The Lost Colony (15 page)

Kong rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was taking every shred of patience he had not to dispose of this whining infant right now, and take his chances with her security.

But it would be foolhardy to risk everything because he could not keep his temper for a few more hours. For now, he would have to content himself with some more insolence.

Kong took a small mirror from his trouser pocket and plucked at the gelled strands of his hair.

“I will go now, little girl, but be careful how you speak to me. You may come to regret it.”

Minerva spread the fingers of her right hand into a W.

“Whatever,” she said in English.

Kong pocketed his mirror, winked at N
^o
1, and left. N
^o
1 did not feel comforted by that wink. In the demon world, you winked at your opponent in pitched battle to make clear your intention to kill him next. N
^o
1 got the distinct impression that this spiky-haired human had that same intention.

Minerva sighed, took a moment to compose herself, then resumed her interview with the prisoner.

“Let’s start at the beginning. What is your name?”

N
^o
1 supposed that was a safe question to answer. “I have no real name, because I never warped. I used to worry about that, but now I seem to have a lot more to worry about.”

Minerva realized that her questions would have to be quite specific.

“What do people call you?”

“You mean human people? Or other demons?”

“Demons.”

“Oh . . . right. They call me N
^o
1.”

“N
^o
1?”

“That’s right. It’s not much of a name, but it’s all I have. And I console myself with the fact that it’s better than N
^o
2.”

“I see. Well then, N
^o
1, I suppose you would like to know what’s going on here.”

N
^o
1’s eyes were wide and pleading. “Yes, please.”

“Two years ago, one of your pride materialized here. Just popped up in the middle of the night on the statue of D’Artagnan in the courtyard. He was lucky not to be killed, actually. D’Artagnan’s sword pierced one of his arms. The tip broke off inside.”

“Was the sword silver?” asked N
^o
1.

“Yes. Yes it was. We realized later that the silver anchored him to this dimension; otherwise he would have been attracted to his own space and time. The demon was, of course, Abbot. My parents wanted to call the gendarmes, but I persuaded them to bring the poor half-dead beast inside. Papa has a small surgery here that he uses for his more paranoid patients. He treated Abbot’s burns, but we missed the silver tip until a few weeks later when the wound became infected and Papa did an X-ray. Abbot was quite fascinating to observe. Initially, and for many days, he flew into psychotic rages whenever a human approached him. He tried to kill us all, and vowed that his army was coming to exterminate humankind from the face of the earth. He conducted long arguments with himself. It was more than split personality. It was as if there were two people in one body. A warrior and a scientist. The warrior would rage and thrash, then the scientist would write calculations on the wall. I knew that I was on to something important here. Something revolutionary. I had discovered a new species, or rather, rediscovered an old one. And if Abbot really was going to bring a demon army, then it was up to me to save lives. Human and demon. But of course, I am merely a child so no one would listen to me. But if I could record this and present it to the Nobel Committee in Stockholm, I could win the physics prize and establish demons as a protected species. Saving a species would give me a certain satisfaction, and no child has ever won the prize before, not even the great Artemis Fowl.”

Something had been puzzling N
^o
1. “Aren’t you a little young to be studying other species? And you’re a girl, too. That pony offer made by the magic voice box sounded pretty good.”

Minerva had obviously come across this attitude before. “Times are changing, demon,” she snapped. “Children are a lot smarter than they used to be. We’re writing books, mastering computers, tearing apart scientific myths. Did you know that most scientists won’t even acknowledge the existence of magic? Once you add magic into the energy equation, nearly all the current laws of physics are shown o be seriously flawed.”

“I see,” said N
^o
1, not convincing anyone.

“I am exactly the right age for this project,” added Minerva. “I am young enough to believe in magic, and old enough to understand how it works. When I present you in Stockholm, and we put forward our thesis on time travel and magic as elemental energy, it will be a historic moment. The world will have to take magic seriously, and make ready for the invasion!”

“There is no invasion,” protested N
^o
1.

Minerva smiled, as a kindergarten teacher would at a fibbing child. “I know all about it. Once Abbot’s warrior personality became dominant, he told us about the Battle of Taillte and how the demons would return and wage a terrible war with the Mud Men, as he called us. There was a lot of blood and hacking of limbs involved.”

N
^o
1 nodded. That sounded like Abbot.

“That’s what Abbot believed, but things have changed.”

“I explained that to him. I explained that he had been flitting through time and space for ten thousand years, and that we had come a long way since then. There are more of us than there used to be, and we didn’t use crossbows anymore.”

“You didn’t? You don’t?”

“You saw Mr. Kong’s gun. That’s only a tiny example of the kind of weaponry we have. Even if your entire pride of demons arrived all together, armed to the teeth, it would ake about ten minutes to have you all locked up.”

“Is that what you’re going to do? Lock us up?”

“That was the plan, yes,” admitted Minerva. “As soon as Abbot realized that the demons could never beat us, he changed his tactics. He voluntarily explained the mechanics of the time tunnel to me, and in return I gave him books to read and old weapons to examine. After a few days’ reading, he asked to be called Abbot, after General Leon Abbot in the book. I knew that once I presented Leon Abbot in Stockholm, it would be easy to get funding for an international task force. Whenever a demon popped up, we could tag him with silver and house him in an artificial demon community for study. The Central Park Zoo was my preferred location.”

N
^o
1 ran the word “zoo” through his new lexicon. “Aren’t zoos for animals?”

Minerva gazed at her feet. “Yes. I am rethinking that, especially having met you. You seem quite civilized, not like that Abbot person. He
was
an animal. When he arrived, we tended his wounds, nursed him back to health, and all he could do was try to eat us, so we had no choice but to restrain him.”

“So you’re not going to lock us up in a zoo anymore?”

“Actually, I don’t have a choice. Judging by my calculations, the time tunnel is unraveling at both ends and deteriorating along the shaft. Soon, any calculations will be unreliable, and it will be impossible to predict where or when demons will materialize. I’m afraid, N
^o
1, that your pride doesn’t have long left before it disappears altogether.”

N
^o
1 was stunned. This was more information than anyone could absorb in one day. For some reason the demoness with the red markings flashed into his mind. “Isn’t there any way to help? We are intelligent beings, you know. Not animals.”

Minerva stood and paced, stretching one of her corkscrew curls.

“I have been giving this some thought. There’s nothing that can be done without magic, and Abbot told me the warlocks all died in the transition.”

“It’s true,” said N
^o
1. He did not mention that he might be a warlock himself. Something told him that this was valuable information, and it was not a good idea to reveal too much valuable information to a person who had tied you to a chair. He had said too much already.

“Maybe if Abbot had known about the time spell, he wouldn’t have been so eager to get back to Hybras,” mused Minerva. “Papa told him that there was a silver chip in his arm, and that very night he dug it out with his nails and disappeared. We have the whole thing on tape. I have wondered every day if he’d managed to make it home.”

“He made it,” said N
^o
1. “The time spell took him right back to the beginning. He never said anything about this place. Just turned up with the book and the crossbow, claiming to be our savior. It was all lies.”

“Well then,” sighed Minerva, and she seemed genuinely sorry. “I don’t have a single idea about how to save the pride. Maybe your little friend in the next room can help when she wakes up.”

“What little friend?” asked N
^o
1, puzzled.

“The one who knocked out Bobo, my brother. The little creature we captured trying to rescue you,” explained Minerva. “Or more accurately, trying to rescue an empty golf bag. She looks like a magical creature. Maybe she can help.”

Who would want to rescue a golf bag? wondered N
^o
1.

The door opened a crack, and Juan Soto’s head appeared in the gap.

“Minerva?”

“Not now,” snapped Minerva, waving at the man to go away.

“There’s a call for you.”

“I’m not available. Take a number.”

The security guard persisted; he stepped into the room, one hand cupped over the mouthpiece of a cordless phone.

“I think you might want to talk to this person. He says his name is Artemis Fowl.”

Minerva gave Soto her full attention.

“I’ll take it,” she said, reaching for the phone.

* * *

The LEPrecon field helmet is an amazing piece of equipment. The Section 8 field helmet, on the other hand, is a miracle of modern science. To compare the two would be akin to comparing a flintlock to a laser-sighted sniper rifle.

Foaly had taken full advantage of his almost unlimited budget to indulge his every tech-head fantasy and stuff the helmet with every piece of diagnostic, surveillance, defense, and just plain cool equipment he could cram in there.

The centaur was vocally proud of the entire package. But if forced to pick just one add-on to brag about, he would go for the bouncing bags every time.

Bouncing bags in themselves were not a recent addition. Even civilian helmets had gel bags in between their outer and inner shells that provided a bit of extra buffering in case of a crash. But Foaly had replaced the helmet’s rigid outer shell with a more yielding polymer and then swapped the electro-sensitive gel for tiny electrosensitive beads. The beads could be controlled with electronic pulses to expand, contract, roll, or group, providing the helmet with a simple but highly effective propulsion system.

“
This little marvel can’t fly, but it can bounce wherever you want it to
,” Foaly had said earlier, when Holly was signing out her equipment. “
Only commanders get the flying helmets. I
wouldn’t recommend them, though; the engine’s field has been known to straighten perms. Not that I’m saying you have a perm. Or need one, for that matter
.”

While N
^o
1 was being interrogated by Minerva, Foaly was flexing his fingers over the remote controls for Holly’s Section 8 helmet. At the moment, the helmet was locked in a wire mesh strongbox at the rear of the security office.

Foaly liked to sing a little ditty while he worked. In this instance the song was the Riverbend classic: “If It Looks Like a Dwarf, and Smells Like a Dwarf, Then It’s Probably a Dwarf (Or a Latrine Wearing Dungarees).” This was a relatively short title for a Riverbend song, which was the fairy equivalent of human Country & Western.

“When I got an itch I can’t scratch,

When there’s a slug in my vole stew,

When I got sunburn on my bald patch,

That’s when I remember you . . .”

Foaly had considerately switched off his mike, so Artemis would not have the chance to object to his singing. In fact, he was using an extremely old hardwired antenna to send his signal, in the hope that no one in Police Plaza would pick up on his transmission. Haven City was in lockdown, and that meant no communications with the surface. Foaly was knowingly disobeying Commander Ark Sool’s orders, and he was quite enjoying himself while doing it.

The centaur donned a set of V-goggles through which he could see everything in the helmet’s vista. Not only that, but the goggles’ PIP facility gave him rear and side views from the helmet’s cameras. Foaly already had control of the chateau’s security systems; now he wanted to have a little peek through their computer files, something he could not do from Section 8 HQ, especially not with the LEP waiting to pounce on any signal coming out of the city.

The helmet was naturally equipped with wireless omnisensor capabilities, but the closer he could get to an actual hard drive, the quicker the job could be completed.

Foaly pressed a combination key command on his V-keyboard. To anyone watching, it would have seemed like the centaur was playing an invisible piano, but in fact the V-goggles interpreted the movements as keystrokes. A small laser pencil popped out of a hidden compartment just above the right ear cushion of Holly’s helmet.

Foaly targeted the wire mesh box’s locking mechanism.

“One second burst. Fire.” Nothing happened, so Foaly swore briefly, turned on his microphone, and tried it again.

“One second burst. Fire.”

This time, a red beam pulsed from the pencil’s tip, and the lock melted into metallic mush.

Always good to have the equipment switched on, thought Foaly, glad that no one had witnessed his mistake, especially Artemis Fowl.

Foaly targeted a desktop computer at the far side of the office with a glare and three blinks.

“Compute bounce,” he ordered the helmet, and almost immediately an animated dotted arrow appeared on the screen, dipping once to the floor and then rising to the computer desk.

“Execute bounce,” said Foaly, and smiled as his creation rolled into life. The helmet hit the floor with a basketball ping, then bounced across the room, directly onto the computer desk.