Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl - the time paradox

You are asleep now. Play possum.

A small door sank smoothly into the floor with a sound like air being blown through a straw.

Artemis peeked through one half-closed eye.

Magnetic field, he thought dully, a band of steel creasing his forehead.

I know what I will see, but I have no wish to see it.

A pixie stood framed in the doorway, her tiny, beautiful features twisted with their customary pouting cruelty.

‘This,’ squealed Opal Koboi, pointing a vibrating finger, ‘is not a lemur.’

BUTLERjogged from the Extinctionists’ compound to the leather souq. Artemis was waiting in the building in which they had planned the previous day’s exchange. Police presence in Fez amounted to no more than a couple of two-man patrols and so it was easy for someone of Butler’s experience to sneak around without being detected. Though it was hardly illegal to visit a medina, it was certainly frowned on to stroll around a tourist area with a large rifle strapped to one’s back.

Butler ducked into a dark corner and quickly broke down his dart rifle into almost a dozen parts, slotting them into various rubbish tips. It was possible that he could slip the Fez Saïss airport customs men some baksheesh and simply stow the weapon under his seat, but these days it was better to be safe than sorry.

Ten-year-old Artemis was sitting at a pre-arranged spot in one of the sniper windows, picking non-existent lint from his jacket sleeve, which was his version of nervous pacing.

‘Well?’ he asked, steeling himself for the answer.

‘The female got out,’ said Butler. He thought it better not to mention that the long-haired male had had everything under control until Artemis’s video arrived.

Artemis caught the implication. ‘The female? The other one was there too?’

Butler nodded. ‘The hairy one is dead. He attempted a rescue and it didn’t work out.’

Artemis gasped. ‘Dead?’ he said. ‘Dead?’

‘Repeating the word won’t change its meaning,’ said Butler sharply. ‘He tried to rescue his friend and Kronski killed him for it. But what’s done is done, eh? And at least we have our diamonds.’ Butler checked his temper. ‘We should move out for the airport. I need to run the preflight checks.’

Artemis was left stunned and silent, unable to take his eyes from the bag of diamonds that winked accusingly from their slouched perch on his lap.

Holly was not having any luck. Her shield was so weak that she switched it off to save her last spark for a small healing if it was needed, and no sooner had her image solidified than one of Kronski’s goons spotted her and walkie-talkied his entire squad. Now she was running for her life through the medina, praying that Artemis was at the meeting point and that he had thought to bring the scooter.

No one was taking potshots at her, which was encouraging, unless Kronski wanted to do the potshotting himself.

No time to think about that now. Survival was the priority.

The medina was quiet this late in the evening, with only a few straggling tourists and die-hard merchants still walking the streets. Holly dodged between them, pulling down whatever she could reach to get in the way of the stampede of security men behind her. She tugged over towers of baskets, upended a kebab stand and shouldered a table of spices, dashing a white wall with multicoloured arcs.

The thunder of footsteps behind her did not recede in the least. Her tactics were not working. The security guards were simply too large and were bustling past the obstacles.

Dodge and weave, then. Lose them in the alleyways.

This tactic was no more succesful than the last. Her pursuers were familiar with the medina’s layout and coordinated their pursuit on hand-held radios, herding Holly towards the leather souq.

Where I’ll be in the open. An easy target.

Holly raced on, Artemis’s loafers cutting into her heels. A series of cries and curses arose behind her as she barged without apology through bands of tourists, and shoulder-slammed tea boys, sending trays flying.

I am corralled, she thought desperately. You’d better be waiting, Artemis.

It occurred to Holly then that she was leading the posse directly to Artemis, but there was no other option. If he were waiting, then he could help; if not, then she was her own anyway.

She jinked left but four huffing guards blocked the alleyway, all hefting vicious long-bladed knives.

The other way, I think.

Right, then. Holly skidded into the leather souq, heels throwing up dust fans.

Where are you, Artemis?

She cast her gaze upwards towards their observation point, but there was nothing there. Not even the telltale shimmer of a hide.

He’s not here.

She felt panic scratch at her heart. Holly Short was an excellent field officer, but she was way out of her jurisdiction, her league and her time.

The leather souq was quiet now, with only a few workers scraping skins on the surrounding rooftops. Lanterns crackled below the roofline and the giant urns lurked like alien pods. The smell was just as bad as it had been the previous day, possibly worse, as the vats had had longer to cook. The stench of droppings hit Holly like a soft, feverish glove, further addling her mind.

Keep running. Find a nook.

Holly spent half a moment considering which body part she would trade for a weapon, then sprinted for a doorway in the adjacent wall.

A guard appeared, dragging his knife from his sheath. The blade was red. Maybe blood, maybe rust. Holly switched direction, losing a shoe in the turn. There was a window one floor up, but the wall was cracked — she could make the climb.

Two more guards. Grinning. One held a net, like a gladiator.

Holly slid to a halt.

We’re in the desert! Why does he have a fishing net?

She tried again. An alleyway barely broad enough for an adult human. She was almost there when a fat guard with a ponytail to his waist and a mouthful of yellowed teeth wedged himself into the avenue, blocking it.

Trapped. Trapped. No escape and not enough magic to shield. Not even enough to mesmerize.

It was difficult to stay calm, in spite of all her training and experience. Holly could feel her animal instincts bubble in the pit of her stomach.

Survive. Do what you have to do.

But what could she do? One unarmed, child-sized fairy against a squadron of armed muscle.

They formed a ragged circle around her, weaving between the urns in a slow-motion slalom. Every set of greedy glittering eyes focused on her face. Closer and closer they came, spreading their arms wide in case their prey made a dart for freedom.

Holly could see their scars and pockmarks, see the desert in their nails and on their cuffs. Smell their breath and count their fillings.

She cast her eyes towards the heavens.

‘Help,’ she cried.

And it began to rain diamonds.

‘That is not a lemur,’ repeated Opal Koboi, drumming a tiny toe on the floor. ‘I know it is not a lemur because it has no tail and it seems to be wearing clothes. This is a human, Mervall. A Mud Boy.’

A second pixie appeared in the doorway. Mervall Brill. One of the infamous Brill brothers who would break Opal out of her padded psych cell some years later. His expression was a mixture of puzzlement and terror. Not pretty on any face.

‘I don’t understand it, Miss Koboi,’ he said, twiddling the top button on his crimson lab coat. ‘It was all set up for the lemur. You mesmerized Kronski yourself.’