Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl - the time paradox

Nothing much happened. A spark and a slight hum from the inner workings.

‘It’s broken,’ gasped the doctor.

‘You don’t say,’ said Artemis, who had remote-destructed the Neutrino’s charge pack from the shuttle.

Kronski raised his palms. ‘OK, boy. OK. Give me a moment to think.’

‘Just let the girl go, Doctor. Save a shred of dignity. We don’t execute humans.’

‘I am in charge here. I just need a second to gather myself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is not how she said it would go …’

The doctor rested his elbows on the lectern, rubbing his eyes beneath the round tinted spectacles.

How she said it would go? thought Artemis. Were there unseen forces at work here?

While Artemis was puzzling and Kronski’s world collapsed around his ample shoulders, mobile phones began to ring in the banqueting hall. A lot of people were receiving messages all of a sudden. In moments the room rang with a discordant symphony of beeps, brrrs and polyphonic tunes.

Kronski ignored this strange development, but Artemis was anxious. He had things under control now and did not need anything to redress the scales, or for that matter tip Kronski over the edge.

The reactions to the incoming messages were a mixture of shock and glee.

Oh, my God. Is this true? Is it real?

Play it again. Turn up the volume.

I don’t believe this. Kronski, you fool.

That’s the last straw. We are a joke. The Extinctionists are finished.

Artemis realized that all these messages were in fact the same message. Someone had an Extinctionists’ database and was sending them all a video.

Artemis’s own phone trilled gently. Of course it would, he had put his fake identity on every Extinctionist database he could find. And as his phone was still linked to the giant screen, the video mail began to play automatically.

Artemis recognized the scene immediately. The leather souq. And the main player was Kronski, standing on one leg, squealing with a high-pitched ruptured-balloon intensity. Comical was not the word for it. Ridiculous, farcical and pathetic were words that came close. One thing was certain, having seen the video, no one in their right mind could respect this man ever again, much less follow his lead.

While the video played, a short message scrolled below the picture.

Here we see Doctor Damon Kronski, the president of the Extinctionists, displaying surprising balance for a man his size. This reporter has learned that Kronski turned against animals when he was mauled by an escaped koala at one of his politician father’s rallies in Cleveland. Witnesses to the mauling say that young Damon ‘squealed so sharp he coulda cut glass’. A talent the good doctor does not seem to have lost. Squeal, baby, squeal.

Artemis sighed. I did this, he realized. It’s just the kind of thing I would do.

At another time, he would have appreciated this touch, but not now. Not when he was so close to freeing Holly.

Speaking of Holly.

‘Artemis, get me out of here,’ she hissed.

‘Yes, of course. Time to go.’

Artemis rifled his pockets for a handy wipe. Inside the wipe were three long, coarse hairs donated by Mulch Diggums. Dwarf hairs are actually antennae that dwarfs use to navigate in dark tunnels, and have been adapted by the resourceful race to serve as skeleton keys. No doubt, Holly’s Omnitool would have been handier, but Artemis could not risk losing that to security. The wipe had kept the hairs moist and pliable until they were needed.

Artemis removed the first hair, blew a speck of moisture from its tip and inserted it into the cage lock, working it through the cogs. As soon as he felt the hair harden in his fingers, he turned the makeshift key and the door sprang open.

‘Thank you, Mulch,’ he whispered, then went to work on Holly’s centrally locked cuffs. The third hair would not even be needed. In seconds Holly was free and rubbing her wrists.

‘Orphanage?’ said Artemis. ‘You don’t think that was overdoing it?’

‘Boo hoo,’ said Holly briskly. ‘Let’s just get back to the shuttle.’

It was not to be that straightforward.

Kronski was being herded into a corner by a group of Extinctionists. They harangued and even prodded and poked the doctor, ignoring his arguments, while overhead the video message played again and again.

Oops, thought Artemis, closing his phone.

Inevitably perhaps, Kronski cracked. He batted his tormentors aside like bowling pins, clearing a circle of breathing space for himself, then, panting, he pulled a walkie-talkie from its clip on his belt.

‘Secure the area,’ he wheezed into the device. ‘Use all necessary force.’

Even though the Domaine des Hommes security guards were technically working for the Extinctionists, their loyalties lay with the man who paid their salaries. That man was Damon Kronski. He might dress like a demented peacock and have the manners of a desert dog, but he knew the combination to the safe and paid the wages on time.

The sharpshooters on the upper terrace sent a few warning shots over the crowd’s head, which caused utter pandemonium.

‘Lock the building down,’ said Kronski into the walkie-talkie. ‘I need time to gather my funds. Ten thousand dollars in cash for every man who stands by me.’

There was no need for further incentive. Ten thousand dollars was two years’ wages to these men.

Doors and shutters were slammed down and manned by burly guards, each one brandishing a rifle or a custom-made Moroccan nimcha sword with rhino grip that Kronski had had made for the security team.

The spooked Extinctionists bolted towards bathrooms or alcoves, anywhere that might have a window. They frantically punched numbers into their phones, screaming for help from anyone, anywhere.

A few were more resourceful. Tommy Kirkenhazard pulled out a ceramic handgun he had smuggled in under his hat and took a few potshots at the upper terrace from behind a heavy teak bar. He was answered by a volley from above, with shattered bottles, mirrors and glasses sending slivers flying like arrowheads.

With a straight fingered jab to the solar plexus, a tall Asian man quickly disarmed a door guard.

‘This way!’ he called, flinging the fire door wide. The portal was quickly jammed with Extinctionist torsos.

Artemis and Holly sheltered behind the cage, watching for a way out.

‘Can you shield?’

Holly twisted her chin and one arm rippled out of sight. ‘I’m low on juice. I have just about enough for a minute or two. I’ve been saving it.’

Artemis scowled. ‘You are always low on juice. Didn’t Number One fill you up with his signature magic?’

‘Maybe if your bodyguard hadn’t plugged me with a dart — twice. Maybe if I hadn’t had to heal you at Rathdown Park. And maybe if I hadn’t been shielding in the souq, trying to find your monkey.’

‘Lemur,’ said Artemis. ‘At least we saved Jayjay.’

Holly ducked as a hail of glass shot over her head. ‘My goodness, Artemis. You sound like you actually care about an animal. Nice beard by the way.’

‘Thank you. Now, do you think you could shield for long enough to disarm those two guards on the kitchen door behind us?’

Holly sized the two men up. Both had shotguns and were radiating enough malevolence to ripple the air. ‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘Good. Do it quietly. We don’t want another bottleneck. If we do get separated, let’s meet somewhere close. At the souq.’

‘OK,’ said Holly, vibrating into invisibility.

A second later Artemis felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard a disembodied voice in his ear.

‘You came for me,’ whispered Holly. ‘Thank you.’ Then the hand was gone.