Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl - the time paradox

‘Hungry?’ asked the bodyguard. ‘There’s some hummus in the fridge and I made yoghurt and honey smoothies.’

Artemis embedded his video project on to the final website.

‘No, thank you,’ mumbled Artemis. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘That will be the guilt gnawing at your soul,’ said Butler candidly, helping himself from the fridge. ‘Like a rat on an old bone.’

‘Thank you for the simile, Butler, but what’s done is done.’

‘Did we have to leave Kronski the weapon?’

‘Please, I put remote destruct charges in my hardware. Do you really think such an advanced race will leave their technology unprotected? I wouldn’t be surprised if that gun is melting in Kronski’s hands. I had to leave it as a sweetener.’

‘I doubt the creature is melting.’

‘Stop this, Butler. I made a deal and that’s the end of it.’

Butler sat opposite him. ‘Hmm. So you are governed by some sort of code now. Honour among criminals. Interesting. So, what’s that you’re cooking up on your computer?’

Artemis rubbed the tense spot on his neck. ‘Please, Butler. All of this is for my father. You know it must be done.’

‘One question,’ said Butler, ripping the plastic from a cutlery set. ‘Would your father want it to be done this way?’

Artemis did not answer, just sat and rubbed his neck.

Five minutes later, Butler took pity on the ten-year-old. ‘I thought we might turn the plane around and give those strange creatures a little help. Fez Saïss airport has re-opened so we could be back there in a couple of hours.’

Artemis frowned. It was the right thing to do, but it was not on his agenda. Returning to Fez would not save his father.

Butler folded his paper plate in half, trapping the debris from his meal inside.

‘Artemis, I would like to swing the jet around, and I intend to do that unless you instruct me not to. All you need to do is say the word.’

Artemis watched his bodyguard return to the cockpit, but said nothing.

The Domaine des Hommes was buzzing with limo-loads of Extinctionists coming in from the airport, each one wearing their hatred for animals on their sleeve, or on their heads or feet. Kronski spotted a lady sporting thigh-length ibex boots. Pyrenean, if he wasn’t mistaken. And there was old Jeffrey Coontz-Meyers with his quagga-backed tweed jacket. And Contessa Irina Kostovich, her pale neck protected from the evening chill by a Honshu-wolf stole.

Kronski smiled and greeted each one warmly and most by name. Every year there were fewer newcomers to the ranks, but that would all change after the trial tonight. He skipped along towards the banquet hall.

The hall itself had been designed by Schiller-Haus in Munich, and was essentially a huge prefabricated kit which had arrived in containers and been erected by German specialists in less than four weeks. Incredible really. It was an impressive structure, more formal in appearance than the chalets, which was only proper, as serious business was conducted inside. Fair trials and then executions.

Fair trials, thought Kronski, and giggled.

The main doors were guarded by two burly Moroccan gentlemen in evening wear. Kronski had considered crested jumpsuits for the guards, but dismissed the idea as too Bond.

I am not Doctor No. I am Doctor No-Animals.

Kronski breezed past the guards, down a corridor carpeted with sumptuous local rugs and into a double-height banquet hall with a triple-glazed glass roof. The stars seemed close enough to reach out and capture.

The decor was a tasteful blend of classic and modern. Tasteful except for the gorilla-paw ashtrays dotted on each table and the row of elephant-foot champagne coolers on stands outside the kitchen doors. Kronski squeezed through the double doors, past a brushed-steel kitchen, to the walk-in freezer at the rear.

The creature sat flanked by three more guards. She was cuffed to a plastic baby chair borrowed from the compound’s crèche. Her features were alert and sullen. Her weapon lay out of reach on a steel trolley.

If looks were bullets, thought Kronski, picking up the tiny weapon and weighing it on his palm, I would be riddled.

He pointed the weapon at a frozen ham hock hanging on a chain and pulled the tiny trigger. There was no kick-back and no obvious flash of light, but the ham was now steaming and ready to serve.

Kronski raised the violet-coloured sunglasses that he wore day and night, to make sure his vision was accurate.

‘My goodness,’ he said in wonderment. ‘This is quite a toy.’

He stamped on the steel floor, sending a bong reverberating through the chamber.

‘No tunnelling out this time,’ he announced. ‘Not like the souq. Do you speak English, creature? Do you know what I am saying to you?’

The creature rolled her eyes.

I would answer you, her expression said, but there is tape across my mouth.

‘And for good reason,’ said Kronski, as though the sentence had been spoken aloud. ‘We know all about your hypnotism tricks. And the invisibility.’ He pinched her cheek, as one would a cute infant. ‘Your skin feels almost human. What are you? A fairy, is that it?’

Another eye roll.

If eye-rolling were a sport, this creature would be a gold-medal winner, thought the doctor. Well, perhaps silver medal. Gold would surely go to my ex-wife, who’s no slacker in the eye-rolling department herself.

Kronski addressed the guards.

‘Has she moved?’ he asked.

The men shook their heads. It was a stupid question. How could she move?

‘Very well. Good. All proceeds according to my plan.’ Now Kronski rolled his own eyes. ‘Listen to me. All proceeds according to my plan. That is so Doctor No. I should go and get myself some metal hands. What do you think, gentlemen?’

‘Metal hands?’ said the newest guard, unaccustomed to Kronski’s rants. The other two were well aware that many of the doctor’s questions were rhetorical, especially the ones about Andrew Lloyd Webber or James Bond.

Kronski ignored the new guy. He placed a finger on pursed lips for a moment, to communicate the importance of what he was about to say, then took a deep whistling breath through his nose.

‘OK, gentlemen. Everyone listening? This evening couldn’t be more important. The future of the entire organization depends on it. Everything must be totally perfect. Do not take your eyes off the prisoner and do not remove her restraints or gag. No one is to see her until the trial begins. I paid five million in diamonds for the privilege of a grand reveal, so no one gets in here but me. Understood?’

This was not a rhetorical question, though it took the new guy a moment to realize it.

‘Yes, sir. Understood,’ he blurted a fraction after the other two.

‘If something does go wrong, then your final job of the evening will be burial duty.’ Kronski winked at the new guard. ‘And you know what they say, last in first out.’

The atmosphere at the banquet was a little jaded — until the food arrived. The thing about Extinctionists was that they were picky eaters. Some hated animals so much that they were vegetarians, which limited the menu somewhat. But this year Kronski had managed to poach a chef from a vegetarian restaurant in Edinburgh who could do things with a courgette that would make the most hardened carnivore weep.

They started with a subtle tomato-and-pepper soup in baby turtle shells. Then a light parcel of roast vegetables in pastry with a dollop of Greek yoghurt, served in a monkey-skull saucer. All very tasty, and by now the wine was relaxing the guests.

Kronski’s stomach was so churned with nerves that he could not eat a single bite, which was most unusual for him. He hadn’t felt this giddy since his very first banquet in Austin all those years ago.