“But you stopped it,” Artemis insisted. “You must have found a cure.”
“Not me,” said Foaly. “Our old friend Opal Koboi found the antidote. It took her ten years, then she tried to charge through the nose for it. We had to get a court order to confiscate the supply of antidote.”
Artemis was growing impatient. “I don’t care about the politics, Foaly. I want to know what the cure was, and why we can’t administer it to my mother.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Abbreviate,” snapped Artemis.
Foaly’s eyes dipped, unable to meet Artemis’s. “The cure occurred naturally. Many creatures contain important pharmacopoeia and act as natural magic enhancers. But because of human activities, more than twenty thousand of these potentially lifesaving species are made extinct every year. Opal developed a simple syringe gun to extract the cure for Spelltropy without killing the donor animal.”
Artemis suddenly realized why Foaly couldn’t look him in the eye. He cradled his head in his hands.
“Oh no. Don’t say it.”
“Opal Koboi found the antidote in the brain fluid of the silky sifaka lemur of Madagascar.”
“I always knew,” moaned Artemis, “that this would come back.”
“Unfortunately, the silky sifaka is now extinct. The last one died almost eight years ago.”
Artemis’s eyes were haunted by guilt.
“I know,” he whispered. “I killed it.”
CHAPTER 4
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 momentarily 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 for her 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 important, 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 est potestas.
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.
“Someday, 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 lighthearted 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.
Honor 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 toward a nervous breakdown.
It hadn’t been 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 is 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 more than 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 situation 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 fist 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 with 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 check to a wildlife center in South Africa.”
Angeline was bewildered.“South Africa, darling? Who’s gone to South Africa?”
“You sent a check for fifty thousand euros 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. Wedo 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.”
“Lemur!” shouted Angeline triumphantly. “I remember now. I bought a silky sifaka lemur.”
“Impossible,” snapped Artemis. “The
Propithecus candidus
is extinct.”
His mother was suddenly passionate. “No. No, they found little silky in South Africa. They don’t know how it managed to get there from Madagascar, probably on a poacher’s boat. So I had to save it. It’s the last one, Arty.”
“In a year or two it will die,” said Artemis coldly. “Then our money will have been wasted.”
Angeline was horrified. “You sound just like . . .”
“Father? Good. Someone has to be rational.”
Artemis’s face was stern, but inside he quailed. How could he speak to his mother like this, when she was literally driven demented by grief?
Why have I not fallen to pieces? he wondered, and the answer came to him quickly.
I am a Fowl, and Fowls have always triumphed in the face of adversity.
“But fifty thousand, Mother? For a lemur?”
“They may find a female,” argued Angeline. “Then we will have saved a species.”
There is no point in arguing, thought Artemis. Logic cannot prevail here.
“And where is lucky silky now?” he asked innocently, smiling as a ten-year-old should when discussing a small furry animal.
“He is safe in Rathdown Park. Living like a king. Tomorrow he is being flown to a special artificial habitat in Florida.”
Artemis nodded. Rathdown Park was a privately funded nature reserve in Wicklow, specially constructed to protect endangered species. It had tighter security than the average Swiss bank.
“That’s wonderful. Perhaps I will visit the fifty-thousand-euro monkey.”
“Now, now, Artemis,” his mother chided. “Silky is a lemur; they predate monkeys, as you well know.”
I know but do not care!
Artemis wanted to scream.
Father is missing, and you have spent the expedition money on a lemur!
But he held his tongue. Mother was delicate at the moment, and he did not want to contribute to her instability.
“Rathdown doesn’t usually accept visitors,” continued Angeline. “But I am sure if I made a call they would make an exception for you; after all, the Fowls did pay for the primate village.”
Artemis appeared delighted. “Thank you, Mother. That would be a real treat for me, and Butler too. You know how he likes small furry creatures. I would love to see the species we have saved.”
Angeline smiled with a degree of madness that scared her son terribly.
“Well done, Artemis. This is one in the eye for the big-business men. Mother and son, united we shall save the world. I shall tease your father terribly when he gets home.”
Artemis backed slowly toward the door, his heart in his shoes.
“Yes, Mother. United we shall save the world.”
Once the door had closed behind him, Artemis stepped briskly downstairs, fingers conducting imaginary music as he plotted. He detoured to his bedroom and quickly dressed for a trip, then continued to the kitchen, where he found Butler slicing vegetables with a Japanese kodachi short sword. He was now chef and gardener as well as protector.
The huge bodyguard was making quick work of a cucumber.
“A summer salad,” he explained. “Just greens, hardboiled egg, and some chicken. I thought crème brûlée for dessert. It will give me a chance to try out my flamethrower.” He glanced across at Artemis and was surprised to see him dressed in one of his two suits, the dark blue one he had worn recently to the opera in Covent Garden. Artemis had always been a neat dresser, but a suit and tie were unusual even for him.
“Are we going somewhere formal, Artemis?”
“Nowhere formal,” said Artemis, with a coldness in his tone that the bodyguard had not heard before but would come to know well. “Just business. I am in charge of the family affairs now, and so I should dress accordingly.”
“Ah . . . I detect a distinct echo of your father.” Butler wiped the sword carefully, then pulled off his apron. “We have some typical Fowl family business to conduct, do we?”
“Yes,” replied Artemis. “With a monkey’s uncle.”
Holly was aghast.
“So in a fit of childish pique you murdered the lemur.”
Artemis had composed himself and sat at a bedside chair, holding his mother’s hand gently, as though it were a bird.
“No. I used to suffer from the occasional fit of pique, as you well know, but they generally did not last. An intellect such as mine cannot be overpowered by emotions for long.”
“But you said that you killed the animal.”
Artemis rubbed his temple. “Yes, I did. I didn’t wield the knife, but I killed it, make no mistake.”
“How exactly?”
“I was young . . . younger,” mumbled Artemis, uncomfortable with the topic. “A different person in many ways.”
“We know what you were like, Artemis,” said Foaly in a rueful tone. “You have no idea how much of my budget the Fowl Manor siege ate up.”
Holly pressed for an answer. “How did you kill the lemur? How did you even get hold of it?”
“It was ridiculously easy,” admitted Artemis. “Butler and I visited Rathdown Park and simply disabled the security while we were there. Later that evening we both popped back and picked up the lemur.”
“So Butler killed it. I am surprised; it’s not his style.”
Artemis’s eyes were downcast. “No, Butler didn’t do it. I sold the lemur to a group called the Extinctionists.”
Holly was horrified. “Extinctionists! Artemis, you didn’t. That’s horrible.”
“It was my first big deal,” said Artemis. “I delivered it to them in Morocco and they paid me a hundred thousand euros. It funded the entire Arctic expedition.”
Holly and Foaly were speechless. Artemis had effectively put a price on life. Holly backed away from the human she had only moments ago considered a friend.
“I rationalized the whole thing. My father for a lemur. How could I not go through with it?”
Artemis had real regret in his eyes. “I know. It was a terrible thing to do. If I could turn back the clock . . .”
And suddenly he stopped.
He
couldn’t turn back the clock, but he knew a demon warlock who could. It was a chance.
A chance.
He laid his mother’s hand gently on the bed, then stood to pace.
Plotting music, he thought. I need plotting music.
He selected Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 from his vast selection of mental music and listened to it as he thought.
Good choice. Somber yet uplifting. Inspiring stuff.
Artemis paced the carpet, almost unaware of his surroundings, lost in ideas and possibilities.