Eoin Colfer: Artemis Fowl and the Atlantis Complex

“Oh, ha-ha, Artemis. Most hilarious. I knew it was you all the time.”

Holly did not laugh. “That wasn’t funny, Artemis. Atlantis Complex is no joke.”

At the mere mention of the disease, Artemis felt the nest of malignant fours stir at the back of his head.

Not again, he thought.

“It would really help if you two swapped places,” he said, trying to sound calm and in control. “Also, could you close those two porthole blinds all the way? Or open all the way, but not in the middle like that? That makes no sense.”

Holly wanted to shake Artemis until he snapped out of it, but she had talked to Dr. Argon of the Psych Brotherhood, and he had told them to humor the human until they could get him checked into the clinic.

Opal Koboi’s old room is still free, the doctor had said brightly, and Holly suspected he was already thinking of titles for the inevitable book.

So she said, “Okay, Artemis. I’ll get the blinds.”

As Holly tapped the little sun icon beside the blind, lightening the glass, she noticed the shoals of exotic fish basking in the pod light from the Nostremius ’s stern fins.

We are all swimming toward the light, she realized, and then wondered when she’d become so philosophical. Too much thinking is one of the things that put Artemis where he is now. We need to deal with this problem.

“Artemis,” she said, forcing a note of positivity into her voice, “Dr. Argon wondered if you had any kind of record of. .”

“My descent into madness?” completed Artemis.

“Well, he actually said, the Complex’s progression. He said keeping a journal of some kind is common among sufferers. They feel a great need to be understood after..”

Again Artemis completed the sentence. “After we die. I know. I feel that compulsion still.” He tugged off the ring from his middle finger. “It’s my fairy communicator, remember? I kept a video diary. Should make terrifying viewing.”

Foaly took the ring. “Let me zap that down to Argon. It will give him a little insight before he gets you strapped into the crazy chair.” The centaur realized what he had said. “Sorry. Cabelline is always saying how insensitive I am. There’s no crazy chair, it’s more like a couch or a futon.”

“We get it, Foaly,” said Holly. “Thanks so much.”

The centaur clopped to the hospital room’s automatic door. “Okay. I’ll send this off. See you later, and watch out for those evil fours.”

Artemis winced. Holly was right: the Atlantis Complex was not funny.

Holly sat on the chair beside his bed. It was a very high-tech bed with stabilizers and impact cushions, but unfortunately a little short.

“You’re growing, Artemis,” she said.

Artemis smiled weakly. “I know. Not fast enough in some ways.”

Holly took his hand. “You can try to upset yourself if you want, but you won’t be able to. Foaly pumped enough sedative into you to put a horse to sleep.”

They both smiled at that for a moment, but Artemis was in a melancholy mood.

“This adventure was different, Holly. Usually someone wins, and we are better off at the end. But this time so many people died-innocents-and no one has benefited. And all for love. I can’t even think of Turnball as a villain-all he wanted was his wife back.”

Holly squeezed Artemis’s fingers. “Things would have been a lot worse without us around. N o1 is alive, thanks to you, not to mention everyone on this hospital ship. And as soon as we have you back to your old self, we can get working on saving the world with your Ice Cube.”

“Good. That’s still my priority, though I might want to renegotiate my terms a little.”

“Hmm. I thought you might.”

Artemis took a sip of water from a cup on his locker. “I don’t want to go back to being me completely. My old self is what brought on Atlantis Complex in the first place.”

“You did some bad things, Artemis. But you wouldn’t do them again. Let them go.”

“Really? You can just let things go?”

“It’s not that easy, but you can do it with our help, if it’s what you really want.”

Artemis rolled his eyes. “Potions and therapy, heaven help me.”

“Dr. Argon is a bit of a fame hound, but he’s good. The best. Also, I’m sure N o1 can give you a magical detox, get the last of those sparks out of your system.”

“That sounds painful.”

“Maybe. But you’ll have friends around you. Good friends.”

Artemis sat up on the pillows. “I know. Where’s Mulch?”

“Where do you think?”

“I think he’s in the galley. Possibly inside one of the refrigerators.”

“I think you’re probably right.”

“How about Juliet?”

Holly’s sigh was both affectionate and frustrated. “She’s organized a wrestling match between herself and a jumbo pixie who passed a comment about her ponytail. I am currently pretending I don’t know anything about it. I should go and break it up soon.”

“I pity the pixie,” said Artemis. “And how about Butler? Do you think he can ever trust me again?”

“I think he already does.”

“I need to speak to him.”

Holly glanced toward the corridor. “You’d better give it a minute. He’s making a delicate phone call.”

Artemis could guess who he was calling. He would have to make a similar call himself soon.

“So,” he said, trying to sound more lighthearted than he actually felt, with the Atlantis Complex bubbling at the base of his temporal lobe.

Arrange this , it said.

Count that.

Beware four. Four is death.

“I hear that you were on a date with Trouble Kelp. Are you two planning on building a bivouac any time soon?”

Butler thought he might be developing claustrophobia. It definitely seemed as though the walls were closing in. It didn’t help that the corridor he was crouched in was built for people half his size. The only place he could stand up properly was the gymnasium, and that wasn’t really the place to make a private call, as his baby sister was probably beating the stuffing out of a jumbo pixie in there at the moment, playing it up for the assembled crowd of patients and medics, who would soon adore the Jade Princess.

Butler slid down the wall into a sitting position and held out Artemis’s phone.

Maybe there’s no network, he thought hopefully.

But there was. Four bars. Artemis had built his phone to access all available networks, including military and fairy. A person would have to be on the moon before Artemis’s phone would fail.

Okay. Stop putting it off. Make the call.

Butler scrolled through the contacts and selected Angeline Fowl’s mobile phone. It took a few seconds to connect, as the call had to go through Haven up to a satellite and back to Ireland, and when it did ring, the tone was the fairy triple beep.

Maybe she’s asleep.

But Angeline picked up on the second ring.

“Artemis? Where are you? Why haven’t you called?”

“No, Mrs. Fowl. It’s Butler.”

Angeline realized that Butler was calling her on Artemis’s phone and naturally jumped to the worst possible conclusion. “Oh my God! He’s dead, isn’t he? I should never have let him go.”

“No, no. Artemis is fine,” said Butler hurriedly. “Not a mark on him.”

Angeline was crying into the phone. “Thank goodness. I would blame myself. A fifteen-year-old, off to save the world, with fairies. What was I thinking? That’s it now. Finished. A normal life from now on.”

I can’t even remember normal, thought Butler.

“Can I speak to him?”

Here we go.

“Not at the moment. He’s. . eh. . sedated.”

“Sedated! You said he wasn’t hurt, Butler. You just said there wasn’t a mark on him.”