Cold Comfort
Butler impassively watched the helicopter land, though his eyes flashed fire. Safely hidden behind some rocks, he stared, eyes as hard as agates, as Spiro, Arno Blunt and a veritable army of personnel, all armed extensively, descended. He felt his fist clench and his knuckles turn white as he saw Jon Spiro walked, no, strutted, imperiously, surveying the terrain with a smirk.
Butler moved as if in a dream. The very air seemed to hold him back as he raced for the kitchen. The tiles were slick beneath his feet, and Butler tried to compensate by leaning forward and digging his rubber-soled toes into the surface, but to no avail. He slipped ponderously, and his bulk crashed to the floor. He struggled to his feet desperately, but his heart told him he was too late.
As Spiro got into his jeep with Arno Blunt, his entourage followed behind on foot. Butler leaped out of his hiding place as the engine roared to life. Startled, the security turned and fumbled for their guns, but too late. Their eyes widened as they saw Butler jump out, gun ablazing. Three were down before they had time to react. Arno cast a chagrined look behind him and drove off quickly, only pausing to unleash a few shots at his nemesis, which Butler dodged with ease. Butler kicked a gun out of a soldier's fingers and shot him between the eyes. He fell, eyes vacant, dead. Butler turned grimly to the rest.
Butler came through the service door at a speed which would have shamed most Olympians. He was just in time to see Blunt press the trigger. Artemis Fowl the Second fell to the floor. Butler let out an animal cry, which alerted Blunt to his presence. Blunt turned his head and saw an enraged Butler. He cast a terrified look at his furious countenance and fled. Butler let fly a few shots, but debilitated by grief, his normally lethal bullets flew past Blunt harmlessly.
Butler dived and narrowly avoided certain death as the mercenaries let loose with their AK 47s. He recovered his footing and shot again and again and again, with fatal results. Only two were left standing, and Butler dispatched of them with trained ease utilizing a few deft movements, courtesy of his martial arts training. They may have been professionals, but he was a Butler. He cast a glance at Spiro's vanishing jeep, as Blunt desperately drove up further into the mountains. He chased after them with a terrifying single-mindedness.
Butler fired one last time, and missed by a hairs width, from his point of view, at least. It was probably what saved the People's anonymity, though. The bullet cascaded from the Sig Sauer with great velocity, and found Artemis's C Cube. As it shattered into infinitesimal pieces, Blunt made his getaway before Butler could shoot again. After the adrenaline rush had worn off, Butler collapsed and sobbed like a broken hearted child.
Butler shot wildly, by his usual standards, at the disappearing jeep. A lone bullet penetrated the toughened rubber of a back tire, and the jeep, now far ahead, skidded. Spiro and Blunt jumped out and ran as fast a their legs could carry them. Wisely, they separated. Butler's wrath was directed at both of them, and by splitting up, one of them may get away. Butler smiled grimly, and ran on, ignoring the screaming of his muscles.
Butler crawled to Artemis's side. A faint pulse appeared doggedly. Artemis was still alive, but for how long? He should have known better. He had viewed this enterprise with a certain amount of trepidation, but for once, he had not followed his instincts. His laxity came at a dreadful price. Butler saw instantly that the bullet had penetrated the heart, and experience told him that Artemis would be dead soon. He wrung his hands helplessly. He knew that had he been the one to have been shot, Artemis would have known what to do. Artemis would have come up with a brilliant plan to save his life. But Butler was not Artemis, and could not think of a way, try as he might. That knowledge bored it's way through Butler's heart, and guilt flowed through his very being.
Butler went after Blunt first. It had been Blunt who pulled the trigger, and it was Blunt who would first suffer the consequences. Besides, Blunt could run faster, and he posed more of a threat. He ran on and slowly gained on Blunt, foot by foot. Blunt realized this, and the knowledge brought the bitter taste of fear to his mouth. Desperately, he turned and shot despairingly at Butler, but he dodged the bullets. Suddenly, as Blunt turned a corner of sorts, a cliff met him. Chagrin filled his soul, and he turned around. Butler tackled him from behind, and Blunt's gun flew over the edge. It was a testament to the cliff's height that they did not hear the clatter that would have signified its drop immediately. The lack of sound obviously chilled Blunt. Butler raised his Desert Eagle, but instead of aiming for his head, shot his lower spinal cord. Paralyzed, Blunt peered up helplessly, terror clearly visible on his face. Butler smiled again, a chilling movement of facial muscles. "I want you to have a long time to think about what you've done, Blunt," Butler hoisted the inert Blunt. "But not too long." Blunt's scream of despair echoed around the mountainside as he fell down the gorge. Butler waited for a few minutes before he heard a thud, and then another one moments later. He turned. There was one more task, one more deed to be done. His mouth a grim slash, he continued his stalk.
"Artemis! Artemis! Answer me!" Butler cried. Artemis lifted his head wanly. He did not have long. "Butler. You've been my closest friend and confidant. But not for much longer, I should think," he whispered weakly. "Artemis," Butler said softly, tears streaming down his grizzled face. "Call me Domovoi." Artemis's head drooped. "Goodbye, Domovoi." And with that, his body went limp. Butler howled then, a howl of such grief, loss and despair that it was almost more terrible to the ears than the fairy sound grenade.
Butler meticulously examined the dusty ground for signs of Spiro's flight. He smiled bleakly as he saw Spiro's sandal marks imprinted on the ground. Spiro could not have gotten far. He stalked his quarry slowly, scouring the ground for further tracks. His face was intent. He saw Spiro's trail lead into a cavern, in a futile attempt to hide. Spiro was smart, perhaps, but not smart enough. He went in.
Artemis's casket was closed, and it was lowered slowly into the hole. Angeline Fowl was sobbing, but his namesake and father was beyond tears. Not many people had attended the funeral. Artemis was not the most sociable of people. Only Juliet, Butler, and his parents were in attendance, although Butler saw a shimmer in the air which may have indicated otherwise. Artemis Fowl the First averted his eyes as the coffin was buried. After the service, he walked up to Butler resolutely. "I want you to know that we don't blame you, Butler, not even for a moment," he choked out. Angeline, still crying, nodded in agreement. Butler did not say anything, and his expression did not change. They did not seem to understand. They could forgive him, the whole world could forgive him, Artemis himself could rise from his grave and forgive him, but he would never forgive himself. He would never be exonerated from the guilt which haunted his mind and soul, from the guilt which made him wake up every night in cold sweat, from the guilt which had caused him so much grief. Any bodyguard would have felt a certain amount of guilt and shame over the loss of a principal, but Butler's ties with Artemis had been deeper than mere security. Exculpation would not come that easily. No, the tragedy had left an indelible mark on his soul. Wordlessly, he turned away.
He followed the caves passage and easily found Spiro. Spiro was a pathetic sight. He was huddled in a corner, a fearful eye on Butler, trembling violently and whimpering. Butler raised his gun. "Blunt! Blunt!" screamed Spiro desperately. Butler smiled bleakly again. "Last time I saw, Blunt was trying to fly." Seeing Spiro's confused look, he added: "He wasn't doing it very well." Spiro's eyes widened as his final lifeline, no matter how improbable, had been cut off. "Unless you count bouncing," Butler went on, with no trace of humor. He cocked the trigger.
"Revenge is cold comfort, Domovoi," reminded Juliet softly. Butler ignored her, checking his Desert Eagle for ammo. His trusty Sig Sauer was left in his drawer. He had plans for Blunt. "There's no point to it. Two wrongs don't make a right. There is no pleasure in violence," she added solemnly. Butler turned to face her. "Take care of Angeline. She needs you very much at this moment." "Remember what I said, Domovoi!" She called as his figure walked out of the manor. A tear found its way down her perfect cheek. "Remember," she whispered.
A tear welled in his eye as the memory surfaced. He aimed at Spiro's head.
He thought of Artemis. He reflected on the time they had eaten ice cream in Paris, when Artemis was six. He thought back on that sad day when the Fowl Star had sunk, and Artemis, after exuding a veneer of indifference, clung to him, sobbing like the child he was. He thought back to their first adventure with the Fairies. He remembered Artemis and his veneer of coldness, yet with the capability to love and care, albeit grudgingly.
Butler walked out the door. His unspoken reply reverberated through his head. Vengeance is cold comfort indeed. But it was all he had.
He pulled the trigger.