Holly moaned, and Artemis pulled harder on her shoulders.
Mulch sucked down air as fast as he could, bundling Artemis and Holly deeper into the tunnel. Twenty yards to go. They would never make it. The gorilla was advancing, pulverizing each spittle lantern as he passed it, roaring with bloodlust. Artemis swore he saw a flash of teeth.
The tunnel seemed to shudder with each blow. Large sections collapsed. Mud and rock clattered down on Artemis’s head and shoulders. Dirt pooled in Holly’s eye sockets.
Mulch’s cheeks ballooned, and he opened his lips the merest fraction to speak.
“Okay,” he said in a helium voice. “The tank is full.”
The dwarf gathered Artemis and Holly in his burly Popeye arms and vented every bubble of air in his body. The resulting jet stream propelled the group down the length of the tunnel. The trip was short, jarring, and confusing. The breath was driven from Artemis’s lungs, and his fingers were stretched to cracking, but he would not let go of Holly.
He could not let her die.
The unfortunate gorilla was blown head-over-rump by the windstorm and yanked back up the tunnel as though tethered to an elastic cable. It whooped as it went, digging its fingers into the tunnel wall.
Artemis, Holly, and Mulch popped from the tunnel mouth, bouncing and skittering along the ditch in a tangle of limbs and torsos. The stars above them were speed-streaked, and the moon was a smear of yellow light.
An old famine wall halted their progress, crumbling under the impact of three bodies.
“For more than a hundred and fifty years this wall stood,” coughed Artemis. “Then
we
come along.”
He lay on his back, feeling thoroughly defeated. His mother would die, and Holly would soon hate him when she worked out the truth.
All is lost. I have no idea what to do.
Then one of the notorious Rathdown pylons sharpened in his vision—more specifically, the figures clambering along its service ladder.
The lemur has escaped, Artemis realized. And is climbing as high as it can.
A reprieve. There was still a chance.
What I need to save this situation is a full LEP surveillance and assault kit. Perhaps I will have N
o
1 send one back for me.
Artemis disentangled himself from the others and decided that underneath the pillar’s cornerstone would be a secure spot. He tugged off the remaining stones stacked on top, then wiggled his fingers under the final boulder, and heaved. It came away easily, revealing nothing but worms and damp earth. No package from the future; for whatever reason that particular trick would only work once.
So. No help. I must make do with what is available.
Artemis returned to where Holly and Mulch lay. Both were moaning.
“I think I split a gut getting rid of that wind,” said Mulch. “There was a bit too much fear in the mix.”
Artemis’s nose wrinkled.
“Will you be okay?”
“Give me a minute and I’ll be plenty strong enough to carry that huge amount of gold you promised me.”
Holly was groggy. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to pull herself together, and her arms flopped like fish out of water. Artemis did a quick pulse and temperature check. Slight fever but steady heartbeat. Holly was recovering, but it would be several minutes before she could control her mind or body.
I must do this on my own, Artemis realized. No Holly, no Butler.
Just Artemis versus Artemis.
And perhaps an omnitool, he thought, reaching into Holly’s pocket.
*** The Rathdown electricity pylons had been featured in Irish news headlines several times since their erection. Environmentalists protested vehemently that the appearance of the gigantic pylons blighted an otherwise beautiful valley, not to mention the possible detrimental effect the uninsulated power lines could have on the health of anyone or anything living below their arcs. The national electricity board had countered these arguments by pleading that the lines were too high to harm anything, and that to construct smaller pylons around the valley would blight ten times more land.
And so a half dozen of these metal giants bridged Rathdown Valley, reaching a height of three hundred feet at their zenith. The pylon bases were often ringed by protesters, so much so that the power company had taken to servicing the lines by helicopter.
On this night, as Artemis raced across the moonlit meadow, kicking up diamond dewdrops, there were no protesters ringing the pylons, but they had planted their signs like moon flags. Artemis slalomed through this obstacle course while simultaneously craning his neck to track the figures above.
The lemur was on the wire now, silhouetted by the moon, scampering easily along the metal cable, while Artemis the younger and Butler were stranded on the small platform at the pylon’s base, unable to venture any farther.
Finally, thought Artemis. A stroke or two of luck.
Stroke one was that the lemur was suddenly up for grabs. Stroke the second was that while his young nemesis had chosen to follow the silky sifaka directly up the pylon the animal was scaling, he himself could go up the adjacent pole, which just happened to be the service pylon.
Artemis reached the pylon’s base, which was secured by a cage. The heavy padlock submitted instantly to a quick jab from the omnitool, as did the steel equipment locker. Inside were various tools, walkie-talkies, and a Faraday suit. Artemis tugged on the heavy overalls, wiggling his fingers into the attached gloves, tucking his long hair inside the hood. The flame-retardant and steel-thread suit had to completely enclose him to act as a protective Faraday cage. Otherwise he could not venture out on the wires without being burned to a criminal-mastermind cinder.
More luck. An elevator platform ran along the side of the pylon. It was locked and key-coded. But locks quailed when faced with an omnitool, and a key code was of little value when it was a simple matter to unscrew the control panel and activate the pulley manually.
Artemis held tight to the safety rail as the tiny elevator shuddered and whined its way into the night sky. The valley spread out below him as he rose, and a westerly wind crept over the hills, tugging a strand of hair from his hood. Artemis gazed north, and for a fanciful moment imagined he could see the lights of Fowl Manor.
Mother is there, he thought. Unwell now and unwell in the future. Perhaps I can just talk to my younger self. Explain the situation.
This thought was even more fanciful than the last. Artemis had no illusions about what he had been like at the age of ten. He had trusted no one completely but himself. Not his parents, not even Butler. At the first mention of time travel, his younger self would have his bodyguard shoot a dart first and ask questions later. A
lot
of questions and at great length. There was no time for explanations and debate. This battle would have to be won by wits and guile.
The elevator grated into its brackets at the top of the pylon. A skull and crossbones sign was riveted to the tall safety gate. Even if Artemis had not been a genius, the sign would have been difficult to misinterpret, and just in case a total idiot did manage to scale the pylon, there was a second sign depicting a cartoon man being zapped by electricity from a cartoon pylon. The man’s skeleton was clearly visible, X-ray style.
Apparently electricity is dangerous
, Artemis might have commented had Butler been by his side.
There was yet another lock on the safety gate, which delayed Artemis about as long as the first two. Outside the safety gate was a small platform covered with wire mesh, with twin power lines humming directly beneath.
There are half a million volts running through those lines, thought Artemis. I do hope there are no rips in this suit.
Artemis squatted low, peering along the line. The lemur had paused halfway between the two pylons and was chattering to himself as if weighing up his options. Luckily for the small creature, it was only touching one line and so no current flowed through its body. If it put so much as a toe on the second line the shock would spin it a hundred feet into the air, and it would be stone dead before it stopped revolving.
On the far pylon, Artemis the younger scowled at the animal while simultaneously trying to tempt it back with his bag of paste.
There is nothing to do but go out on the wires and bring the lemur back yourself.
The hotsuit was equipped for moving across the wires. There was a safety cord wrapped around his waist and a lightning rod in a long pocket on his thigh. Below the platform was a small sled on insulated runners that the engineers used to hand-crank themselves between pylons.
Brains count for little now, he realized. What I need is balance.
Artemis groaned. Balance was not his forte.
Taking a deep breath, he crouched low and drew the lightning rod from his pocket. Almost as soon as it cleared the material, jets of white-hot sparks jumped from the power lines connecting with the tip of the rod. The stream buzzed and hissed like a neon snake.
You are equalizing voltage, that’s all. The electricity cannot hurt you.
Perhaps not, but Artemis could already feel the hair standing on his neck. Was that anxiety, or were a couple of volts sneaking in somewhere?
Don’t be absurd. If there is a hole, all the volts will worm inside, not just a couple.
Artemis was vaguely familiar with the technique for wire-walking, as the national broadcasting service had done a news special on the high-wire daredevils who risked their lives to keep the lights of Dublin burning. It wasn’t so much wire-walking as wire-crawling. The cables were extremely taut, and the maintenance engineers clipped on their safety lines, lay on the sled, then turned the winch until they reached the maintenance site.
Simple. In theory. For a professional on a calm morning.
Not so easy for an amateur in the dead of night with only the stars and the ambient light of nearby Dublin to guide him.
Artemis sheathed his lightning rod and gingerly clipped his safety line to one of the cables.
He held his breath, as though that could possibly make a difference, and laid his gloved hands on the metal sled.
Still alive. A good start.
Artemis inched forward, the metal warm under his clumsy gloved hands, until he was lying flat on the sled with the double-handled winch in front of his face. It was a delicate maneuver and would have been impossible had the cables not been tethered together at regular intervals. He began to twist, and almost immediately the strain on his arms was tremendous as he moved his own bodyweight.
The gym. Butler, you were right. I’ll do weights, anything, just get me off these cables with that lemur under my arm.
Artemis slid forward, feeling the runners scrape the rough metal of the cables, their intense hum setting his teeth on edge and sending constant shivers coursing along his arched spine. The wind was low, but still threatened to topple him from his lofty perch, and the ground seemed like another planet. Distant and uninviting.
Twenty feet later his arms ached, and he was noticed by the opposition.
A voice floated across from the other pylon. “I advise you to stay where you are, young man. If that suit has the tiniest rip, then one slip and those cables will liquefy your skin and melt your bones.”
Artemis scowled.
Young man
? Had he really been so obnoxious? So patronizing?
“It would take less than a second for you to die,” continued ten-year-old Artemis. “But that’s quite long enough to be in mortal agony, don’t you think? And all for nothing, as the lemur will obviously return for this treat.”
Yes, he had been smug as well as obnoxious and patronizing.
Artemis chose not to reply, concentrating his energy on staying alive and enticing the silky sifaka toward him. From his considerable reservoir of knowledge on just about everything, Artemis plucked the fact that smaller simians were comforted by a purring noise. Thank you, Jane Goodall.
So he began to purr, much to the amusement of his younger self.
“Listen, Butler. There’s a cat on the wire. A big tom, I would say. Perhaps you should throw him a fish.”
But the mocking tone was undercut with tension. Young Artemis knew exactly what was going on.
More purring and it seemed to be working. The ghostly sifaka took a few cautious steps toward the elder Artemis, his beady black eyes glittering with starlight and perhaps curiosity.
Holly would be proud. I am talking to an animal.
Even as he purred, Artemis winced at how ludicrous the situation had become. It was a typical Fowlesque melodrama. Two parties hunting for a lemur on the highest power lines in Ireland.
Artemis looked along the dip of the lines across to the other pylon, where Butler stood, jacket tail flapping around his thighs. The bodyguard leaned into the wind, and the intensity of his stare seemed to pierce the darkness, homing in on Artemis the elder like a laser.
I miss my bodyguard, thought Artemis.
The lemur scampered closer, encouraged by the purring and perhaps fooled by the steel-gray hotsuit.
That’s right. I am another lemur.
Artemis’s arms were shaking from the strain of turning the handles at such an awkward angle. Every muscle in his body was stretched to its limit, including several he had never used before. His head was dizzy from keeping his balance.
All this and animal impersonations too.
One yard now. That was the distance between Artemis and the lemur. There were no more taunts from the other side now. Artemis glanced across and found that his nemesis had his eyes closed and was breathing deeply. Trying to come up with a plan.
The lemur jumped onto the sled and touched Artemis’s gloved hand tentatively. Contact. Artemis stayed stock still, apart from his lips, which burbled out a comforting purr.
That’s it, little fellow. Climb onto my arm.
Artemis looked into the lemur’s eyes, and for perhaps the first time realized that it had emotions. There was fear in those eyes, but also a mischievous confidence.