Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl - the time paradox

She magnified Artemis’s heart and discovered a second heat source superimposed over the first, distinguishable only by a slightly cooler shade of red.

Even at that desperate moment, Opal could not help but admire this young human, who had attempted to mask the lemur’s heat signature with his own.

‘Clever. But not ingenious.’

And he would need to be ingenious to defeat Opal Koboi. Bringing back the second Artemis had been a neat trick, but she should have caught it.

I was defeated by my own arrogance, she realized. That will not happen again.

The helmet automatically tuned into the Cessna’s radio frequency and so Opal sent Artemis a little message.

‘I am coming for the lemur, boy,’ she said, a pulse of magic setting the suit’s wings a flutter. ‘And this time there will be no you to save you.’

Artemis could not feel or see the various waves that probed the Cessna, but he guessed that Opal would use the helmet’s thermal imager to see how many hot bodies were on the plane. Perhaps she would try X-ray too. It would seem as though he was trying to hide Jayjay’s heat signature with his own, but that was a transparent ploy and should not fool Opal for more than a heartbeat. When the pixie was satisified that her prize was escaping, then how could she not follow?

Artemis banked starboard, to keep Opal in the camera eye, and was satisfied to see a set of wings sliding from the slots in Holly’s suit.

The chase was on.

Time for the bait to pretend it was trying to escape.

Artemis peeled away from the estate, heading for the deep purple sea, opening the throttle wide, satisfied by the plane’s smooth acceleration. The batteries were channelling a steady supply of power to the engines without releasing one gram of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere.

He checked the tail camera view and was not totally surprised to find the flying pixie in his monitor.

Her control over the magic is addled by sedative, he guessed. Opal may have had barely enough power to jump-start the suit. But soon the dart’s after-effects will peter out and then there may be lightning bolts flaring across my wing.

Artemis turned south, following the jagged coast. The clamour and bustle of Dublin’s high-rise apartment blocks, belching chimneys and swarm of buzzing helicopters gave way to long stretches of grey rock shadowed by the north-south railtrack. The sea pushed against the shore, folding its million fingers over sand, scrub and shale.

Fishing boats chugged from buoy to buoy, trailing white sea-serpent wakes, sailors snagging lobster pots with long-handled gaffes. Fat clouds hung ponderously at four thousand metres, rain brewing in their bellies.

A peaceful evening, so long as no one looks up.

Though at this altitude, Opal’s blurred flying form could be mistaken for an eagle.

Artemis’s plan went smoothly for longer than he’d hoped. He made sixty miles without interference from Opal. Artemis allowed himself a glimmer of hope.

Soon, he thought. The LEP reinforcements will come soon.

Then his radio crackled into life.

‘Artemis? Are you there, Artemis?’

Butler. He sounded extremely calm, which he always did before he explained just how serious a situation was.

‘Butler, old friend, I’m here. Tell me the good news.’

The bodyguard sighed into his microphone, a breaking wave of static.

‘They’re not coming after the Cessna. You are not the priority.’

‘Number One is,’ said Artemis. ‘They need to get him below ground. I understand.’

‘Yes. Him and-’

‘Say no more, old friend,’ said Artemis sharply. ‘Opal is listening.’

‘The LEP are here, Artemis. I want you to turn round and fly back.’

‘No,’ said Artemis firmly. ‘I will not put Mother at risk again.’

Artemis heard a strange creaking sound and surmised that Butler was strangling the microphone stalk.

‘OK. Another location then. Somewhere we can dig ourselves in.’

‘Very well, I am on a southerly heading anyway, so why not-’

Artemis never completed his veiled suggestion as his channel was blocked by a deafening burst of white noise. The squawk left a droning aftershock in his ears, and for a moment he allowed the Cessna to drift.

No sooner had he regained control than a thudding blow to the fuselage caused him to lose it again.

Several red lights flashed on the display-plane solar-panel icon. At least ten panels had been shattered by the impact.

Artemis spared half a second to check the rear camera. Opal was no longer trailing behind. No surprise there.

The pixie’s voice burst through the radio speakers, sharp with petulance and evil intent.

‘I am strong now, Mud Boy,’ she said. ‘Your poison is gone, flushed from my system. My power grows and I am hungry for more.’

Artemis did not engage in conversation. All his skill and quick thinking would be needed to pilot the Cessna.

Opal struck again on the port wing, smashing her forearms into the solar panels, breaking them as a child would break sheets of ice in a pool, windmilling her arms gleefully, wings buzzing to keep pace. The plane bucked and yawed and Artemis fought the stick to pull the craft level.

She’s insane, thought Artemis. Utterly insane.

And.

Those panels are unique. And she calls herself a scientist.

Opal scampered along the wing, punching an armoured fist into the fuselage itself. More panels were obliterated and tiny fist-sized dents buckled the polymer over Artemis’s shoulder. Tiny cracks ran along the dents, slit by the wind.

Opal’s voice was loud in the speaker. ‘Land, Fowl. Land and I may not return to the manor when I have finished with you. Land! Land!’

Each order to land was emphasized by another blow on the cockpit. The windscreen exploded inwards, showering Artemis with jagged chunks of plexiglass.

‘Land! Land!’

You have the product, Artemis reminded himself. So you have the power. Opal cannot afford to kill Jayjay.

The wind screamed in Artemis’s face, and the readings from his flight instruments made no sense unless Opal was scrambling them with the LEP suit’s field. But Artemis still had a chance. There was fight left in this Fowl.

He pointed the nose downwards, banking sharply left. Opal kept pace easily, tearing strips from the fuselage. She was a destructive shadow in the dimming dusk light.

Artemis could smell the sea.

He was too low. Too soon.

More red lights on the instrument panel. The power supply had been cut. The batteries were breached. The altimeter whirred and beeped.

Opal was at the side window. Artemis could see her tiny teeth grinning at him. She was saying something. Shouting. But the radio was not operational any more. Just as well probably.

She is having the time of her life, he realized. Fun, fun, fun.

Artemis struggled with the controls. The sticky flaps were the least of his worries now. If Opal decided to snip a few cables, then he would lose whatever say he had over the plane. Though it was too early, Artemis lowered the tricycle landing gear. If Opal sabotaged the mechanism now, the wheels should stay down.

They plummeted earthwards, locked together. A sparrow on an eagle’s back. Opal smashed her armoured head through the door window’s plexiglass, still shouting inside the helmet, spittle spraying the visor. Issuing orders that Artemis could not hear and could not spare enough time to lip-read. He could see that her eyes glowed red with magic and it was clear from her manic expression that any threads connecting her to rationality had been severed.