Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl - the time paradox

‘Jayjay,’ said Holly. ‘That’s his name. Now let’s go get him.’

She switched on the shuttle’s shield and initiated their descent into Fez.

HOLLYinflated a cham pod and suckered it to the shadowy underside of the stone balcony overlooking Fez’s leather souq. When the coast was clear, she and Artemis climbed through the tiny access portal, wiggling into the blow-up seats. Artemis’s knees knocked against his chin, clicking his teeth.

‘Like I said, you’re getting tall,’ said Holly.

Artemis blew a raven lock from his eye. ‘And hairy.’

‘Your hair was the only thing that stopped little Arty recognizing himself, so be glad of it.’

Holly had liberated the cham-pod duffel bag from the Tara lock-up along with a single Neutrino handgun and suitable disguises. Artemis wore a knee-length brown shirt and thong sandals, while Holly’s fairy characteristics were hidden by a headscarf and an abaya.

The cham pod was an old portable model and was basically a ball with a transparent outer layer that was inflated by a tank of chromo-variable gas that could change colour to imitate the background. That was about as high-tech as it got. No directional equipment, no onboard weaponry, just a one-way touch screen and two cramped seats.

‘No air filters?’ wondered Artemis.

‘Unfortunately not,’ said Holly, pulling her scarf across her nose. ‘What is that smell?’

‘Diluted pigeon droppings,’ replied Artemis. ‘Highly acidic and, of course, plentiful. The tannery workers use it to soften the hides before dyeing them.’

The leather souq spread out below them was a spectacular sight. Huge stone vats were arranged across the courtyard in honeycomb patterns, each filled with either acidic softeners or vegetable dyes such as saffron and henna. The leather workers stood in the dye vats, soaking each skin thoroughly, including their own, and, when the hide had attained the desired hue, it was stretched on a nearby rooftop to dry.

‘People say that Henry Ford invented the production line,’ said Artemis. ‘This place has been going for six hundred years.’

The souq was enclosed by high walls painted white but mottled by dye and dust. Ochre stains spread across the ancient brick like the faded map of some exotic archipelago.

‘Why did Kronski choose the souq?’ wondered Holly. ‘The stink is almost unbearable, and I say that as a friend of Mulch Diggums.’

‘Since birth Kronski has suffered from anosmia,’ Artemis explained. ‘He has no sense of smell. It amuses him to conduct his business here, as whoever he happens to be meeting will be virtually assaulted by the smell from the acid vats. Their concentration is shattered and his is unaffected.’

‘Clever.’

‘Fiendishly so. The area is a tourist attraction, so many people will pass through, but none hang around for too long.’

‘Plenty of spectators but not many witnesses.’

‘Apart from the locals, and Kronski doubtless has a dozen of those on his payroll, and they will see what he wants them to see.’ Artemis leaned forward, his nose brushing the plastic portal. ‘And here is our fiendish Extinctionist now. Right on cue.’

The souq below was thronged with leather workers and merchants, long since inured to the sharp odour of the vats. Groups of die-hard tourists flitted through, determined to capture the scene on their cameras but unwilling to suffer the heat and smells for longer than a few shutter clicks. And among them all, serene and smiling, strode Doctor Damon Kronski, dressed in a preposterous tailored camouflage suit, complete with a general’s peaked hat.

Holly was sickened by the man and how he obviously relished his surroundings.

‘Look at him. He loves this.’

Artemis did not comment. He had sold the lemur and he judged that a crime worse than Kronski’s. Instead, he searched the souq for a smaller version of himself.

‘There I am. West corner.’

Holly switched her gaze to locate young Artemis. He stood almost hidden by a huge tiled urn brimming with mint-green dye. The sinking sun was a chopped silver disc on its surface.

Artemis smiled. I remember standing in that exact spot, so the glare would distract Kronski. It is the only vat touched by the sun at this time. A little payback for the smell. Childish, perhaps, but then I was a child.

‘It looks like your memory is accurate on this occasion,’ said Holly.

Artemis couldn’t help but be relieved. His recollection had been hit-and-miss up to now.

He straightened suddenly. Hit-and-miss. How could he not have seen it? These memory malfunctions could mean only one thing.

No time to pursue that thought now. The exchange was afoot.

Artemis tapped the touch-screen with his index finger, expanding a section. Closing in on a plinth at the centre of the souq. The low stone tabletop was grooved and curved from centuries of being piled high with hides. Wet henna glistened on its surface and dribbled down its sides, like blood from a head injury.

‘There,’ said Artemis. ‘That’s where we agreed to make the exchange. Kronski lays the suitcase on the rock. I hand it over.’

‘Him. He’s a male, and his name is Jayjay,’ said Holly, making it real.

‘I hand over Jayjay. Then we go our separate ways, simple as that. There were no complications.’

‘Perhaps we should wait until after the handover?’

‘No. What happens afterwards is an unknown quantity. At least now we have some foreknowledge.’

Holly studied the scene with a veteran’s eye. ‘Where’s Butler?’

Artemis touched another point on the screen. It rippled slightly, flexed and enlarged his selection.

‘In that window. Watching over everything.’

The window was a high rectangle in the flaking white wall, painted black by shade and depth.

‘You think you’re invisible, don’t you, my friend?’ Holly whispered, then highlighted the window with a thumb and activated a night-vision filter. In the sudden glow of body heat, a hulking figure appeared in the window, still as stone, except for a beating heart.

‘I remember that Butler wanted to make the exchange, but I talked him out of it. He’s up there right now, fuming.’

‘Butler fuming is not something I want to see up close.’

Artemis laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Then don’t get too close. A distraction is all we need. I wish there had been an LEP jumpsuit in that lock-up. If you were invisible to man and machine, I would be more comfortable with this.’

Holly twisted her chin, calling her magic, and blobs of her disappeared until there was nothing left in the seat but haze.

‘Don’t worry, Artemis,’ she said, her voice sounding almost robotic because of the vibration. ‘I have been on missions before. You are not the only smart one in the souq.’

Artemis was not in the least cheered by this. ‘All the more reason to be careful. I wish there’d been a set of wings in the terminal. What sort of lock-up doesn’t have wings?’

‘Pot luck,’ said Holly, her voice floating through the expandable seal of the portal. ‘We got what we got.’

‘We got what we got,’ repeated Artemis, following Holly’s progress down the steps and across the courtyard with the infra-red filter. ‘Terrible grammar.’

Ten-year-old Artemis felt as though he had been dipped in a jar of honey and left to bake on the surface of the sun. His garments had moulded themselves to his skin and a tornado of flies revolved round his head. Artemis’s throat was sandpaper dry, and he could hear his breath and pulse as though he were wearing a helmet.