the likes of
which had never been seen before.
Doubts assuaged, Butler returned to his copy of Guns and Ammo, leaving his employer to
unravel the secrets of the universe.
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