And one more thing. About my name — Artemis — you were right. In London, it is generally a female name, after the Greek goddess of archery. But every now and then a male comes along with such a talent for hunting that he earns the right to use the name. I am that male. Artemis the hunter. I hunted you.

That was all he said, except for "Aaaeerrgghhh." Which is not really a word. But the reason that he screamed "Aaaeerrgghhh" was that Franco had bitten him savegly on the wrist.

Quickly, Holly," said Artemis urgently. "Follow those bubbles." Holly opened the throttle. "Now there's an order I never thought I'd hear from you.

Sig Sauer. Nine millimetres. Thirteen in the magazine. Big bullets. One of these hits you and it could blow your head off; something even the magic can't fix. Other than that you should be all right, presuming you remembered to wear the regulation above-ground micro-fibre jumpsuit recently patented by me. Then again, being a Recon jock, you probably didn't.

Holly walked rapidly into the cockpit, strapping herself into the pilot's chair. "Seven and a half hours to save the world. Isn’t there some law that says we get at least twenty-four?" Artemis strapped himself into the co-pilot's chair. "I don't think Opal bothers with laws.

Play along, the wink said. I'll get you out of this. At least Artemis hoped this was what his wink communicated and not something like 'Any chance of another kiss later?

Argh? Pathetic and inarticulate. Nice combination. Your mothers must be so proud.