Artemis Fowl: the time paradox

that.

A suit of medieval armour stood in the main lobby. The same armour that Butler had put on to do battle with a troll during the Fowl Manor seige five years earlier. Artemis approached it slowly, his back flat against an abstract grey-black tapestry that camouflaged him almost perfectly. Once concealed behind the suit of armour, he nudged the base of an adjacent mirror until it reflected a spotlight’s beam directly into the lens of the lobby camera.

Now his path to the security centre was clear. Artemis strode purposefully towards the booth. This was where Opal would be, he was certain of it. From there she could monitor the entire house and it was directly below Angeline’s bedroom. If Opal was indeed controlling his mother, closer was better.

It was clear from several metres away that he was right. Artemis could hear Opal ranting from a distance.

‘There is another one. Here somewhere, another Artemis Fowl.’

Either the penny had dropped, or young Artemis had been forced to reveal their plan. ‘Find him,’ shrieked Opal. ‘Find him immediately. At once.’

Artemis stepped quietly into the security control booth — a boxroom off the main lobby that had served in its time as a cloakroom, weapons lock-up and holding cell for prisoners. Now, it housed a computer desk, similar to those found in editing suites, and stacks of monitors displaying live feeds of the manor and grounds.

Huddled before the monitor bank was Opal, dressed in Holly’s LEP gear. She had wasted no time in stealing the fairy suit. It was mere minutes since Artemis had locked it in the safe.

The little pixie was multi-tasking furiously, scanning the monitors while maintaining remote control over Artemis’s mother. Her dark hair was sweat-slicked and her childlike limbs shook with the effort.

Artemis sneaked into the room, quickly punching the code into the weapons locker.

‘When this is over, I am going to destroy this entire estate just for spite. And then, when I return to the past, I shall-’

Opal froze. Something had made a clicking noise. She turned to find Artemis Fowl pointing a weapon of some kind at her. She immediately abandoned all other spells, throwing her efforts into a desperate mesmer.

‘Drop that gun,’ she intoned. ‘You are my slave.’

Artemis felt instantly woozy, but he had already pressed the trigger and a dart loaded with a Butler special concoction of muscle relaxants and sedatives buried its long needle in Opal’s neck, where there was no protection from the suit. This was a shot in a million, since Artemis was not proficient with firearms. As Butler put it: Artemis, a genius you may be, but leave the shooting to me, because you couldn’t hit the backside of a stationary elephant.

Opal concentrated furiously on the puncture wound, dousing it with magical sparks, but it was too late. The drug was already entering her brain, loosening her control on the magic inside her.

She began to sway and flicker, alternating between her real pixie self and Miss Book.

Miss Book, thought Artemis. My suspicions were correct. The only stranger in the equation.

Intermittently, Opal disappeared altogether, shield buzzing in and out. Magical bolts shot from her fingers, frying the monitors before Artemis could get a look at what was going on upstairs.

‘Now I can do the bolts,’ she slurred. ‘I’ve been trying to focus enough magic all week.’

The magic shifted and swirled, finally etching a picture in the air. It was a rough picture of Foaly, and he was laughing.

‘I hate you, centaur!’ screamed Opal, lunging towards and through the insubstantial image. Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed snoring on the floor.

Artemis straightened his tie.

Freud, he felt certain, would have a field day with that.

Artemis hurried upstairs to his parents’ room. The rug was coated in a pool of lumpy fat. Two sets of fairy footprints led from the turgid pearlescent puddle into the en suite wetroom. Artemis heard the power shower drilling against the tiles.

Opal used animal fat to suppress Number One’s magic. How despicable. How horrible.

Young Artemis was studying the spreading mass of goo.

‘Look,’ he said, noticing his older self. ‘Opal used animal fat to suppress Number One’s magic. How ingenious.’

Under the noise of the shower were the sounds of retching and complaining. Butler was hosing down Holly and N^o1 and they were not happy or healthy.

But alive. Both alive.

Angeline lay on her bed, wrapped in a goosedown duvet. She was pale and dazed, but was it Artemis’s imagination or had just a tinge of colour crept back into her cheeks? She coughed gently and immediately both Artemises were at her side.

Artemis the elder raised an eyebrow at his younger self.

‘You can see how this might be awkward,’ he said pointedly.

‘I can indeed,’ conceded the ten-year-old. ‘Why don’t I have a poke around in your… in my study. See what I come up with.’

This is a problem, Artemis realized. My own inquisitiveness. Perhaps I should not have promised not to mind-wipe my younger self. Something will have to be done.

Angeline opened her eyes. They were blue and calm, peering out from tired dark sockets.

‘Artemis,’ she said, her voice the rasp of fingers on tree bark. ‘I dreamed I was flying. And there was a monkey …’

Artemis shook with relief. She was safe; he had saved her.

‘It was a lemur, Mother. Mum.’

Angeline smiled wanly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. ‘Mum. I have waited so long to hear you say that. So long.’

And with that smile on her face Angeline lay back and drifted off into deep natural sleep.

Just as well, Artemis realized. Or she may have noticed the fairies in the bathroom, or the contents of a fat barrel on the rug. Or a second Artemis lurking shiftily by the bookcase.

Butler emerged from the wetroom dripping wet, shirtless, paddle marks scorched into his skin. He was paler than usual, and had to lean against the doorframe for support.

‘Welcome back,’ he said to Artemis the elder. ‘This little one is quite a chip off the old block. Gave me one hell of a jump-start.’

‘He is the old block,’ said Artemis wryly.

Butler jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Those two didn’t enjoy their dip in the barrel.’

‘Animal fat is poison to fairies,’ explained Artemis. ‘Blocks the magical flow. Turns their own power rancid.’

A shadow settled on Butler’s brow. ‘Opal made me do it. She… Miss Book approached me at the main gates as I left for the airport. I was trapped in my own skull.’

Artemis laid a gentle hand on his bodyguard’s forearm. ‘I know. No apologies are necessary.’

Butler remembered that he did not have his weapon, and he remembered who did have it. ‘What did you do with Schalke? Knockout dart?’

‘No. Our paths did not cross.’

Butler staggered to the bedroom door, Artemis hot on his heels. ‘Opal is controlling him, though he’s making her work for it. We need to secure them both right now.’

It took them several minutes to reach the security booth, Butler pulling himself along the walls, and by that time Opal was already gone. Artemis ran to the window just in time to see the blocky rear end of a vintage Mercedes take the bend in the driveway. A small figure bounced on the back seat. Two bounces, the first time it