Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl - the time paradox

Twenty metres to Holly’s left, the floating men bobbed happily through the air, riding the last ripples of explosive shock, trousers hanging in tattered ruins from their waists.

‘I am surprised,’ said Holly, zooming in on the men. ‘No screaming or wetting themselves.’

‘A little drop of relaxant in the dart,’ chuckled Foaly. ‘Well, I say a little drop. Enough to have a troll missing his mummy.’

‘Trolls occasionally eat their mothers,’ commented Holly.

‘Exactly.’

Foaly waited until the men had dropped to within three metres of the ocean’s surface, then remote detonated the tiny charge in each dart. Four small pops were followed by four loud splashes. The men were in the water no more than a few seconds before the coastguard reached them.

‘OK,’ said the centaur, obviously relieved. ‘Potential disaster averted and our good deed done for the day. Kick up your boots and head back for the shuttle station. I have no doubt that Commander Kelp will want a detailed report.’

‘Just a second — I have mail.’

‘Mail! Mail! Do you really think this is the time? Your power levels are down, and the rear panels of your suit have taken a severe pasting. You need to get out of there, before your shield fails altogether.’

‘I have to read this one, Foaly. It’s important.’

The mail icon flashing in Holly’s visor was tagged with Artemis’s signature. Artemis and Holly colour-coded their mail icons. Green was social, blue was business and red was urgent. The mail icon in Holly’s visor pulsed a bright red. She blinked at the icon, opening the short message.

Mother dying, it read. Please come at once. Bring N o1.

Holly felt a cold dread in her stomach and the world seemed to lurch before her eyes.

Mother dying. Bring N o1.

The situation must be desperate if Artemis was asking her to bring the powerful demon warlock.

She flashed back to the day, eighteen years ago, when her own mother had passed away. Almost two decades now, and the loss was still as painful as a raw wound. A thought struck her.

It’s not eighteen years. It’s twenty-one. I’ve been away for three.

Coral Short had been a doctor with LEPmarine, which patrolled the Atlantic, cleaning up after humans, protecting endangered species. She had been mortally injured when a particularly rancid-looking tanker they were shadowing accidentally doused their submarine with radioactive waste. Dirty radiation is poison to fairies and it had taken her mother a week to die.

‘I will make them pay,’ Holly had vowed, crying at her mother’s bedside in Haven Clinic. ‘I will hunt down every last one of those Mud Men.’

‘No,’ her mother had said with surprising force. ‘I spent my career saving creatures. You must do the same. Destruction cannot be my legacy.’

It was one of the last things she would ever say. Three days later, Holly stood stony-faced at her mother’s recycling ceremony, her green dress uniform buttoned to the chin. The Omnitool that her mother had given her as a graduation present in its holster on her belt.

Saving creatures. So Holly applied to Recon.

And now Artemis’s mother was dying. Holly realized that she didn’t think of Artemis as a human any more, just as a friend.

‘I need to go to Ireland,’ she said.

Foaly did not bother to argue: he had sneaked a peek at the urgent mail on Holly’s screen.

‘Go. I can cover for you here for a few hours. I could say you’re completing the Ritual. As it happens there’s a full moon tonight and we still have a few magical sites near Dublin. I’ll send a message to Section Eight. Maybe Qwan will let Number One out of the magi-lab for a few hours.’

‘Thanks, old friend.’

‘You’re welcome. Now go. I’m going to get out of your head for a while and monitor the chatter here. Maybe I can plant a few ideas in the human media. I like the idea of an underground natural gas pocket. It’s almost the truth.’

Almost the truth.

Holly couldn’t help applying the phrase to Artemis’s mail. So often the Irish boy manipulated people by telling them almost the truth.

She chided herself silently. Surely not. Even Artemis Fowl would not lie about something this serious.

Everyone had their limits.

Didn’t they?

ARTEMISSenior assembled his troops in Fowl Manor’s conference room, which had originally been a banqueting hall. Until recently the soaring Gothic arches were hidden by a false ceiling, but Angeline Fowl had ordered the ceiling to be removed and the hall restored to its original double-height glory.

Artemis, his father and Butler sat in black leather Marcel Breuer chairs round a glass-topped table with space for ten more people.

Not so long ago there were smugglers seated at this table, thought Artemis. Not to mention crime lords, hackers, insider traders, counterfeiters, black marketeers and cat burglars. The old family businesses.

Artemis Senior closed his laptop. He was pale and obviously exhausted, but the old determination shone brightly in his eyes.

‘The plan is a simple one. We must seek out not just a second opinion, but as many opinions as possible. Butler will take the jet and go to China. No time for official channels, so perhaps you could find a strip where immigration is a little lax.’

Butler nodded. ‘I know just the place. I can be there and back in two days, all going well.’

Artemis Senior was satisfied. ‘Good. The jet is fuelled and ready. I have already organized a full crew and an extra pilot.’

‘I just need to pack a few things, then I can be on my way.’

Artemis could imagine what kinds of things Butler would pack, especially if there were no officials at the airstrip.

‘What will you do, Father?’ he asked.

‘I am going to England,’ said Artemis Senior. ‘I can take the helicopter to London City Airport and from there a limousine to Harley Street. There are several specialists I can talk to, and it will be far more efficient to send me there than bring them all here. If any of them can shed even the most feeble ray of light on your mother’s situation, then I will pay them whatever it takes to get them back here. Buy out their practices if necessary.’

Artemis nodded. Wise tactics. Still, he would expect no less from the man who had successfully run a criminal empire for over two decades, and a humanitarian one for the past few years.

Everything Artemis Senior did now was ethical. From his fair-trade clothes company to his shares in Earthpower, a consortium of like-minded businessmen who were building everything from renewable-fuel cars to geothermal rods and solar panels. He’d even had the Fowl cars, jet and helicopter fitted with advanced emission filters to lighten the family’s carbon footprint.

‘I shall remain here,’ announced Artemis, without waiting to be told. ‘I can coordinate your efforts, set up a web cam so that the Harley Street specialists can see Mother, supervise Doctor Schalke and Miss Book, and also conduct my own Internet search for possible cures.’

Artemis Senior half smiled. ‘Exactly, son. I hadn’t thought of the web cam.’

Butler was anxious to depart, but he had a point to make before going. ‘I am not comfortable about leaving Artemis alone. A genius he may be, but he is still a habitual meddler and a magnet for trouble.’ The bodyguard winked at Artemis. ‘No offence, young sir, but you could turn a Sunday picnic into an international incident.’