Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl - the time paradox

I am on the verge of greatness. Soon my name will be mentioned in the same sentence as the Bobby Jo Haggard or Jo Bobby Saggart. The great evangelist Extinctionists. Damon Kronski, the man who saved the world.

Two things would make this banquet the greatest ever held.

The entrée and the trial.

The entrée would delight everyone, meat eaters and vegetarians alike. The vegetarians could not eat it, but at least they could marvel at the artistry it took to prepare the dish.

Kronski tapped a small gong beside his place setting and stood to introduce the dish, as was the custom.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘let me tell you a story of extinction. In July 1889, Professor D. S. Jordan visited Twin Lakes in Colorado and published his discoveries in the 1891 Bulletin of the United States Fish Commission. He found what he declared to be a new species, the “yellowfin cutthroat”. In his report Jordan described the fish as silvery olive with a broad lemon-yellow shade along the sides, lower fins bright golden yellow in life and a deep red dash on each side of the throat, hence the “cutthroat”. Until about 1903, yellowfin cutthroats survived in Twin Lakes. The yellowfin died out soon after rainbow trout were introduced to Twin Lakes. Other trout interbred with the rainbows, but the yellowfins quickly disappeared and are now completely extinct.’

Nobody shed a tear. In fact there was a smattering of applause for the E word.

Kronski raised a hand. ‘No, no. This is not a cause for joy. It is said that the yellowfin was a very tasty fish, with a particulary sweet flavour. What a pity we shall never taste it.’ He paused dramatically. ‘Or shall we …’

At the rear of the room, a large false wall slid aside to reveal a red velvet curtain. With great ceremony, Kronski pulled a remote control from his jacket and zapped the curtain, which drew back with a smooth swish. Behind it was an enormous trolley bearing what appeared to be a miniature glacier. Silver and steaming.

The guests sat forward, intrigued.

‘What if there was a flash freeze over a hundred years ago in Twin Lakes.’

A twittering began among the diners.

No.

Surely not.

Impossible.

‘What if a frozen chunk of lake was trapped by a landslide deep in an uncharted crevasse and kept solid by near-zero currents.’

Then that would mean …

Inside that chunk …

‘What if that chunk surfaced a mere six weeks ago on the land of my good friend Tommy Kirkenhazard. One of our own faithful members.’

Tommy stood to take a bow, waving his Texas-grey-wolf stetson. Though his teeth were smiling, his eyes were shooting daggers at Kronski. It was obvious to the entire room that there was bad blood between the two.

‘Then it would be possible, outrageously expensive and difficult but possible, to transport that chunk of ice here. A chunk that contains a sizeable shoal of yellowfin cutthroat trout.’ Kronski drew breath to allow this information to sink in. ‘Then we, dear friends, could be the first people to eat yellowfin in a hundred years.’

This prospect even had a few of the vegetarians salivating.

‘Watch, Extinctionists. Watch and be amazed.’

Kronski clicked his fingers and a dozen kitchen staff wheeled the ponderous trolley into the centre of the banqueting area, where it rested on a steel grille. The workers then stripped off their uniforms to reveal monkey costumes underneath.

Have I gone over the top with the monkey rigs? Kronski wondered. Is it just too Broadway?

But a quick survey of his guests assured him that they remained enthralled.

The kitchen staff were actually trained circus acrobats from one of the Cirque du Soleil knock-offs touring north Africa. They were only too glad to take a few days out from their schedule to put on this private show for the Extinctionists.

They swarmed up the huge ice-block, anchoring themselves on with ropes, crampons or grappling hooks, and began demolishing it with chainsaws, flaming swords and flamethrowers, all produced seemingly from nowhere.

It was a spectacular indulgence. Ice flew, showering the guests, and the buzz of machinery was deafening.

Quickly the shoal of yellowfin poked through the blue murk of ice. They hung wide-eyed and frozen in mid-turn, their bodies caught by the flash freeze.

What a way to go, thought Kronski. With absolutely no inkling. Wonderful.

The performers began carving the fish in blocks from the ice, and each one was passed down to one of a dozen line cooks who had appeared from the side doors, wheeling gas burners. Each individual block was slid into a heated colander to steam off excess ice, then the fish were expertly filleted and fried in olive oil with a selection of chunky-cut vegetables and a crushed clove of garlic.

For the vegetarians there was a Champagne mushroom risotto, though Kronski did not anticipate many takers. The non-meat eaters would accept the fish just to stab it.

The meal was a huge success and the level of delighted chatter rose to fill the hall.

Kronski managed to eat half a fillet, in spite of his nerves.

Delicious. Exquisite.

They think that was the highlight, he thought. They ain’t seen nothing yet.

After coffee, when the Extinctionists were loosening their cummerbunds or turning fat cigars for an even burn, Kronski instructed his staff to set up the courtroom.

They responded with the speed and expertise of a Formula One pit-team, as well they should after three months of being whipped into shape. Literally. The workers swarmed across the grid where the melted ice sloshed below like a disturbed swimming pool, a few stray yellowfins floating on the surface. They covered this section of floor and exposed a second pit, this one lined with steel and covered with scorch marks.

Two podiums and a dock were wheeled into the centre of the hall, taking the place of the ice-trolley. The podiums had computers on their swivel tops, and the wooden dock was occupied by a cage. The cage’s resident was masked by a curtain of leopard skin.

The diners’ chatter ceased as they held their breath for the big reveal. This was the moment everyone was waiting for, these millionaires and billionaires paying through the nose for a few moments of ultimate power: holding the fate of an entire species in their hands. Showing the rest of the planet who was boss. The guests did not notice the dozen or so sharpshooters placed discreetly on the upper terrace in case the creature on trial dispayed any new magical powers. There was little chance of a subterranean rescue as the entire hall was built on a foundation of steel rods and concrete.

Kronski milked the moment, rising slowly from his seat, sauntering across to the prosecutor’s podium.

He steepled his fingers, allowing the tension to build, then began his presentation.

‘Every year we put a rare animal on trial.’

There were a few hoots from the audience, which Kronski waved away good-naturedly.

‘A real trial where the host prosecutes and one of you lucky people gets to defend. The idea is simple. If you can convince a jury of your unprejudiced peers …’

More hooting.

‘… that the creature in this cage contributes positively to human existence on this planet, then we will free the creature. This, believe it or not, did happen once in 1983. A little before my time, but I am assured it actually happened. If the defence counsel’s peers are not convinced of the animal’s usefulness, then I press this button.’ And here Kronski’s bulbous fingers twiddled playfully with an oversized red button on his remote control. ‘And the animal drops from its cage into the pit, passing the laser beam that activates the gas-powered flame jets. Voilà: instant cremation.