So even though his involvement with the goblin uprising during his fourteenth year was to be traumatic, terrifying and dangerous, it was probably the best thing that could have happened. At least he spent some time outdoors and got to meet some new people.
It’s a pity most of them were trying to kill him.
PROLOGUE
MURMANSK, NORTHERN RUSSIA, TWO YEARS AGO
The two Russians huddled around a flaming barrel in a futile attempt to ward off the Arctic chill. The Bay of Kola was not a place you wanted to be after September, especially not Murmansk. In Murmansk even the polar bears wore scarves. Nowhere was colder, except perhaps Noril’sk.
The men were Mafiya enforcers and were more used to spending their evenings inside stolen BMWs. The larger of the two, Mikhael Vassikin, checked the fake Rolex beneath the sleeve of his fur coat.
‘This thing could freeze up,’ he said, tapping the diving bezel. ‘What am I going to do with it then?’
‘Stop your complaining,’ said the one called Kamar. ‘It’s your fault we’re stuck outside in the first place.’
Vassikin paused. ‘Pardon me?’
‘Our orders were simple: sink the Fowl Star. All you had to do was blow the cargo bay. It was a big enough ship, heaven knows. Blow the cargo bay and down she goes. But no, the great Vassikin hits the stern. Not even a back-up rocket to finish the job. So now we have to search for survivors.’
‘She sank, didn’t she?’
Kamar shrugged. ‘So what? She sank slowly, plenty of time for the passengers to grab on to something. Vassikin, the famous sharpshooter! My grandmother could shoot better.’