Chapter Text
Butler
It's not easy being a bodyguard.
People assume your job is to stand stoically behind your charge while they give a speech for the United Nations or at most check the car for bombs. Some also correctly assume that a good bodyguard would be willing to take a bullet for their charge. Most bodyguards however, when the situation arises, won’t go to that extent. Blue Diamond graduates are a different breed of protector. They are trained to be machines, willing to go to any extent to save their principal. And most loyal of the Blue Diamond graduates are the Butlers. The graduates that carry the famous last name Butler and a blue diamond tattoo on their right shoulder are among the rarest and most desired personal security in the world. Presidents, kings and queens, dictators and unethical billionaires all fight to get their hands on a Butler to keep them safe.
If I’m such a precious commodity, Butler thought miserably, why am I crawling on all fours through a sewer?
As tradition dictated, most Butlers entered into the employment of a Fowl. It had been this way for centuries. The two families were intrinsically bound together by invisible strings that tightened more with each generation.
When he was a young boy Butler thought it was a load of bollocks. He hadn’t imagined how bound by loyalty he would end up becoming.
His principal was an 11 year old child and try as he might, Butler had grown attached, too attached to him. Spending years training under the watchful eye of Madame Ko and her so-called walking stick (which was used more for beating the students than walking aid) she had tried to make him understand the dangers of emotional attachment. It blinds you, she had said, from your own judgement.
Butler wondered if the Fowls knew this and did everything in their power to actively undo this lesson. The first time he met his charge was in the Sisters of Mercy maternity ward. Butler didn’t care for the baby. It was so tiny and pale and helpless. Butler consequently did not spend many moments alone with the baby Fowl. He was still fairly fresh from the Academy and the learnings of Ko rang clearly in his head: No attachments.
Somehow that had changed. Being around a person during their formative years can cause some…affection. At some point baby Fowl turned into Master Fowl turned into Artemis. An entire person whom he cared deeply for. Much more than his contractual obligations implied.
Which brings us back to the sewer.
Oh yes, the stench. Butler was trying to take his mind off the stench that snuck into his mouth and lungs in a constant assault. He could almost feel it soak into his pores.
Butler had received a tip from a contact in Venice. Butler had no idea how a bomb had managed to get hidden in the sewers under the manor. He suspected the culprit had seen the perfect opportunity with the latest round of staff cuts. The ground security were fired rather swiftly by Artemis only a week ago and it would have been the perfect opportunity to sway one of them with a thick envelope of cash.
The light from the flashlight he held in his mouth bounced off something silvery and square only a couple of metres ahead.
The increase in crawling speed was the only indication of his excitement. Butler finally reached it and took a better look. He lifted it gently to expose the bottom. No wires and no traps, he observed. If fit the description he had been given by his contact. These types of bombs were triggered not by a timer, but by a proximity detector.
Unable to dismantle it in his current situation, Butler placed the bomb in his satchel and crawled out.
For fear of encountering anything that could set it off, he carried the bomb with him into the dojo. It was the only place he was certain that master Artemis wouldn’t disturb him in lest he get roped into exercising. Apparently Artemis had enough of that at boarding school, but Butler couldn’t see any evidence of it. If anything the boy was more unhealthily pale and thin. Considering the circumstances it was easy to see why. Butler could almost feel the stress emanating off him.
Butler stood up, suddenly and with a wild look in his eyes.
The watch, he realised.
Only yesterday, Artemis had received a package. It was subjected to Butler’s usual scrutiny and found perfectly clear of anything suspicious. Nestled inside the luxorious velvet box was a watch. A beautiful specimen. Butler remembered the incident so clearly because he had not seen Artemis so visibly pleased in a long time.
“Butler, this is a Patek Philippe watch,” Artemis had exclaimed, while rushing to put it on. “It even fits. How considerate.”
The watch wrapped perfectly around his thin wrist, now resplendent in gold. When asked whom it was from, Artemis had airily answered “Max Grendel. You remember him, Butler. He bought the Pissarro painting.”
“You mean the forgery?”
“Yes. Obviously. Did you imagine I’d sell an authentic Pissarro for such a pittance? Only 400,000 euros. A steal if you ask me.” Artemis had boasted.
Inside the dojo the only sound to be heard was Butler’s weary sigh. If only his principal wouldn’t go around conning mob bosses, he might actually live to see retirement age.
I could have been living in a gold gilded castle in Malaysia instead of this, he thought, as he took out his cellphone and chose Artemis from the speed dial.