The Lost Colony (28 page)

“You gave us quite a scare, Holly.” The officer laughed. “Coming back twenty miles off target like that. We had to light a fire under our pilots to get over here and get the projection up. Luckily it’s early in the morning, and the tide is low. We’ve got about half an hour before the first fishing boats get out here.”

“I see,” said Holly slowly. “Big-budget stuff. Sool must have been spitting fire.”

Foaly snorted. “Sool? He can spit what he wants out of whatever end he wants. He got drummed out of the force a couple of years ago. Do you realize that traitor wanted to let the entire Eighth Family die off? The moron actually said as much in a memo.”

Holly gripped the arms of her seat. “A couple of years ago? How long have we been gone?”

Foaly snapped his fingers. “Oh, uh, yeah. I wasn’t supposed to just blurt it out. Sorry. I mean, it’s not serious, like a thousand years or anything.”

“How long, Foaly?” demanded Holly.

The centaur thought about it for a moment. “Okay. You’ve been gone for nearly three years.”

Qwan reached over and slapped Artemis’s shoulder. “Three years! Nice going, Mud Boy. You must have one hell of a brain to get us that close. I wasn’t expecting to see this side of the century.”

Artemis was stunned. Three years! His parents hadn’t seen him for three years. What torture had he put them through? How could he ever make up for it?

Foaly was trying to fill the shocked silence with information. “Mulch has kept the PI firm going. Well, more than that, actually, it’s thriving. He signed up a new partner. You’ll never guess who. Doodah Day. Another criminal turned do-gooder. Wait till he hears you’re back. He’s calls me every day. I have a pain in my tail trying to explain quantum physics to that dwarf.”

Holly reached across and took Artemis’s hand.

“There’s only one way to look at this, Artemis. Think of all the lives you’ve saved. That’s worth a few years, surely.”

Artemis could only stare straight ahead. Dying in the transfer would have been a grade-one disaster, this was surely a grade-two. What could he say? How could he explain himself?

“I need to get home,” he said, sounding for once like an actual fourteen-year-old. “Foaly, would you tell the pilot where I live?”

The centaur chuckled. “Like every law enforcement agent under the world doesn’t know where Artemis Fowl lives. Anyway, no need to go that far. Someone is waiting for you at the shoreline. They’ve been there for quite a while.”

Artemis placed his forehead against the porthole. He felt so tired suddenly, as though he had actually been awake for three years. How could he even begin to explain events to his parents? He knew how they must be feeling—exactly how he had felt when his father had gone missing. Perhaps he had already been declared dead, as his father had been. And even though his return would bring happiness, that pain would always be there under the surface.

Foaly was talking to the demons. “Who’s this little guy?” he asked, tickling N
^o
1 under the chin.

“That little guy is N
^o
1,” said Qwan. “He’s the most powerful warlock on the planet. He could fry your brain by accident, say, if you were tickling him under the chin and he got irritated.”

The centaur withdrew his finger sharpish. “I see. I like him. We’re going to get along just fine. Why are you called N
^o
1? Is that a nickname?”

N
^o
1 felt the magic inside him, comfortable, like heated veins. “It was my imp name. But now I think I’ll keep it.”

Qwan was surprised. “What? You don’t want a
QW
name? That’s traditional. We haven’t had a Qwandri in a while. What about Qwerty?”

N
^o
1 shook his head.“I am N
^o
1. The name used to mark me out as different, now it makes me unique. I have no idea where we are, or where we’re going, but I already feel more at home than I ever have.”

Foaly rolled his eyes. “Excuse me while I get a tissue. Honestly, I thought you demons were warlike and stoic. This little guy sounds like one of those cheap romance novels.”

“The little guy who could fry your brain,” Qwan reminded him.

“One of those cheap romance novels that I happen to adore,” said Foaly, backing away slowly.

N
^o
1 smiled contentedly. He was alive, and he had helped to save the island. Finally he knew his place in the universe. Now that Abbot was taken care of, he could live his life the way he wanted to. And the first thing he would do, when things had settled down, would be to track down the demoness with the red markings very much like his own, and see if maybe she would share a meal with him. A cooked meal. It could be that they had a lot to talk about.

The shuttle slipped through the shield into the morning sky. The jagged rocks of the Irish coast jutted out from the waves, sun-speckled by the early light. It was going to be a fine day. There were trace clouds to the north, but nothing that could keep people inside for long.

There was a group of houses clustered around an inlet, and in the horseshoe harbor, fishermen were already on the sand, setting their nets.

“This is your stop, Artemis,”said Foaly.“We’ll drop you behind the quay wall. I’ll give you a call in a few days, for debriefing.” The centaur reached out a hand and laid it on Artemis’s shoulder. “The People thank you for your efforts, but you know that everything you have learned is confidential. Not even your parents, Artemis. You’ll have to think of something besides the truth to tell them.”

“Of course,” said Artemis.

“Good. I didn’t have to say it, I know. Anyway, the man you want is in the little cottage with the window boxes. Say hello from me.”

Artemis nodded numbly. “I will.”

The pilot swung in low, tucking the shuttle out of sight behind a deserted, ramshackle, stone building. When he was certain that there was nobody in the sight lines, the pilot hit a green light over the rear door.

Holly helped Artemis out of his chair. “We never get to hang out,” she said.

Artemis half chuckled.“I know. There’s always a crisis.”

“If it’s not goblin gangs, it’s time-traveling demons.” Then Holly kissed him on the cheek. “That was probably dangerous. You being a pubescent volcano.”

“I’ve got it under control, just about.”

Holly pointed to her new blue eye. “We’ll always be a part of each other now.”

Artemis tapped the cheek below his fairy-brown eye. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“Was that a joke? My goodness, you are changing.”

Artemis was a little dazed. “Well, apparently I’m almost eighteen.”

“God help us all. Artemis Fowl, eligible to vote.”

Artemis chuckled. “I’ve been voting for years.” He tapped his ring-phone. “Call you later.”

“I have a feeling we’ll have a lot to talk about.”

They hugged briefly, but tightly, then Artemis walked down the ramp. He took three steps and looked back, but there was nothing but sea and sky.

Artemis Fowl made for strange early morning viewing in the village of Duncade: a lone teenager in a tattered suit, leaving a trail of ash behind him as he climbed through a stone stile and half stumbled along the quay front.

There was a small group ahead of him, leaning on a concrete bollard. One shaggily bearded fisherman was telling a wild story about a twenty-foot wave he had seen during the night, which had simply evaporated before it reached the shore. He told the story well, complete with big arm gestures and whooshing noises. The other men nodded to his face, while behind his back winked and made
drinky-drinky
motions with their hands.

Artemis ignored them, walking farther down the quay front to the cottage with the window boxes.

Window boxes? Who would have thought
.

There was a keypad on the door. It looked out of place in such a rustic setting, but Artemis would have expected no less. He keyed in his own birthday, zero one zero nine, deactivating the lock and interior alarm.

It was dark inside, curtains drawn, lights off. Artemis stepped inside to a spartan living area with a functional kitchen, one chair, and a sturdy wooden table. There was no television, but rudimentary shelves had been erected to store hundreds of books on various subjects. As Artemis’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out some of the titles.
Gormenghast, The Art of War,
and
Gone with the Wind
being among them.

“You are full of surprises, old friend,” murmured Artemis, reaching out to touch the spine of
Moby Dick
.

As he traced the embossed title, a small red dot of light appeared on his fingertip.

“You know what that is?” said a low rumbling voice behind him. If thunder could speak, then this would be its voice.

Artemis nodded. This was no time for outbursts or sudden moves.

“Good. Then you know what happens if you do anything to upset me.”

Another nod.

“Excellent, you’re doing very well. Now lace your fingers behind your head and turn around.”

Artemis did as he was told, and found himself facing a huge man with a full beard and long hair drawn back in a ponytail. Both were flecked with gray. The man’s face was familiar, but different. There were more lines around the eyes, and a deep frown slash between them.

“Butler?” said Artemis. “Are you behind all that hair?”

Butler stepped back as though struck. His eyes widened and he swallowed rapidly, suddenly parched.

“Artemis? Is it . . . You’re the wrong age! I always thought . . .”

“The time tunnel, old friend,” explained Artemis. “I saw you only yesterday.”

Butler was not yet convinced; he moved quickly to the curtains, and in his haste pulled them, rail and all, away from the wall. The red light of sunrise flooded the small room. Butler turned to his young guest and took the boy’s face in his hands. With massive thumbs he wiped the grime from around Artemis’s eyes.

What he saw in those eyes almost buckled his knees.

“Artemis, it is you. I had begun to think . . . No, no. I knew you would come back.” And then again with more belief. “I
knew
it. I always knew it.”

The bodyguard wrapped Artemis in arms strong enough to break a bear’s back. Artemis could have sworn he heard sobs, but when Butler released him, he was his usual stoic self.

“Sorry about the beard and the hair, Artemis. I was blending in with the natives. How was your . . . eh . . . trip?”

Artemis felt the sting of tears in his own eyes. “Um, eventful. If it hadn’t been for Holly, we never would have made it.”

Butler studied Artemis’s face. “Something is different. My God, your eyes!”

“Oh, yes. I have one of Holly’s now. It’s complicated.”

Butler nodded. “We can swap stories later. There are calls to be made.”

“Calls?” said Artemis. “More than one?”

Butler plucked a cordless phone from its cradle. “There’s your parents, of course, but I should call Minerva, too.”

Artemis was surprised. Pleasantly so. “Minerva?”

“Yes. She’s been here several times. Almost every school holiday, in fact. We’ve become good friends; she’s the one who started me reading fiction.”

“I see.”

Butler pointed the phone at Artemis. “It’s Artemis this, and Artemis that. She has really built you up to be something special. You’re going to have to work hard not to disappoint her.”

Artemis swallowed. He had been hoping for a break, not more challenges.

“Of course, she’s grown up a bit, even if you haven’t,” continued Butler. “And quite the beauty. Sharp as a samurai sword, too. There’s a young lady who could give you a run for your money at chess.”

Then again, thought Artemis. Nothing like a challenge to keep the brain active. But that could come later.

“My parents?”

“You just missed them. They were here yesterday, for the weekend. They stay in the local guesthouse whenever they can.” Butler laid a hand on Artemis’s shoulder. “These last few years. It’s been terrible for them. I told them everything, Artemis. I had to.”

“Did they believe you?”

Butler shrugged. “Some days they did. Mostly my fairy stories just added to their pain. They think I’ve been driven mad with guilt. And even though you’re back, things will never be the same again. It would take a miracle to erase my stories, and their suffering.”

Artemis nodded slowly.
A miracle
. He lifted his hand. On the palm was a slight graze from his climb over the quayside stile. Artemis concentrated and five blue sparks of magic leaped from his fingertips and zeroed in on the graze, wiping it out like a cloth wiping dirt. He had more magic left than he had pretended.

“Maybe we can arrange a miracle.”

Butler was beyond further amazement. “That’s a new trick,” he said laconically.

“I picked up a little more than an eye in the time tunnel.”

“I see,” said Butler. “Just don’t do it around the twins.”

“Don’t worry,” said Artemis. “I won’t.” Then his brain computed what Butler had actually said.

“What twins?”

Butler punched in the Fowl Manor phone number, smiling. “Maybe time stood still for you, big brother, but it didn’t for the rest of us.”

Artemis stumbled to the room’s only chair and sank into it.

Big brother? he thought, and then . . .

Twins!

Don’t miss the next

“May I see Mother now?” Artemis asked him.

“Yes,” said Artemis Senior. “Go now, see what you can find out. Study her symptoms for your search.”

My search, thought Artemis. There are difficult times ahead.

Artemis’s hulking bodyguard, Butler, waited for him at the foot of the stairs wearing full kendo armor, the helmet’s face guard folded away from his weathered features.

“I was in the dojo, sparring with the holograph,” he explained. “Your father called and told me I was needed immediately. What’s going on?”

“It’s Mother,” said Artemis, passing him. “She’s very ill. I’m going to see what I can do.”

Butler hurried to keep pace, his chest plate clanking. “Be careful, Artemis. Magic is not science. You can’t control it. You wouldn’t want to accidentally make Mrs.

Fowl’s condition worse.”

Artemis arrived at the top of the grand stairway, tentatively reaching his hand toward the bedroom door’s brass knob as though it were electrified.

“I fear that her condition couldn’t be worse. . . .”

Artemis went inside alone, leaving the bodyguard to strip off the kendo headgear and
hon-nuri
breastplate. Underneath he wore a tracksuit instead of his traditional wide-legged trousers. Sweat blossomed across his chest and back, but Butler ignored his desire to go and shower, standing sentry outside the door, knowing that he shouldn’t strain too hard to listen, but wishing that he could.

Butler was the only other human who knew the full truth of Artemis’s magical escapades. He had been at his young charge’s shoulder throughout their various adventures, battling fairies and humans across the continents. But Artemis had made the journey through time to Limbo without him, and Artemis had come back changed. A part of Butler’s young charge was magical now, and not just Captain Holly Short’s hazel left eye that the time stream had given him in place of his own. On the journey from Earth to Limbo and back, Artemis had somehow managed to steal a few strands of magic from the fairies whose atoms were mixed with his in the time stream. When he had returned home from Limbo, Artemis had
suggested
to his parents in the compelling magical
mesmer
that they simply not think about where he had been for the past few years. It wasn’t a very sophisticated plan, as his disappearance had made the news worldwide, and the subject was raised at every function the Fowls attended. But until Artemis could get hold of some LEP mind-wiping equipment, or indeed develop his own, it would have to suffice. He
suggested
to his parents that if anyone were to ask about him, they simply state it was a family matter and ask that their privacy be respected.

Artemis is a magical man, thought Butler. The only one.

And now Butler just knew Artemis was going to use his magic to attempt a healing on his mother. It was a dangerous game; magic was not a natural part of his makeup. Artemis could well remove one set of symptoms and replace them with another.

The boy entered his parents’ bedroom slowly. The twins charged in here at all hours of the day and night, flinging themselves on the four-poster bed to wrestle with his protesting mother and father, but Artemis had never experienced that. His childhood had been a time of order and discipline.

Always knock before entering, Artemis,
his father had instructed him.
It shows respect.

But his father had changed. A brush with death seven years earlier had shown him what was really important.

Now he was always ready to hug and roll in the covers with his beloved sons.

It’s too late for me, thought Artemis. I am too old for tussles with Father.

Mother was different. She was never cold, apart from during her bouts of depression when his father had been missing. But fairy magic and the return of her beloved husband had saved her from that, and now she was herself again. Or she had been until now.

Artemis crossed the room slowly, afraid of what lay before him. He walked across the carpet, careful to tread between the vine patterns in the weave.

Step on a vine, count to nine.

This was a habit from when he was little, an old superstition whispered lightly by his father. Artemis had never forgotten, and always counted to nine to ward off the bad luck should so much as a toe touch the carpet vines.

The four-poster bed stood at the rear of the room, swathed in hanging drapes and sunlight. A breeze slipped into the room, rippling the silks like the sails of a pirate ship.

One of his mother’s hands, pale and thin, dangled over the side of her bed.

Artemis was horrified. Just yesterday his mother had been fine. A slight sniffle, but still her laughing, warm self.

“Mother,” he blurted upon seeing her face, feeling as though the word had been punched out of him.

This was not possible. In twenty-four hours his mother had deteriorated to little more than a skeleton. Her cheekbones were sharp as flint, her eyes lost in dark sockets.

Don’t worry, Artemis told himself. In a few short seconds Mother will be well; then I can investigate what happened here.

Angeline Fowl’s beautiful hair was frizzed and brittle, broken strands crisscrossing her pillow like a spiderweb. And there was an odd smell emanating from her pores.

Lilies, thought Artemis. Sweet, yet tinged with sickness.

Angeline’s eyes opened abruptly, round with panic. Her back arched as she sucked a breath through a constricted windpipe, clutching at the air with clawed hands. Just as suddenly she collapsed, and Artemis thought for a terrible moment that she was gone.

But then her eyelids fluttered and she reached a hand for him.

“Arty,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. “I am having the strangest dream.” A short sentence, but it took an age to complete, with a rasped breath between each word.

Artemis took his mother’s hand. How slender it was. A parcel of bones.

“Or perhaps I am awake and my other life is a dream.”

Artemis was pained to hear his mother speak like this; it reminded him of the odd turns she used to suffer from.

“You’re awake, Mother, and I am here. You have a light fever and are a little dehydrated, that’s all. Nothing to be concerned about.”

“How can I be awake, Arty,” said Angeline, her eyes calm in black circles, “when I feel myself dying? How can I be awake when I feel that?”

Artemis’s feigned calm was knocked by this.

“It’s the . . . fever,” he stammered. “You’re seeing things a little strangely. Everything will be fine soon. I promise.”

Angeline closed her eyes. “And my son keeps his promises, I know. Where have you been these past years, Arty? We were so worried. Why are you not seventeen?”

In her delirium, Angeline Fowl saw through a haze of magic to the truth. She realized that he had been missing for three years and had come home the same age as he had gone away.

“I am fourteen, Mother. Almost fifteen now, still a boy for another while. Now close your eyes, and when you open them again, all will be well.”

“What have you done to my thoughts, Artemis? Where has your power come from?”

Artemis was sweating now. The heat of the room, the sickly smell, his own anxiety.

She knows. Mother knows. If you heal her, will she remember everything?

It didn’t matter. That could be dealt with in due time. His priority was to mend his parent.

Artemis squeezed the frail hand in his grip, feeling the bones grind against each other. He was about to use magic on his mother for the second time.

Magic did not belong in Artemis’s soul and gave him lightning-bolt headaches whenever he used it. Though he was human, the fairy rules of magic held a certain sway over him. He was forced to chew motion sickness tablets before entering a dwelling uninvited, and when the moon was full, Artemis could often be found in the library listening to music at maximum volume to drown out the voices in his head—the great commune of magical creatures. The fairies had powerful race memories, and they surfaced like a tidal wave of raw emotion, bringing migraines with them.

Sometimes Artemis wondered if stealing the magic had been a mistake, but recently the symptoms had stopped. No more migraines or sickness. Perhaps his brain was adapting to the strain of being a magical creature.

Artemis held his mother’s fingers gently, closed his eyes, and cleared his mind.

Magic. Only magic.

The magic was a wild force and needed to be controlled. If Artemis let his thoughts ramble, the magic would ramble too, and he could open his eyes to find his mother still sick but with different-color hair.

Heal, he thought. Be well, Mother.

The magic responded to his wish, spreading along his limbs, buzzing, tingling. Blue sparks circled his wrists, twitching like schools of tiny minnows. Almost as if they were alive.

Artemis thought of his mother in better times. He saw her skin radiant, her eyes shining with happiness. Heard her laugh, felt her touch on his neck. Remembered the strength of Angeline Fowl’s love for her family.

That is what I want.

The sparks sensed his wishes and flowed into Angeline Fowl, sinking into the skin of her hand and wrist, twisting in ropes around her gaunt arms. Artemis pushed harder, and a river of magical flickers flowed from his fingers into his mother.

Heal, he thought. Drive out the sickness.

Artemis had used his magic before, but this time was different. There was resistance, as though his mother’s body did not wish to be healed and was rejecting the power. Sparks fizzled on her skin, spasmed, and winked out.

More, thought Artemis. More.

He pushed harder, ignoring the sudden blinding headache and rumbling nausea.

Heal, Mother.

The magic wrapped his mother like an Egyptian mummy, snaking underneath her body, raising her six inches from the mattress. She shuddered and moaned, steam venting from her pores, sizzling as it touched the blue sparks.

She is in pain, thought Artemis, opening one eye a slit. In agony. But I cannot stop now.

Artemis dug down deep, searching his extremities for the last scraps of magic inside him.

Everything. Give her every last spark.

Magic was not an intrinsic part of Artemis; he had stolen it and now he threw it off again, stuffing all he had into the attempted healing. And yet it wasn’t working. No, worse than that. Her sickness was growing stronger. Repelling each blue wave, robbing the sparks of their color and power, sending them skittering to the ceiling.

Something is wrong, thought Artemis, bile in his throat, a dagger of pain over his left eye. It shouldn’t be like this.

The final drop of magic left his body with a jolt, and Artemis was thrown from his mother’s bedside and sent skidding across the floor, then tumbling head over heels until he came to rest, sprawled against a chaise longue. Angeline Fowl spasmed a final time, then collapsed back onto her mattress. Her body was soaked with a strange, thick, clear gel. Magical sparks flickered and died in the coating, which steamed off almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Artemis lay with his head in his hands, waiting for the chaos in his brain to stop, unable to move or think. His own breathing seemed to rasp against his skull. Eventually the pain faded to echoes, and jumbled words formed themselves into sentences.

The magic is gone. Spent. I am entirely human.

Artemis registered the sound of the bedroom door creaking, and he opened his eyes to find Butler and his father staring down at him, concern large on their faces.

“We heard a crash; you must have fallen,” said Artemis Senior, lifting his son by the elbow. “I should never have let you in here alone, but I thought that perhaps you could do something. You have certain talents, I know. I was hoping . . .” He straightened his son’s shirt, patted his shoulders. “It was stupid of me.”

Artemis shrugged his father’s hands away, stumbling to his mother’s sickbed. It took a mere glance to confirm what he already knew. He had not cured his mother. There was no bloom on her cheeks or ease in her breathing.

She is worse. What have I done?

“What is it?” asked his father. “What the devil is wrong with her? At this rate of decline, in less than a week my Angeline will be—”

Butler interrupted brusquely. “No giving up now, gents. We all have contacts from our past that might be able to shed some light on Mrs. Fowl’s condition. People we might prefer not to associate with otherwise. We find them and bring them back here as fast as we can. We ignore nuisances like passports or visas and get it done.”

Artemis Senior nodded, slowly at first, then with more vigor.

“Yes. Yes, dammit. She is not finished yet. My Angeline is a fighter, are you not, darling?”

He took her hand gently, as though it were made of the finest crystal. She did not respond to his touch or voice. “We talked to every alternative practitioner in Europe about my phantom limb pains. Perhaps one of them can help us with this.”

“I know a man in China,” said Butler. “He worked with Madame Ko at the bodyguard academy. He was a miracle worker with herbs. Lived up in the mountains. He has never been outside the province, but he would come for me.”