Borrowing, as always, from Keats: Lamia definitely, Ode to Psyche probably. Also, once more, Donne, A Valediction Forbidden Mourning. Truth be told, I wanted to mix in a bit of that poem again, reread it, found the line about 'tell the laity', realised the irony of this and thought it was too good to pass up. Apologies for being such a dork:) There are others, but I've forgotten and it's more fun that way.

Last but not least, this chapter is dedicated to the wonderful (and sometimes infuriating) Eoin Colfer, for, besides the obvious, one of my favourite parts of the series: the split narrative during Butler's troll fiasco in book one, where Foaly and Root being smart alecs on the side. So, it's homage time! Hurrah!

Chapter Twelve: To tell the laity of our love

The kitchen is duly rescued from Mulch's ravenous mouth. Various guns, bombs, and other accoutrements, are hidden under clothing. The Persephone Project, a compact half globe that would rest easily in a child's hand, is disassembled, pieces are removed, and it is reassembled and packed away. Notes are hastily edited and saved to disk (mostly to see Foaly's horrified expression). Clothes are changed, ties straightened, hair obsessively combed, and cuffs shot. One final, covert rummage is executed and a packet of figs is duly pocketed for later.

Butler, Artemis and Mulch get into the Bentley and drive into the north end of the Manor grounds, where a faery shuttle can land and not attract any unwanted attention from the house.

When they arrive, the shuttle is already there. Parked only a few feet from the road in a copse of trees, its door is open so its interior light draws a path from the car to its steps. Along the road runs a delicate country fence, installed by Artemis' great-grandfather who had had a rather pastoral sense of the aesthetic. A slight, dark figure is sitting on the fence, waiting for them in the dark by the gate. One leg crossed over the other it inspects its nails, the image of complete nonchalance. Its face is in shadow, its body a silhouette beside the glow of the shuttle light.

As the three exit the car, the figure looks up and white teeth flash in the dark.

'Why, good evening, gentlemen,' Holly rises fluid from her seat to stand on the fence post, hand on hip and eyebrow raised. Helen on the ramparts, surveying all that had been done in her name. A thousand ships and then some, thinks Artemis as his steps falter and stop.

Butler and Mulch converge on her with unnecessary enthusiasm to hide the sudden lack of Artemis. Obligingly, she hugs them and kisses them and oohs appreciatively over the golden sheep. It isn't until halfway through Mulch's vivid, and somewhat fantastical, retelling of his robbery that Artemis manages to get his limbs back in working order. Still hesitant, he approaches.

Butler notices him standing just outside the light and clears his throat, interrupting Mulch. 'Say, Holly, this bird hasn't got a kitchen has it? Mulch is starved, surprise, surprise,' he queries, as innocently as he can, which isn't very.

'Er, ye-ah,' Holly replies, suspicious at the sudden subject change, 'well, there's food at least. Go on in, the cabinet's on your left.'

'Fantastic. How about it, Mulch?'

But Mulch has also noticed the lurker and knows some kind of drama is imminent. Are you crazy?! He mouths at Butler.

The manservant levels a stare at the dwarf that has downed many a doughtier opponent. Mulch swallows. 'Er, well, you know old Mulch: never says no to a free meal! Lead the way big man.'

They disappear into the shuttle.

'Subtle,' comments Artemis.

'What?' Holly frowns, then realises the situation, 'Oh.'

'Holly-' begins Artemis.

'You seem to say my name an awful lot these days,' Holly interrupts, trying to get over her sudden case of nerves.

'Making up for lost time,' shoots back Artemis, equally uncomfortable.

'Frond, don't start with that dorky pubescent crap again,' Mulch whispers to Butler, as they hide just inside the shuttle, 'Come on.'

'Give them a minute to get going.'

'I've given them over a decade to get going. Heck, depending on how you look at it, I've been waiting for this moment since he was ten,' Mulch opens the bag of figs, wincing at the ripping sound it makes.

Butler glares unsympathetically and makes shushing gestures with his hands.

'Vinyáya told me...' Holly swallows, trying to regain her earlier composure, '...about what you did. For, uh, for -' but she doesn't want to say 'me' out loud, in case it was all just a misunderstanding, in case it wasn't true, in case he didn't really...

'For you?'

'Yes,' the word comes out a whisper.

'That was kind of her, I didn't think she would,' Artemis drops the cuff link he has been unconsciously fiddling with.

'So... so, it's true, then?'

'Yes. Hope you don't mind,' he gives her a wry smirk, wondering if he should tell just everything he's done for her in this instance. He decides against it, fearing violence to his person.

'Here it comes,' whispers Mulch, 'the 'Oh Artemis!' and she'll throw herself at him and –'

'And if you keep talking we'll miss it!' returns Butler.

'Oh, Artemis,' Holly sighs.

'And now...' Mulch raises his fingers like a conductor at the final crescendo.

She slaps him. 'You idiot. All this trouble when you could've just left the curtains shut. Frond, Artemis, sometimes I just want to... to...' she clenches her fists in frustration.

Artemis cradles his cheek, 'To apologise maybe? How long would you have gone on sneaking around like that, if I hadn't? I just rescued both of us from death and destruction and you slap me? Next time, remind me not to bother!' Apparently, violence to his person is inevitable.

Butler raises an eloquent eyebrow. 'Huston, I think we may have lost that lovin' feeling. As it were.'

Mulch, fuming, doesn't hear him. 'D'arvit Holly, are you a complete idiot?! Take it back! Kiss him! For Frond's sake kiss him!'

Unaware of her cheerleader, Holly drags her fingers down her cheeks, 'Artemis, I'm not saying I'm not thankful –'

'Really? How odd. Because I certainly haven't heard anything remotely resembling an expression of gratitude since this conversation began.'

'Alright. Fine. You want gratitude? You got it.' Yanking him forward by his impeccably starched collar, she kisses him.

'Yes!' Mulch pumps the air with his fist, 'Atta girl.'

Gently, Butler takes the dwarf by the shoulder and leads him away.

'Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,' she punctuates each one with a kiss to his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead. 'And if you ever make me worry like that again, I really will kill you.'

'Alright,' murmurs Artemis, holding her close and not really paying attention.

'And don't think I can't tell when you're not actually listening to me, because I can,' she punches him lightly on the shoulder.

'Mm,' he replies vaguely, but smiling. His fingers write Gommish along her back in spirals like spinning compass needles, like his perpetual dizzying hunt for her. But she's made all his circles just, bringing him home to her at last, to end where he had begun.

She pulls him even closer, no longer afraid, no longer unclean and criminal and creeping. For herself, she is loved and, finally, redeemed.