Artemis Fowl: the time paradox

CHAPTER 4: MONKEY’S UNCLE

FOWL MANOR, ALMOST EIGHT YEARS AGO

TEN-year-old Artemis Fowl closed the file he was working on, put his monitor to sleep, then rose from his study desk. His father would arrive in a moment for their meeting. Artemis Senior had confirmed the appointment that morning by internal mail and he was never late. His time was precious, and he expected his son to be ready for their morning talk. Artemis’s father arrived promptly at ten, leather greatcoat swishing around his knees.

‘Minus fifteen in Murmansk,’ he explained, formally shaking his son’s hand.

Artemis was standing on a specific flagstone before the fireplace. He was not actually required to stand in this spot, but he knew his father would sit in the Louis XV chair by the hearth and Artemis Senior did not like to crane his neck as he spoke.

His father lowered himself into the period chair and Artemis enjoyed a quiet moment of satisfaction.

‘The ship is ready, I take it?’

‘Ready to sail,’ said his father, excitement flashing in his blue eyes. ‘This is a new market, Arty, my boy. Moscow is already one of the most commercial cities in the world. Northern Russia will inevitably follow.’

‘I gather Mother is not very pleased with your latest venture.’

Recently, Artemis’s parents had been arguing late into the night. The conflict in their otherwise happy marriage was over Artemis Senior’s business interests. He controlled a criminal empire that had tentacles from the silver mines of Alaska to the shipyards of New Zealand. Angeline was a dedicated conservationist and humanitarian, and believed that Artemis Senior’s criminal activities and ruthless exploitation of natural resources set a terrible example to their son.

‘He will grow up just like his father,’ Artemis had heard her say one evening, through a little radio bug he’d planted in the aquarium.

‘I thought you loved his father.’

Artemis heard a rustling of material as his parents embraced. ‘I do. I love you more than life. But I love this planet too.’

‘My love,’ said Artemis Senior, so gently that it was difficult for the bug to pick up his voice, ‘the Fowl finances are in a delicate state right now. What capital we have is locked up in illegal ventures. I need one big deal so that I can begin the transition to completely legitimate businesses. Once we have some blue-chip stock under our belts, then we can save the world.’

Artemis heard his mother kiss his father. ‘Very well, my pirate prince. One big deal, then we save the world.’

One big deal. A shipload of tax-free cola for the Russians. But more importantly a pipeline of trade into the Arctic. Artemis suspected that his father would find it hard to abandon this pipeline after a single deal. There were billions to be made.

‘The Fowl Star is fully loaded and ready for her voyage,’ Artemis’s father informed his son later during their scheduled meeting in his study. ‘Remember, the world cannot be saved with good intentions alone. Leverage is needed, and gold is leverage.’

Artemis Senior pointed to the Fowl crest and motto, carved into a wooden shield above the fireplace.

‘Aurum potestas est. Gold is power: never forget that, Arty. Until the greens have wealth behind them, no one will listen.’

Young Artemis was torn between his parents. His father embodied everything the family stood for. The Fowl dynasty had flourished for centuries because of their dedication to wealth, and Artemis had no doubt that his father would find a way first to increase their fortunes and then turn his attention to the environment. He loved his mother, but the Fowls’ finances must be saved.

‘Some day control of the family business will fall to you,’ Artemis Senior told his son, standing to button his greatcoat. ‘And, when that day comes, I will rest easy, because I know you will put the Fowls first.’

‘Absolutely, Father,’ said Artemis. ‘Fowls first. But that day will not come for decades.’

Artemis Senior laughed. ‘Let’s hope not, son. Now, I must be off. Look after your mother while I am gone. And don’t let her squander the family fortune, eh?’

The words were said in a light-hearted way, but a week later Artemis Fowl Senior was missing, presumed dead, and those words became the code his son would live by.

Look after your mother, but don’t let her squander the family fortune.

Two months later and Artemis was back at his desk, staring at the computer display in his study. On screen were the gloomy details of the family finances, which had dwindled rapidly since the disappearance of his father. He was the man of the house now, custodian of the Fowl empire, and must behave as such.

No sooner had Artemis Senior’s ship been claimed by the black Arctic waters than his debtors unanimously defaulted, and his cells of forgers, musclemen, thieves and smugglers allied themselves to other organizations.

Honour among thieves? reflected Artemis bitterly. I think not.

Most of the Fowl money simply disappeared overnight, and Artemis was left with an estate to run and a mother who was heading rapidly towards nervous breakdown.

It wasn’t long before the creditors were closing in, eager to claim their slice of the pie before only crumbs were left. Artemis had been forced to auction a Rembrandt sketch just to pay the mortgage on the manor and settle various other debts.

Mother was not making things any easier. She refused to believe that Artemis Senior was missing and forged ahead with her mission to save the world, hang the expense.

Artemis meanwhile was trying to mount expeditions to find his father. This was difficult when you are ten years old and not taken seriously by the adult world in general, in spite of various international art and music prizes, not to mention over a dozen lucrative patents and copyrights filed worldwide. In time Artemis would build a fortune of his own, but in time was not soon enough. Money was needed now.

Artemis wanted to put together a proper situations room to monitor the Internet and world news channels. That would take twenty computers at least. Also there was the team of Arctic explorers waiting in their Moscow hotel for him to wire the next portion of their payment. A payment that he didn’t have.

Artemis tapped the screen with an elegant finger.

Something must be done, he thought.

Angeline Fowl was crying on her bed when Artemis entered the bedroom. His heart lurched at the sight, but he clenched his fists and told himself to be strong.

‘Mother,’ he said, waving a bank account statement. ‘What is this?’

Angeline dried her eyes on a handkerchief, then rose to her elbows, slowly focusing on her son.

‘Arty, little Arty. Come and sit with me.’

Angeline’s eyes were ringed by black mascara tears, and her complexion had faded to a white that was almost translucent.

Be strong.

‘No, Mother. No sitting and talking. I want you to explain this fifty-thousand-euro cheque to a wildlife centre in South Africa.’

Angeline was bewildered. ‘South Africa, darling? Who’s gone to South Africa?’

‘You sent a cheque for fifty thousand euro to South Africa, Mother. I had that money put aside for the Arctic expedition.’

‘Fifty thousand. That figure is familiar. I’ll ask your father when he gets in. He had better not be late for dinner again today, or I’ll-’

Artemis lost his patience. ‘Mother, please. Try to think. We do not have spare funds for South African charities. All the staff have been let go except Butler and he hasn’t been paid in a month.’