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ARTEMIS FOWL
THE TIME PARADOX
Eoin Colfer
C H A P T E R I:
ESPRESSO A11D TREACLE
sat on an o x - b l o o d leather His
ARTEmIS
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armchair, facing B e c k e t t and M y l e s .
m o t h e r was in b e d with a slight case of the his father was with the d o c t o r in h e r r o o m ,
flu,
and so A r t e m i s was lending a hand in entertaining the toddlers. And what b e t t e r e n t e r t a i n m e n t for youngsters than s o m e lessons. He had decided to dress casually in a sky-blue silk shirt, light g r e y w o o l l e n t r o u s e r s and G u c c i loafers. His b l a c k hair was swept b a c k from his forehead, and he was putting on a j o l l y e x p r e s s i o n , w h i c h he had heard appealed to children. ' A r t e m i s n e e d t o i l e t ? ' w o n d e r e d B e c k e t t , w h o squatted on the Tunisian rug, wearing only a grass-stained vest, which he had pulled down over his knees. ' N o , B e c k e t t , ' said A r t e m i s brightly. 'I am trying to l o o k jolly. And shouldn't you be wearing a nappy?' 'Nappy,' s n o r t e d M y l e s , w h o had potty-trained h i m s e l f
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at the age of fourteen m o n t h s , building a stepladder of encyclopedias to reach the toilet seat. ' N o nappy/ pouted B e c k e t t , slapping at a still-buzzing fly trapped in his sticky blond curls. ' B e c k e t t hates nappy.' A r t e m i s doubted if the nanny had n e g l e c t e d to put a nappy on B e c k e t t , and he w o n d e r e d briefly w h e r e that nappy was now. 'Very well, B e c k e t t , ' continued A r t e m i s . ' L e t ' s shelve the nappy issue for now, and m o v e on to today's lesson.' ' C h o c o l a t e on shelves,' said B e c k e t t , stretching his fingers high to reach imaginary c h o c o l a t e . 'Yes, g o o d . T h e r e is s o m e t i m e s c h o c o l a t e on the shelves.' 'And espresso,' added B e c k e t t , w h o had a strange set of favourite tastes, which included espresso sachets and treacle. In the same cup, if he could manage it. O n c e B e c k e t t had managed to down several spoons of this c o n c o c t i o n before it was wrestled away from h i m . T h e toddler hadn't slept for twenty-eight hours. ' C a n we learn the n e w words, A r t e m i s ? ' asked M y l e s , w h o wanted to get b a c k to a m o u l d j a r in his b e d r o o m . 'I am doing speriments with Professor Primate.' Professor Primate was a stuffed monkey, and Myles's occasional lab partner. T h e cuddly toy spent m o s t of his t i m e stuffed into a borosilicate glass beaker on the speriment table. A r t e m i s had r e p r o g r a m m e d the monkey's voice b o x to respond to Myles's voice with twelve phrases, including It's alive! It's alive! and History will remember this day, Professor Myles. 'You can go b a c k to your laboratory soon,' said A r t e m i s
approvingly. Myles was cut from the same cloth as himself, a natural-born scientist. 'Now, boys. I thought today we might tackle s o m e restaurant t e r m s . ' 'Sneezes l o o k like w o r m s , ' said B e c k e t t , w h o wasn't one for staying on t o p i c . A r t e m i s was nearly thrown by this r e m a r k . Worms w e r e m o s t definitely n o t on the m e n u , though snails might well b e . ' F o r g e t about w o r m s . ' ' F o r g e t w o r m s ! ' said B e c k e t t , horrified. 'Just for the m o m e n t , ' said A r t e m i s reassuringly. 'As soon as we have finished our w o r d g a m e , you may think on whatever pleases you. And, if you are really g o o d , then I may take you to see the horses.' Riding was the only f o r m of e x e r c i s e that A r t e m i s had taken to. This was mainly because the h o r s e did m o s t of the w o r k . B e c k e t t pointed to himself. ' B e c k e t t , ' he said proudly, w o r m s already a distant m e m o r y . Myles sighed. ' S i m p l e - t o o n . ' A r t e m i s was beginning to r e g r e t scheduling this lesson, but having begun he was d e t e r m i n e d to forge ahead. ' M y l e s , d o n ' t call your b r o t h e r a simpleton.' " S O K , A r t e m i s . H e likes it.You're a simple-toon, aren't you, B e c k e t t ? ' ' B e c k e t t simple-toon,' agreed the small boy happily. A r t e m i s rubbed his hands together. ' R i g h t , b r o t h e r s . Onwards. Imagine y o u r s e l f seated at a cafe table in
Montmartre.'
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Tn P a r i s / said M y l e s , smugly straightening the cravat he had b o r r o w e d from his father. ' Y e s , Paris. And, try as you will, you cannot attract the waiter's attention. W h a t do you do?' T h e infants stared at him blankly, and A r t e m i s began to w o n d e r if he wasn't pitching his lesson a little high. He was relieved, if a little surprised, to see a spark of c o m p r e hension in B e c k e t t ' s eyes. 'Urn . . . tell B u t l e r to j u m p - j u m p - j u m p on his head?' Myles was impressed. T agree with simple-toon.' ' N o ! ' said A r t e m i s . 'You simply raise one finger and say clearly, "hi, garcon!" 'Itchy what?' ' W h a t ? N o , B e c k e t t , n o t itchy! A r t e m i s sighed. This was impossible. Impossible. And he hadn't even introduced the flashcards yet or his n e w modified laser pointer, which could either highlight a w o r d or b u r n through several steel plates, depending on the setting. ' L e t ' s try it together. Raise one finger and say, "Ici,garcon" All t o g e t h e r n o w . . .' T h e little boys did as they w e r e told, eager to please their deranged brother.
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B e c k e t t was suspicious. 'I w o n ' t learn?' ' N o , ' said A r t e m i s , fondly ruffling his brother's hair and immediately regretting it. 'You w o n ' t learn a thing.' ' G o o d . B e c k e t t happy now. See.' T h e boy pointed to himself once m o r e , specifically to the broad smile on his face.
T h e three brothers w e r e stretched on the floor, up to their elbows in poster paint, when their father entered the r o o m . He looked tired from his nursing duties, but otherwise fit and strong, moving like a lifelong athlete in spite of his b i o hybrid artificial leg. T h e leg used lengthened b o n e , titanium prosthetics and implantable sensors to allow Artemis Senior's brain signals to move it. Occasionally, at the end of the day, he would use a microwaveable gel pouch to ease his stiffness, but otherwise he behaved as if the n e w leg w e r e his own. A r t e m i s c l i m b e d to his k n e e s , smudged and dripping. T abandoned F r e n c h vocabulary and have j o i n e d the twins in play.' He grinned, wiping his hands. 'It's quite liberating, actually. We are finger-painting instead. I did try to sneak in a little lecture on Cubism, but received a splattering for my troubles.' A r t e m i s n o t i c e d then that his father was m o r e than simply tired. He was anxious. He stepped away from the twins, walking with A r t e m i s Senior to the floor-to-ceiling b o o k c a s e . ' W h a t is the matter? Is M o t h e r ' s influenza worsening?' Artemis's father rested one hand on the rolling ladder,
Ici, garcon,' they chorused, pudgy fingers raised. And
then from the c o r n e r of his m o u t h Myles whispered to his twin, ' A r t e m i s simple-toon.' A r t e m i s raised his hands. 'I surrender. You win — no m o r e lessons. W h y d o n ' t w e paint s o m e pictures?' ' E x c e l l e n t , ' said Myles. 'I shall paint my j a r of mould.'
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lifting his weight from the artificial limb. His expression was strange, and one that A r t e m i s could n o t recall ever seeing. He realized his father was m o r e than anxious. A r t e m i s Fowl Senior was afraid. 'Father?' A r t e m i s Senior gripped the ladder's rung with such force that the w o o d creaked. He o p e n e d his m o u t h to speak but then s e e m e d to change his m i n d . N o w A r t e m i s h i m s e l f g r e w w o r r i e d . 'Father, you must tell m e . ' ' O f course,' said his father with a start, as if j u s t r e m e m bering w h e r e he was. 'I must tell you . . .' T h e n a tear fell from his eye, dripping on to his shirt, deepening the blue. 'I r e m e m b e r when I first saw your mother,' he said. 'I was in L o n d o n , at a private party in the Ivy. A r o o m full of scoundrels and I was the biggest one in the bunch. She changed m e , Arty. B r o k e my heart, then put it t o g e t h e r again. Angeline saved my life. N o w . . .' A r t e m i s felt weak with nerves. His b l o o d pounded in his ears like the Atlantic surf. 'Is M o t h e r dying, Father? Is this what you are trying to tell m e ? ' T h e idea s e e m e d ludicrous. Impossible. His father blinked, as if waking from a dream. ' N o t if the Fowl m e n have something to say about it, eh, son? It's time for you to earn that reputation of yours.' Artemis
Senior's eyes were bright with desperation. ' W h a t e v e r we have to do, son. W h a t e v e r it takes.' A r t e m i s felt panic welling up inside h i m . Whatever we have to do? Be calm, he told himself. You have the power to fix this. A r t e m i s did n o t yet have all the facts, but nonetheless he was reasonably confident that whatever was w r o n g with his m o t h e r could be healed with a burst of fairy m a g i c . And he was the only human on Earth with that m a g i c running through his system. 'Father,' he said gently, 'has the d o c t o r left?' For a m o m e n t the question s e e m e d to puzzle A r t e m i s Senior, then he r e m e m b e r e d . 'Left? N o . He is in the lobby. I thought you might talk to him. Just in case there's a question I have missed . . .'
Artemis was only mildly surprised to find D o c t o r Hans Schalke, Europe's leading e x p e r t on rare diseases, in the lobby and n o t the usual family practitioner. Naturally, his father would have sent for Schalke when Angeline Fowl's condition began to deteriorate. Schalke waited b e l o w the filigreed Fowl crest, a hard-skinned Gladstone bag standing sentry by his ankles like a giant b e e t l e . He was belting a grey raincoat across his waist and speaking to his assistant in sharp tones. Everything about the d o c t o r was sharp, from the arrowhead of his widow's peak, to the razor edges of his cheekbones and nose. Twin ovals of cut glass magnified Schalke's
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blue eyes and his m o u t h slashed downwards from left to right, barely moving as he talked. 'All of the symptoms / he said, his a c c e n t m u t e d G e r m a n . ' O n all of the databases, you understand?' His assistant, a petite young lady in an expensively cut grey suit, nodded several t i m e s , tapping the instructions o n t o the screen o f h e r smartphone. 'Universities t o o ? ' she asked. 'AH I said Schalke, accompanying the w o r d with an impatient n o d . ' D i d I n o t say all? Do you n o t understand my accent? Is it because I am from G e r m a n y c o m i n g ? ' 'Sorry, D o c t o r / said the assistant contritely. 'All, of course.' A r t e m i s approached D o c t o r Schalke, hand outstretched. T h e d o c t o r did n o t r e t u r n the gesture. ' C o n t a m i n a t i o n , M a s t e r F o w l / he said, without a trace o f apology o r sympathy. ' W e have n o t d e t e r m i n e d w h e t h e r your m o t h e r ' s condition is contagious.' A r t e m i s curled his fingers into his palm, sliding the hand behind his b a c k . T h e d o c t o r was right, of c o u r s e . ' W e have never m e t , D o c t o r . W o u l d you be so good as to describe my m o t h e r ' s s y m p t o m s ? ' T h e d o c t o r huffed, irritated. 'Very well, young man, but I am n o t a c c u s t o m e d to dealing with children, so there will be no sugar coating.' A r t e m i s swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Sugar coating. ' Y o u r m o t h e r ' s c o n d i t i o n is possibly u n i q u e / said
of his fingers. ' F r o m what I can t e l l , h e r organs s e e m to be failing.' ' W h i c h organs?' 'All of t h e m / said Schalke. 'I n e e d to bring e q u i p m e n t here from my laboratory at Trinity C o l l e g e . Obviously your m o t h e r cannot b e m o v e d . M y assistant, I m o g e n , Miss B o o k , will m o n i t o r h e r until my r e t u r n . Miss B o o k is n o t only my publicist, but an e x c e l l e n t nurse t o o . A useful c o m bination, wouldn't you say?' In his peripheral vision, A r t e m i s saw Miss B o o k scurry round a corner, stammering into h e r smartphone. He h o p e d the p u b l i c i s t / n u r s e would display m o r e confidence w h e n caring for his m o t h e r . T suppose. All my m o t h e r ' s organs? All of t h e m ? ' Schalke was n o t inclined to repeat himself. 'I am reminded of lupus, but m o r e aggressive, c o m b i n e d with all three stages of Lyme disease. I did observe an Amazonian tribe once with similar symptoms, but n o t so severe. At this rate of decline, your m o t h e r has days left to her. Frankly, I doubt we will have t i m e to c o m p l e t e tests. We need a miracle cure, and in my considerable e x p e r i e n c e miracle cures do not exist.' 'Perhaps they d o / said A r t e m i s absently. Schalke picked up his bag. ' P u t your faith in science, young m a n / advised the doctor. ' S c i e n c e will serve your m o t h e r b e t t e r than s o m e mysterious force.' A r t e m i s held the d o o r for Schalke, watching him walk the dozen steps to his vintage M e r c e d e s - B e n z . T h e car was grey, like the bruised clouds overhead.
Schalke, banishing his assistant to h e r w o r k with a shake
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There is no time for science, thought the Irish teenager. Magic is my only option.
Artemis went inside alone, leaving the bodyguard to strip off the Kendo headgear and Hon-nuri breastplate. Underneath lie wore a tracksuit instead of the traditional wide-legged
W h e n A r t e m i s r e t u r n e d to his study, his father was sitting on the rug with B e c k e t t crawling along his t o r s o like a monkey. 'May I see M o t h e r n o w ? ' A r t e m i s asked him. 'Yes,' said A r t e m i s Senior. ' G o n o w ; see what you can find out. Study h e r symptoms for your search.' Mj search? thought A r t e m i s . There are difficult times ahead.
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. B u t l e r was the only o t h e r human w h o k n e w the full truth of Artemis's magical escapades. He had b e e n at his young charge's shoulder throughout their various adventures, battling fairies and humans across the continents. B u t
Artemis's hulking bodyguard, Butler, waited for him at the foot of the stairs wearing full K e n d o armour, the h e l m e t ' s faceguard 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 n e e d e d immediately. W h a t ' s going o n ? ' 'It's Mother,' said A r t e m i s , passing him. 'She's very ill. I ' m going to see what I can do.' B u t l e r hurried to keep pace, his chest plate clanking. ' B e careful, A r t e m i s . M a g i c is n o t science. You c a n ' t c o n t r o l it. You wouldn't want to accidentally m a k e M r s Fowl's condition worse.' A r t e m i s arrived at the top of the grand stairway, tentatively reaching his hand towards the b e d r o o m door's brass knob, as though it w e r e electrified. 'I fear that h e r condition couldn't be w o r s e . . .'
Artemis had made the j o u r n e y through t i m e to L i m b o without him, and he had c o m e b a c k changed. A part of his young charge was magical now, and n o t just Captain Holly Short's hazel left eye the t i m e stream had given him in place of his own. On the j o u r n e y from E a r t h to L i m b o and back, A r t e m i s had s o m e h o w managed to steal a few strands of magic from the fairies whose atoms w e r e m i x e d with his in the t i m e stream. W h e n he had r e t u r n e d h o m e from L i m b o , A r t e m i s had suggested to his parents, in the
compelling magical mesmer, that they simply n o t think about where he had b e e n 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. B u t until A r t e m i s could get hold of s o m e L E P mind-wiping equipment, or indeed develop his own, it would have to suffice. He suggested to his parents that if anyone w e r e to ask about him they should simply
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state it was a family m a t t e r and ask that their privacy be respected. Artemis is a magical human, thought Butler. The only one. And n o w B u t l e r j u s t k n e w A r t e m i s was going to use his m a g i c to attempt a healing on his m o t h e r . It was a dangerous g a m e ; m a g i c was n o t a natural part of his make-up. T h e boy could well r e m o v e one set of symptoms and replace t h e m with another.
A r t e m i s crossed the r o o m slowly, afraid of what lay before him. He walked cautiously across the carpet, careful to tread b e t w e e n the vine patterns in the weave. Step on a vine, count to nine. This was a habit from w h e n he was little, an old superstition whispered lightly by his father. A r t e m i s had never forgotten and always counted to nine to ward off the bad luck should so m u c h as a t o e t o u c h the carpet vines. T h e four-poster b e d stood a t the rear o f the r o o m ,
A r t e m i s entered his parents' b e d r o o m slowly. T h e twins charged in here at all hours of the day and night, flinging themselves on the four-poster b e d to w r e s t l e with his protesting m o t h e r and father, but A r t e m i s had never e x p e r i e n c e d that. His childhood had b e e n a t i m e of order and discipline. Always knock before entering, Artemis, instructed him. It shows respect. B u t his father had changed. A brush with death seven years earlier had shown him what was really i m p o r t a n t . N o w he was always ready to hug and roll in the covers with his beloved sons. It's too late for me, thought A r t e m i s . I am too old for tussles with Father. M o t h e r was different. She was never c o l d , apart from during h e r bouts of depression w h e n his father was missing. But fairy m a g i c and the r e t u r n of h e r beloved husband had saved h e r from that and n o w she was h e r s e l f again. Or she had b e e n until now. his father had
swathed in hanging drapes and sunlight. A b r e e z e slipped into the r o o m , rippling the silks like the sails of a pirate ship. O n e of his m o t h e r ' s hands dangled over the side. Pale and thin. A r t e m i s was horrified. Just yesterday his m o t h e r had b e e n fine. A slight sniffle, but still h e r w a r m , laughing self. 'Mother,' he b l u r t e d on seeing h e r face, feeling as though the w o r d had b e e n punched out of him. This was n o t possible. In twenty-four hours, his m o t h e r had deteriorated to little m o r e than a skeleton. H e r c h e e k b o n e s w e r e sharp as flint, h e r eyes lost in dark sockets. Don't worry, A r t e m i s 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 b r i t t l e , b r o k e n strands criss-crossing h e r pillow like a spider's web. And there was an odd smell emanating from h e r pores. Lilies, thought A r t e m i s . Sweet yet tinged with sickness. Angeline's eyes opened abruptly, round with panic. H e r
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b a c k arche..."
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