“Very nice,” said Foaly. “You know they’re calling that move the Hollycopter, don’t you?”
Holly drew her weapon, urging the weightless men farther away from the island with short bursts.
“Busy staying alive, Foaly. Talk later.”
Foaly said. “Sorry, friend. I’m worried. I talk when I’m worried. Caballine thinks it’s a defense mechanism. Anyway, the Hollycopter. You did the same takeoff during that rooftop shoot-out in Darmstadt. Major . . . I mean . . .
Commander
Kelp caught it on video. They’re using the footage in the academy now. You wouldn’t believe how many cadets have broken their ankles trying the same trick.”
Holly was about to insist that he please shut up when Shelly ignited his methane cells, decimating his old shell and sending tons of debris hurtling skyward. The shock wave took Holly from below like a giant’s punch, sending her pinwheeling. She felt her suit flex to avoid the impact, the tiny scales closing ranks like the shields of a demon battalion. There was a slight hiss as her helmet plumped the safety bags protecting her brain and spinal cord. The screens in her visor flickered, jumped, then settled.
The world spun by her visor in a series of blues and grays. The Artificial Horizon in her helmet did several revolutions, end over end, though Holly realized that in actuality she was the one revolving, and not the display.
Alive. Still alive. My odds must be getting short.
Foaly broke in on her thoughts. “. . . heart rate is up, though I don’t know why. One would think you’d be used to these situations by now. The four humans made it, you will be delighted to know, since you risked your life and my technology to save them. What if one of my floaters had fallen into human hands?”
Holly used a combination of gestures and blinks to fire short bursts from several of her wings’ twelve engines, wrestling back control of her rig.
She opened her visor to cough and spit, then answered his accusation.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking. And all LEP equipment is fitted with remote-destruct. Even me! So the only way your precious floaters were ever going to fall into human hands was if
your
technology failed.”
“Which reminds me,” said Foaly, “I need to get rid of those darts.”
Below was pandemonium. It seemed as though half of Helsinki’s inhabitants had already managed to launch themselves in various crafts, and a veritable flotilla was heading toward the explosion site, led by a coast guard vessel, two powerful outboards churning at its stern, nose up for speed. The kraken itself was obscured by smoke and dust, but charred fragments of its shell rained down like volcanic ash, coating the decks of the boats below and draping a dark blanket over the Baltic Sea.
Twenty yards to Holly’s left, the floating men bobbed happily in the air, riding the last ripples of explosive shock, pants 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.” Foaly chuckled. “Well, I say a little drop. Enough to have a troll missing his mommy.”
“Trolls occasionally eat their mothers,” commented Holly.
“Exactly.”
Foaly waited until the men had dropped to within ten feet 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 coast guard reached them.
“Okay,” 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 color-coded their mail icons. Green was social, blue was business, and red was urgent. The 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
o
1.
Holly felt a cold dread in her stomach, and the world seemed to lurch before her eyes.
Mother dying. Bring N
o
1.
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, who 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 stone-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 anymore, just as a friend.
“I need to go to Ireland,” she said.
Foaly did not bother to argue, as he had sneaked a peek at this
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 N
o
1 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?
CHAPTER 3
Artemis senior
assembled his troops in Fowl Manor’s conference room, which had originally been a banqueting hall. Until recently the soaring Gothic arches had been 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 around 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 marketers, 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 fueled 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 to bring
them
all here. If any 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 more than 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 Earth-power, a consortium of like-minded businessmen who were building everything from renewable fuel cars to geothermal rods and solar panels. He had 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 Webcam so that the Harley Street specialists can see Mother, supervise Dr. 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 Webcam.”
Butler was anxious to leave, but he had a point to make before going. “I am not comfortable with Artemis being left alone. A genius he may be, but he is still a habitual meddler and a magnet for trouble.” The bodyguard winked at Artemis. “No offense, young sir, but you could turn a Sunday picnic into an international incident.”
Artemis accepted the accusation graciously. “None taken.”
“That thought has occurred to me,” said Artemis Senior, scratching his chin. “But there is nothing for it. The nanny has agreed to take the twins to her cottage in Howth for a couple of days, but Arty is needed here, and so he will have to fend for himself.”
“Which will not be a problem,” said Artemis. “Have a little faith, please.”
Artemis Senior reached across the table, covering his son’s hand with his own. “Faith in each other is all we have now. We have to believe that saving your mother is possible. Do you believe it?”
Artemis noticed one of the upper windows swinging slowly ajar. A leaf curled into the room, riding a swirling breeze, then the window seemed to close itself.
“I absolutely believe it, Father. More with every minute.”
Holly did not reveal herself until Artemis Senior’s modified Sikorsky S-76C had lifted off from the rooftop heliport. Artemis was busy rigging a Webcam at the foot of his mother’s bed when the elf shimmered into view with her hand on his shoulder.
“Artemis, I am so sorry,” she said softly.
“Thanks for coming, Holly,” said Artemis. “You got here quickly.”
“I was aboveground, in Finland, chasing a kraken.”
“Ah yes, Tennyson’s beast,” said Artemis, closing his eyes and remembering a few lines from the famous poem.
“Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep,
The Kraken sleepeth.”
“Sleepeth? Not anymore. Watch the news headlines later. There was a natural gas explosion, apparently.”
“I would guess that Foaly is up to his old spin-doctoring tricks?”
“Yes.”
“Not many kraken left now,” commented Artemis. “Seven, by my reckoning.”
“Seven?” said Holly, surprised. “We’re only tracking six.”
“Ah, yes, six. I meant six. New suit?” he asked, changing the subject a little too quickly.
“Three years more advanced than the last one,” replied Holly, filing the kraken tidbit for investigation at a later time. “It has autoarmor. If the sensors feel something big coming, the entire suit flexes to cushion the blow. It saved my life once today already.”
A message icon beeped in Holly’s helmet, and she took a moment to read the short text.
“N
o
1 is on the way. They’re sending the Section Eight shuttle. No way to contain this now, so whatever we need to do has to be done fast.”
“Good. I need all the help I can get.”
Their conversation petered out as Angeline Fowl’s deathly illness completely occupied their thoughts. She radiated pallor, and the smell of lilies hung yellow in the air.
Artemis fumbled the Webcam and it rolled under the bed.
“Hellfire,” he swore, kneeling to reach an arm into the dark space. “I can’t . . . I just can’t . . .”
And suddenly the enormity of the situation struck him hard.
“What kind of son am I?” he whispered. “A liar and a thief. All my mother has ever done was love me and try to protect me, and now she may die.”
Holly helped Artemis to his feet.“You’re not that person anymore, Artemis, and you love your mother, don’t you?”
Artemis huffed, embarrassed. “Yes. Of course.”
“Then you are a good son. And your mother will see that as soon as I cure her.”
Holly clicked her neck, and magical sparks leaped from her fingertips, spinning in an inverted cone.
“No,” blurted Artemis. “Wouldn’t it be wise to check the symptoms first?”
Holly closed her fist, smothering the sparks. Suspicious.
She took off her helmet and stepped close to Artemis, closer than he liked people to be, staring hard into his mismatched eyes. It was strange to see her own eye looking back at her.
“Have you done something, Artemis?”
Artemis met her gaze steadily. It seemed that there was nothing in his eyes but sadness.
“No. I am more cautious with my mother than I would be with myself, that is all.”
Holly’s suspicion was born of years of experience with Artemis, and so she wondered why he would be reluctant to allow her to use magic now, when it had never bothered him before. Perhaps he had already tried this route himself. Perhaps the time stream had not stripped him of his stolen magic, as he had claimed.
She clamped her hands to the side of Artemis’s head, then laid her forehead against his.
“Stop this, Holly,” objected Artemis. “We have no time.”
Holly did not answer, closing her eyes, concentrating. Artemis felt heat spread across his skull and the familiar buzz of magic. Holly was probing him. It lasted barely a second.
“Nothing,” she said, releasing him. “Echoes of magic. But no power.”
Artemis stumbled backward, dizzy.
“I understand your suspicion, Holly. I have earned it repeatedly. Now, would you please examine my mother.”
Holly realized that up to this point she had avoided doing anything more than take a cursory glance at Angeline Fowl. This entire situation brought back too many painful memories.
“Of course, Artemis. I’m sorry about the probe. I had to be sure that I could take all of this on face value.”
“My feelings are not important,” said Artemis, leading Holly by the elbow. “Now, my mother. Please.”
Holly had to force herself to properly examine Angeline Fowl, and the moment she did, a deep-rooted dread sent pins and needles fluttering up and down her limbs.
“I know this,” she whispered. “I know it.”
“This condition is familiar to you?” asked Artemis.
His mother’s face and arms were coated with a clear gel, which oozed from her pores and then steamed away. Angeline’s eyes were wide, but only the whites were visible, and her fingers clutched the sheets as though hanging on to life.
Holly took a medi-kit from her belt, placed it on the bedside table, and used a swab to take a sample of the gel. “This gel. That smell. It can’t be. It can’t.”
“It can’t be what?” asked Artemis, his fingers tight on her forearm.
Holly ignored him, slipping her helmet on and opening a channel to Police Plaza.
“Foaly? Are you there?”
The centaur responded on the second buzz. “Right here, Holly. Chained to the desk. Commander Kelp has sent me a couple of mails asking where you are. I fobbed him off with the Ritual story. I reckon you have about—”
Holly interrupted his chatter. “Foaly, listen to me.
Artemis’s mother. I think we have something . . . I think it’s bad.”
The centaur’s mood changed instantly. Holly suspected that he had been waffling to hide his anxiety. After all, Artemis’s message had been very grim.
“Okay. I’ll sync with the manor systems. Ask Artemis for his password.”
Holly lifted her visor to look Artemis in the eye. “Foaly wants your security password.”
“Of course, of course.”Artemis was drifting, and it took him a moment to remember his own secret word. “It’s CENTAUR. All caps.”
Below the earth’s crust, Foaly stored the compliment in the corner of his brain that held treasured memories. He would take that one out later and gloat over a glass of sim-wine.
“Centaur. Right. I’m in.”
A large plasma television on the wall flickered on, and Foaly’s face appeared, first in blurred bubbles, then sharp focus. The Webcam in Artemis’s hand whirred as the centaur remotely fiddled with its focus motor.
“The more points of view the better, eh?” he said, his voice pulsing from the television speakers in surround sound.
Artemis held the camera before his mother’s face, his arm as still as possible.
“I take it, from Holly’s reaction, that this condition
is
familiar to you?”
Holly pointed to the sheen covering Angeline’s face. “See the gel, Foaly, from the pores. And the smell of lilies too—there can’t be any doubt.”
“It’s impossible,” muttered the centaur. “We eradicated this years ago.”
Artemis was growing weary of these vague references.
“
What
is impossible? Eradicated
what
?”
“No diagnosis just yet, Artemis; it would be premature. Holly, I need to run a scan.”
Holly positioned the palm of her hand over Angeline Fowl’s forehead, and the omnisensor in her glove bathed Artemis’s mother with a matrix of lasers.
Foaly’s finger swished like a metronome as the information was fed to his system. It was an unconscious movement that seemed too jolly for the situation.
“Okay,” he said after half a minute. “I have what I need.”
Holly closed her fist on the sensor, then stood with Artemis, clasping his hand in hers, silently awaiting the results. It did not take long, especially when Foaly had a good idea of his search parameters.
His face was grim as he read the results. “The computer has analyzed the gel. I am afraid it’s Spelltropy.”
Artemis noticed Holly’s grip tightening. Whatever this
Spelltropy
was, it was bad.
He broke free from Holly, striding to the wall-mounted television. “I need an explanation, Foaly. Now, please.”
Foaly sighed, then nodded. “Very well, Artemis.
Spelltropy was a plague among the Fairy People. Once contracted it was invariably fatal, and progressed to terminal stages in three months. From that point the patient has less than a week. This disease has everything: Neurotoxins, cell destruction, resistance to all conventional therapies, incredibly aggressive. It’s amazing, really.”
Artemis’s teeth were clenched. “That’s fabulous, Foaly. At last, something even you can admire.”
Foaly wiped a bead of sweat from his nose, pausing before he spoke.“There is no cure, Artemis. Not anymore. I’m afraid your mother is dying. Judging by the concentration in the gel, I would say she has twenty-four hours, thirty-six if she fights. If it’s any consolation, she won’t suffer at the end.”
Holly crossed the room, reaching up to grasp Artemis’s shoulder, noticing how tall her human friend was becoming.
“Artemis, there are things we can do to make her comfortable.”
Artemis shrugged her off, almost violently. “No. I can achieve wonders. I have talents. Information is my weapon.” He returned his attention to the screen. “Foaly, forgive my outburst. I am myself now. You said that this Spelltropy was a plague—where did it begin?”
“Magic,” said Foaly simply, then elaborated. “Magic is fueled by the earth, and when the earth could no longer absorb the sheer bulk of pollutants, the magic became tainted also. Spelltropy first appeared about twenty years ago in Linfen, China.”
Artemis nodded. It made sense. Linfen was infamous for its high pollution levels. As the center of China’s coal industry, the city’s air was laden with fly ash, carbon monoxide, nitrogen oxides, volatile organic compounds, arsenic, and lead. There was a joke among Chinese employers: If you hold a grudge against an employee, send him to work in Linfen.
“It is passed on through magic, and thus is completely impervious to magic. In ten years it had almost decimated the fairy population. We lost twenty-five percent of our numbers. Atlantis was worst hit.”