by Eoin Colfer
“Holly!” he said, hugging her tightly. “You made it back. I knew you would.”
Holly hugged the centaur back. “And I knew you’d be here waiting.”
Foaly reached an arm around Artemis’s shoulders. “Well, when Artemis Fowl says he’ll be back, you know it’s going to take a lot more than space and time to stop him.” Foaly shook hands with No1 and Qwan. “I see you brought quite a few guests.”
Holly smiled, her teeth white against a face of streaked ash. “Hundreds.”
“Anyone we need to worry about?”
“No. A few have been mesmerized, but a couple of sessions in therapy should straighten that.”
“Okay, I’ll pass it on,” said the centaur. “Now, we have to cut the reunion short and board immediately. We have thirty minutes to sink this island and pack up the entire facility.”
Facility? thought Artemis. They’ve had time to set up a facility. Just how long have we been away?
They climbed the ramp and strapped into gel-padded bucket seats in the sparsely furnished rear. There were no comforts here, just seats and gun racks. A medic fairy scanned them all in turn, then shot a cocktail of inoculations and germ killers into their arms, just in case Hybras had brewed up any mutant diseases over the past ten thousand years. A true professional, the medic did not bat an eye examining Qwan and No1, even though he’d never met their like before.
Foaly sat beside Holly.
“I can’t tell you how good it feels to see you, Holly. I requested this assignment. I’m on leave from Section Eight. This entire facility is my design. Biggest single project I ever worked on, designed for a thirty-minute walkaway. I knew you’d make it back.”
Holly thought about that statement for a moment. She was an assignment?
The shuttle reeled in the grippers and peeled away from the crater wall. In seconds they breached the mouth like a bullet from a gun. The vibration was enough to rattle teeth for the first few seconds, then the stabilization fins snicked out the side and calmed the ride down.
“I am glad to see the end of that volcano,” said No1, trying to appear casual, even though he was flying around in a metal teardrop. After all, this was not his first flight.
Foaly laid the heel of his hand on the porthole rim, peering downward.
“You really are seeing the last of it, as soon as we have everybody off the island. Those demolition rigs are going to turn the laser cutters on it. We’re going to slice it up and then remote-deflate the buoys underneath. Let ’er down slow. That way, no tidal waves. The water displacement alone was enough to send a few big rollers in toward Dublin, but we boiled ’em up from space. Once the island is down, we can pack up the shield and go home.”
“Oh,” said No1, who hadn’t understood much of what had been said.
Artemis looked out the porthole at his elbow. Below on the island, demons were being guided into shuttles by rescue teams. Once the crafts took off, they switched on their shields and shimmered from view.
“You gave us quite a scare, Holly.” The officer laughed. “Coming back twenty miles off target like that. We had to light a fire under our pilots to get over here and get the projection up. Luckily it’s early in the morning, and the tide is low. We’ve got about half an hour before the first fishing boats get out here.”
“I see,” said Holly slowly. “Big-budget stuff. Sool must have been spitting fire.”
Foaly snorted. “Sool? He can spit what he wants out of whatever end he wants. He got drummed out of the force a couple of years ago. Do you realize that traitor wanted to let the entire Eighth Family die off? The moron actually said as much in a memo.”
Holly gripped the arms of her seat. “A couple of years ago? How long have we been gone?”
Foaly snapped his fingers. “Oh, uh, yeah. I wasn’t supposed to just blurt it out. Sorry. I mean, it’s not serious, like a thousand years or anything.”
“How long, Foaly?” demanded Holly.
The centaur thought about it for a moment. “Okay. You’ve been gone for nearly three years.”
Qwan reached over and slapped Artemis’s shoulder. “Three years! Nice going, Mud Boy. You must have one hell of a brain to get us that close. I wasn’t expecting to see this side of the century.”
Artemis was stunned. Three years! His parents hadn’t seen him for three years. What torture had he put them through? How could he ever make up for it?
Foaly was trying to fill the shocked silence with information. “Mulch has kept the PI firm going. Well, more than that, actually, it’s thriving. He signed up a new partner. You’ll never guess who. Doodah Day. Another criminal turned do-gooder. Wait till he hears you’re back. He calls me every day. I have a pain in my tail trying to explain quantum physics to that dwarf.”
Holly reached across and took Artemis’s hand.
“There’s only one way to look at this, Artemis. Think of all the lives you’ve saved. That’s worth a few years, surely.”
Artemis could only stare straight ahead. Dying in the transfer would have been a grade-one disaster, this was surely a grade-two. What could he say? How could he explain himself?
“I need to get home,” he said, sounding for once like an actual fourteen-year-old. “Foaly, would you tell the pilot where I live?”
The centaur chuckled. “Like every law enforcement agent under the world doesn’t know where Artemis Fowl lives. Anyway, no need to go that far. Someone is waiting for you at the shoreline. They’ve been there for quite a while.”
Artemis placed his forehead against the porthole. He felt so tired suddenly, as though he had actually been awake for three years. How could he even begin to explain events to his parents? He knew how they must be feeling—exactly how he had felt when his father had gone missing. Perhaps he had already been declared dead, as his father had been. And even though his return would bring happiness, that pain would always be there under the surface.
Foaly was talking to the demons. “Who’s this little guy?” he asked, tickling No1 under the chin.
“That little guy is No1,” said Qwan. “He’s the most powerful warlock on the planet. He could fry your brain by accident, say, if you were tickling him under the chin and he got irritated.”
The centaur withdrew his finger sharpish. “I see. I like him. We’re going to get along just fine. Why are you called No1? Is that a nickname?”
No1 felt the magic inside him, comfortable, like heated veins. “It was my imp name. But now I think I’ll keep it.”
Qwan was surprised. “What? You don’t want a Q W name? That’s traditional. We haven’t had a Qwandri in a while. What about Qwerty?”
No1 shook his head. “I am No1. The name used to mark me out as different, now it makes me unique. I have no idea where we are, or where we’re going, but I already feel more at home than I ever have.”
Foaly rolled his eyes. “Excuse me while I get a tissue. Honestly, I thought you demons were warlike and stoic. This little guy sounds like one of those cheap romance novels.”
“The little guy who could fry your brain,” Qwan reminded him.
“One of those cheap romance novels that I happen to adore,” said Foaly, backing away slowly.
No1 smiled contentedly. He was alive, and he had helped to save the island. Finally he knew his place in the universe. Now that Abbot was taken care of, he could live his life the way he wanted to. And the first thing he would do, when things had settled down, would be to track down the demoness with the red markings very much like his own, and see if maybe she would share a meal with him. A cooked meal. It could be that they had a lot to talk about.
The shuttle slipped through the shield into the morning sky. The jagged rocks of the Irish coast jutted out from the waves, sun-speckled by the early light. It was going to be a fine day. There were trace clouds to the north, but nothing that could keep people inside for long.
There was a group of houses clustered around an inlet, and in the horseshoe harbor, fishermen were already on the sand,
setting their nets.
“This is your stop, Artemis,” said Foaly. “We’ll drop you behind the quay wall. I’ll give you a call in a few days, for debriefing.” The centaur reached out a hand and laid it on Artemis’s shoulder. “The People thank you for your efforts, but you know that everything you have learned is confidential. Not even your parents, Artemis. You’ll have to think of something besides the truth to tell them.”
“Of course,” said Artemis.
“Good. I didn’t have to say it, I know. Anyway, the man you want is in the little cottage with the window boxes. Say hello from me.”
Artemis nodded numbly. “I will.”
The pilot swung in low, tucking the shuttle out of sight behind a deserted ramshackle stone building. When he was certain that there was nobody in the sight lines, the pilot hit a green light over the rear door.
Holly helped Artemis out of his chair. “We never get to hang out,” she said.
Artemis half chuckled. “I know. There’s always a crisis.”
“If it’s not goblin gangs, it’s time-traveling demons.” Then Holly kissed him on the cheek. “That was probably dangerous. You being a pubescent volcano.”
“I’ve got it under control, just about.”
Holly pointed to her new blue eye. “We’ll always be a part of each other now.”
Artemis tapped the cheek below his fairy-brown eye. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
“Was that a joke? My goodness, you are changing.”
Artemis was a little dazed. “Well, apparently I’m almost eighteen.”
“God help us all. Artemis Fowl, eligible to vote.”
Artemis chuckled. “I’ve been voting for years.” He tapped his ring-phone. “Call you later.”
“I have a feeling we’ll have a lot to talk about.”
They hugged briefly, but tightly, then Artemis walked down the ramp. He took three steps and looked back, but there was nothing but sea and sky.
Artemis Fowl made for strange early morning viewing in the village of Duncade: a lone teenager in a tattered suit, leaving a trail of ash behind him as he climbed through a stone stile and half stumbled along the quay front.
There was a small group ahead of him, leaning on a concrete bollard. One shaggily bearded fisherman was telling a wild story about a twenty-foot wave he had seen during the night, which had simply evaporated before it reached the shore. He told the story well, complete with big arm gestures and whooshing noises. The other men nodded to his face, while behind his back winked and made drinky-drinky motions with their hands.
Artemis ignored them, walking farther down the quay front to the cottage with the window boxes.
Window boxes? Who would have thought.
There was a keypad on the door. It looked out of place in such a rustic setting, but Artemis would have expected no less. He keyed in his own birthday, zero one zero nine, deactivating the lock and interior alarm.
It was dark inside, curtains drawn, lights off. Artemis stepped inside to a spartan living area with a functional kitchen, one chair, and a sturdy wooden table. There was no television, but rudimentary shelves had been erected to store hundreds of books on various subjects. As Artemis’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out some of the titles. Gormenghast, The Art of War, and Gone with the Wind being among them.
“You are full of surprises, old friend,” murmured Artemis, reaching out to touch the spine of Moby Dick.
As he traced the embossed title, a small red dot of light appeared on his fingertip.
“You know what that is?” said a low rumbling voice behind him. If thunder could speak, then this would be its voice.
Artemis nodded. This was no time for outbursts or sudden moves.
“Good. Then you know what happens if you do anything to upset me.”
Another nod.
“Excellent, you’re doing very well. Now lace your fingers behind your head and turn around.”
Artemis did as he was told, and found himself facing a huge man with a full beard and long hair drawn back in a ponytail. Both were flecked with gray. The man’s face was familiar, but different. There were more lines around the eyes, and a deep frown slash between them.
“Butler?” said Artemis. “Are you behind all that hair?”
Butler stepped back as though struck. His eyes widened and he swallowed rapidly, suddenly parched.
“Artemis? Is it…You’re the wrong age! I always thought…”
“The time tunnel, old friend,” explained Artemis. “I saw you only yesterday.”
Butler was not yet convinced; he moved quickly to the curtains, and in his haste pulled them, rail and all, away from the wall. The red light of sunrise flooded the small room. Butler turned to his young guest and took the boy’s face in his hands. With massive thumbs he wiped the grime from around Artemis’s eyes.
What he saw in those eyes almost buckled his knees.
“Artemis, it is you. I had begun to think…No, no. I knew you would come back.” And then again with more belief. “I knew it. I always knew it.”
The bodyguard wrapped Artemis in arms strong enough to break a bear’s back. Artemis could have sworn he heard sobs, but when Butler released him, he was his usual stoic self.
“Sorry about the beard and the hair, Artemis. I was blending in with the natives. How was your…eh…trip?”
Artemis felt the sting of tears in his own eyes. “Um, eventful. If it hadn’t been for Holly, we never would have made it.”
Butler studied Artemis’s face. “Something is different. My God, your eyes!”
“Oh, yes. I have one of Holly’s now. It’s complicated.”
Butler nodded. “We can swap stories later. There are calls to be made.”
“Calls?” said Artemis. “More than one?”
Butler plucked a cordless phone from its cradle. “There’s your parents, of course, but I should call Minerva, too.”
Artemis was surprised. Pleasantly so. “Minerva?”
“Yes. She’s been here several times. Almost every school holiday, in fact. We’ve become good friends; she’s the one who started me reading fiction.”
“I see.”
Butler pointed the phone at Artemis. “It’s Artemis this, and Artemis that. She has really built you up to be something special. You’re going to have to work hard not to disappoint her.”
Artemis swallowed. He had been hoping for a break, not more challenges.
“Of course, she’s grown up a bit, even if you haven’t,” continued Butler. “And quite the beauty. Sharp as a samurai sword, too. There’s a young lady who could give you a run for your money at chess.”
Then again, thought Artemis. Nothing like a challenge to keep the brain active. But that could come later.
“My parents?”
“You just missed them. They were here yesterday, for the weekend. They stay in the local guesthouse whenever they can.” Butler laid a hand on Artemis’s shoulder. “These last few years. It’s been terrible for them. I told them everything, Artemis. I had to.”
“Did they believe you?”
Butler shrugged. “Some days they did. Mostly my fairy stories just added to their pain. They think I’ve been driven mad with guilt. And even though you’re back, things will never be the same again. It would take a miracle to erase my stories, and their suffering.”
Artemis nodded slowly. A miracle. He lifted his hand. On the palm was a slight graze from his climb over the quayside stile. Artemis concentrated and five blue sparks of magic leaped from his fingertips and zeroed in on the graze, wiping it out like a cloth wiping dirt. He had more magic left than he had pretended.
“Maybe we can arrange a miracle.”
Butler was beyond further amazement. “That’s a new trick,” he said laconically.
“I picked up a little more than an eye in the time tunnel.”
“I see,” said Butler. “Just don’t do it around the twins.”
“Don’t worry,” said Artemis. �
��I won’t.” Then his brain computed what Butler had actually said.
“What twins?”
Butler punched in the Fowl Manor phone number, smiling. “Maybe time stood still for you, big brother, but it didn’t for the rest of us.”
Artemis stumbled to the room’s only chair and sank into it.
Big brother? he thought, and then…
Twins!
CHAPTER 1
ESPRESSO AND TREACLE
ARTEMIS sat on an oxblood leather armchair, facing Beckett and Myles. His mother was in bed with a slight case of the flu, his father was with the doctor in her room, and so Artemis was lending a hand in entertaining the toddlers. And what better entertainment for youngsters than some lessons?
He had decided to dress casually in a sky blue silk shirt, light gray woolen pants, and Gucci loafers. His black hair was swept back from his forehead, and he was putting on a jolly expression, which he had heard appealed to children.
“Artemis need toilet?” wondered Beckett, who was squatting on the Tunisian rug, wearing only a grass-stained sweater, which he had pulled down over his knees.
“No, Beckett,” said Artemis brightly. “I am trying to look jolly. And shouldn’t you be wearing a diaper?”
“Diaper,” snorted Myles, who had potty trained himself at the age of fourteen months, building a stepladder of encyclopedias to reach the toilet seat.
“No diaper,” pouted Beckett, slapping at a still-buzzing fly trapped in his sticky blond curls. “Beckett hates diaper.”
Artemis doubted that the nanny had neglected to put a diaper on Beckett, and he wondered briefly where that diaper was now.
“Very well, Beckett,” continued Artemis. “Let’s shelve the diaper issue for now, and move on to today’s lesson.”
“Chocolate on shelves,” said Beckett, stretching his fingers high to reach imaginary chocolate.
“Yes, good. There is sometimes chocolate on the shelves.”
“And espresso,” added Beckett, who had a strange set of favorite tastes, which included espresso sachets and treacle—in the same cup, if he could manage it. Once Beckett had managed to down several spoons of this concoction before it was wrested away from him. The toddler hadn’t slept for twenty-eight hours.