Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl. The Opal Deception

Not me, thought Foaly, staring forlornly at the screen. It will be a very long time before I sleep easy again.

TEMPLE BAR, DUBLIN, IRELAND

Artemis Fowl woke from a sleep haunted by nightmares. In his dreams, strange, red-eyed creatures had ripped open his chest with scimitar tusks and dined on his heart.

He sat up in an undersized cot, both hands flying to his chest. His shirt was caked in dried blood, but there was no wound. Artemis took several deep, shuddering breaths, pumping oxygen through his brain. ‘Assess the situation,’ Butler always told him. ‘If you find yourself in unfamiliar territory, become familiar with it before opening your mouth.

Ten seconds of observation could save your life.’

Artemis looked around, his eyelids fluttering like camera shutters. Absorbing every detail. He was in a small boxroom, about three metres square. One wall was completely transparent and appeared to look out over the Dublin quays. From the position of the Millennium Bridge, the room had to be somewhere in the Temple Bar area. The chamber itself was constructed from a strange material: some kind of silver-grey fabric — rigid, but malleable — with several plasma screens on the opaque walls. It was all extremely high-tech but seemed to be years old, and almost abandoned.

In the corner, a girl sat, hunched, on a folding chair. She cradled her head in both hands, her shoulders twitching gently with sobs.

Artemis cleared his throat. ‘Why are you crying, girl?’

The girl jerked upright, and it became immediately obvious that this was no normal girl. In fact, she appeared to belong to a totally different species.

‘Pointed ears,’ Artemis noted, with surprising composure. ‘Prosthetic or real?’

Holly almost smiled through her tears. ‘Typical Artemis Fowl. Always looking for options. My ears are very real, as you well know… knew.’

Artemis was silent for several moments, processing the wealth of information in those few sentences.

‘Real pointed ears? Then you are of another species, not human. Possibly a fairy?’

Holly nodded. ‘I am a fairy. Actually an elf. I’m what you would call a leprechaun too, but that’s just a job.’

‘And fairies speak English, do they?’

‘We speak all languages. The gift of tongues, it is part of our magic’

Artemis knew that these revelations should send his world spinning on its axis, but he found himself accepting her every word. It was as though he had always suspected the existence of fairies, and this was simply confirmation. Although, strangely, he could not remember ever having even thought about fairies before this day.

‘And you claim to know me? Personally, or from some kind of surveillance? You certainly seem to have the technology.’

‘We’ve known you for a few years now, Artemis. You made first contact, and we’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since.’

Artemis was slightly startled, ‘I made first contact?’

‘Yes. December, two years ago. You kidnapped me.’

‘Is this your revenge? That explosive device? My ribs?’ A horrible thought struck the Irish boy. ‘And what about Butler? Is he dead?’

Holly did her best to answer all these questions. ‘It is revenge, but not mine. And Butler is alive. I just had to get you out of there before another attempt was made on your life.’

‘So we’re friends now?’

Holly shrugged. ‘Maybe. We’ll see.’

All this was slightly confusing. Even for a genius. Artemis crossed his legs in the lotus position, resting his temples against pointed fingers.

‘You had better tell me everything,’ he said, closing his eyes. ‘From the beginning.

And leave nothing out.’

So Holly did. She told Artemis how he had kidnapped her, then released her at the last moment. She told him how they had journeyed to the Arctic to rescue his father, and how they had foiled a goblin rebellion bankrolled by Opal Koboi. She recounted in great detail their mission to Chicago to steal back the C Cube, a supercomputer constructed by Artemis from pirated fairy technology. Finally, in a small, quiet voice, she told of Commander Root’s death and Opal Koboi’s mysterious plot to bring the fairy and human worlds together.

Artemis sat perfectly still, absorbing hundreds of incredible facts. His brow was slightly creased, as if the information were difficult to digest. Finally, when his brain had organized the data, he opened his eyes.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I don’t remember any of this, but I believe you. I accept that we humans have fairy neighbours below the planet’s surface.’

‘Just like that?’

Artemis’s lip curled. ‘Hardly. I have taken your story and cross-referenced it with the facts as I know them. The only other scenario which could explain everything that has happened, up to and including your own bizarre appearance, is a convoluted conspiracy theory involving the Russian Mafiya and a crack team of plastic surgeons.

Hardly likely. But your fairy story fits, right down to something that you could not know about, Captain Short.’

‘Which is?’

‘After my alleged mind wipe, I discovered mirrored contact lenses in my own eyes and in Butler’s. Investigation revealed that I myself had ordered the lenses, though I had no memory of the fact. I suspect that I ordered them to cheat your mesmer.’

Holly nodded. It made sense. Fairies had the power to mesmerize humans, but eye contact was part of the trick, coupled with a mesmeric voice. Mirrored contact lenses would leave the subject completely in control, while still pretending to be under the mesmer.

‘The only reason for this would be if I had planted a trigger somewhere.

Something that would cause my fairy memories to come rushing back. But what?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Holly. ‘I was hoping that just seeing me would tripper recall.’

Artemis smiled in a very annoying way. As one would to a small child who had just suggested that the moon was made of cheese.

‘No, Captain. I would guess that your Mister Foaly’s mind-wiping technology is an advanced version of the rnemory-suppressant drugs being experimented with by various governments. The brain, you see, is a complex instrument; if it can be convinced that something did not happen, it will invent all kinds of scenarios to maintain that illusion. Nothing can change its mind, so to speak. Even if the conscious accepts something, the mind wipe will have convinced the subconscious otherwise. So, no matter how convincing you are, you cannot convert my altered subconscious. My subconscious probably believes that you are a hallucination or a miniature spy. No, the only way my memories could be returned to me would be if my subconscious could not present a reasonable argument — say if the one person whom I trust completely presented me with irrefutable evidence.’

Holly felt herself growing annoyed. Artemis could get under her skin like nobody else. A child who treated everyone else like children.

‘And who is this one person whom you trust?’

Artemis smiled genuinely for the first time since Munich. ‘Why, myself, of course.’

MUNICH

Butler woke to find blood dripping from the tip of his nose. It was falling on to the white hat of the hotel chef.

The chef stood with a group of hotel kitchen staff in the middle of a destroyed storage shed. The man gripped a cleaver in his hairy fist, just in case this giant on the tattered mattress that was wedged into the rafters was a madman.

‘Excuse me,’ said the chef politely, which is unusual for a chef, ‘are you alive?’

Butler considered the question. Apparently, unlikely as it seemed, he was alive.

The mattress had saved him from the strange missile. Artemis had survived too. He remembered feeling his charge’s heartbeat just before he passed out. It wasn’t there now.

‘I am alive,’ he grunted, a paste of tile dust and blood spilling from his lips.

‘Where is the boy who was with me?’

The crowd assembled in the ruined shed looked at one another.

‘There was no boy,’ said the chef finally. ‘You fell into the roof all on your own.’

Doubtless, this group would like an explanation, or they would inform the police.

‘Of course there was no boy. Forgive me, the mind tends to wander after a three-storey fall.’

The group nodded as one. Who could blame the giant for being a touch rattled?

‘I was leaning against the railing, sunning myself, when the railing gave way.

Luckily for me, I managed to grab the mattress on the way down.’

This explanation was met with the mass scepticism it thoroughly deserved. The chef voiced the group’s doubts.

‘You managed to grab a mattress?’

Butler had to think quickly, which is not easy when all the blood in your body is concentrated in your forehead.

‘Yes. It was on the balcony. I had been resting in the sun.’

This entire sun business was extremely unlikely. Especially considering that it was the middle of winter. Butler realized that there was only one way to dispel the crowd. It was drastic, but it should work.

He reached inside his jacket, pulling out a small spiral pad.

‘Of course I intend to sue the hotel for damages. Trauma alone should be worth a few million euro. Not to mention injuries. I presume I can count on you good people to be witnesses.’

The chef paled, as did the others. Giving evidence against one’s employers was the first step to unemployment.

‘I… I don’t know, sir,’ he stammered. ‘I didn’t actually see anything.’ He paused to sniff the air. ‘I think I smell my pavlova burning. Dessert will be ruined.’

The chef hopped over the chunks of shattered tile and disappeared back into the hotel. The remaining staff followed his lead, and within seconds Butler was on his own again. He smiled, though the action sent a flare of pain down his neck. The threat of a lawsuit generally scattered witnesses as effectively as any gunfire.

The giant Eurasian disentangled himself from the remains of the rafters. He really had been amazingly lucky not to be impaled on the beams. The mattress had absorbed most of the impact, while the timbers were rotten and had splintered harmlessly.

Butler dropped to the floor, brushing dust from his suit. His priority now was to find Artemis. It seemed likely that whoever had made the attempt on his life had taken the boy. But why would someone try to kill him, and then take him prisoner? Unless it was their unknown enemy who had taken advantage of the situation and decided to look for a ransom.

Butler returned to the hotel room, where everything was as they had left it.

There was absolutely no sign that anything had exploded in here. The only unusual things revealed by Butler’s investigations were small clusters of dead insects and spiders. Curious. It was as though the blue flash of light affected only living things, leaving the buildings unaffected.

A blue rinse, said his subconscious, but his conscious self took no notice.

Butler quickly packed Artemis’s box of tricks and, of course, his own. The weapons and surveillance equipment would be held in a deposit box at the airport. He left the Kronski Hotel without checking out. An early checkout would arouse suspicion, and with any luck this entire matter could be resolved before the school group returned home.

The bodyguard collected the Hummer in the hotel car park, and set off for the airport. If Artemis had been kidnapped, then the kidnappers would contact Fowl Manor with their ransom demand. If Artemis had simply removed himself from danger, he had always been told to head for home. Either way, the trail led to Fowl Manor, so that was where Butler intended to go.