Mayne made a copy of Artemis’s video just in case he was being implicated in some kind of treason.
“I could do that,” he said.
Fowl Manor; Ninety-Eight Minutes Later
Artemis was making final preparations in his office, updating his will and trying to master his feelings, tamping down a flat gray sky of sadness that threatened to cloud his resolve. He knew that Dr. Argon would advise him against bottling up his emotions as it would lead to psychological scarring in the long term.
But there will be no long term, Doctor, he thought wryly.
After so many adventures, Artemis felt he should have known that things never turned out exactly as planned, but still he felt surprised at the finality of this step he was being forced to take—and also that he was willing to even consider taking it.
The boy who kidnapped Holly Short all those years ago would never have entertained the notion of sacrificing himself.
But he was no longer that boy. His parents were restored to him, and he had brothers.
And dear friends.
Something else Artemis had never anticipated.
Artemis watched his hand shake as he signed his last will and testament. How valid many of his bequests were in this new age, he was not sure. The banking system was almost definitely irretrievably damaged, as were the world’s stock exchanges. So there went the stocks, bonds, and shares.
All that time spent accumulating wealth, Artemis thought. What a waste.
Then:
Come, now. You are simply being maudlin. You love gold almost as much as Mulch Diggums loves chicken. And, given the chance, you would probably do the same again.
It was true. Artemis didn’t believe in deathbed conversions. They were far too opportunistic. A man must be what he is and take whatever judgments were forthcoming on the chin.
If there is a Saint Peter, I will not argue with him at the Pearly Gates, he promised his subconscious, though Artemis knew that, if his theory was correct, he could be stuck on this plane as a spirit, just as the Berserkers were.
I can be a supernatural bodyguard to Myles and Beckett.
This notion gave Artemis comfort and made him smile. He realized that he was not at all afraid, as if what he was about to attempt were a simulation in a role-playing game rather than an actual course of action.
This changed when Artemis sealed the will in an envelope and propped it against the desk lamp. He stared at the document, feeling the finality in the moment.
No going back now.
And then the fear dropped on him like a ton weight, pinning him to the office chair. He felt a block of lead solidify in his stomach, and suddenly his limbs seemed grafted on and out of his control.
Artemis took several deep breaths just to stop himself from throwing up, and gradually his calm returned.
I had always imagined that there would be time for good-byes. A moment for meaningful words with those I love.
There was no time. No time for anything but action. The fear had passed, and Artemis was still set on his course.
I can do it, he realized. I can think with my heart.
Artemis pushed his oxblood chair back on its casters, clapped his knees once, and stood to face his ordeal.
Holly burst into the office with murder in her eyes.
“I saw what came out of the wine cellar, Artemis.”
“Ah,” said Artemis. “The egg arrived.”
“Yes, it arrived. And I had a look inside.”
Artemis sighed. “Holly, I am sorry you saw. Mulch was supposed to hide it.”
“Mulch is my friend too, and I told him you would try to pull something. He was digging himself a last-minute escape tunnel when the egg came in on autopilot. Mulch figures this is the something you are trying to pull.”
“Holly, it’s not what you think.”
“I know what you’re planning. I figured it out.”
“It seems radical, I know,” said Artemis. “But it’s the only way. I have to do this.”
“You have to do it?!” said Holly, incensed. “Artemis Fowl makes choices for everyone, as usual.”
“Perhaps, but this time I am justified by circumstance.”
Holly actually pulled her gun. “No. Forget it, Artemis. It’s not happening.”
“It has to happen. Perhaps in time, with resources, I could develop an alternate strategy.…”
“Develop an alternate strategy? This is not a corporate takeover we’re talking about, Artemis. It’s your life. You intend to go out there and kill yourself. What about Butler?”
Artemis sighed. It pained him to leave Butler unconscious, ignorant of the plan, especially as he knew that his faithful bodyguard would forever consider himself a failure.
Collateral damage. Just as I shall be.
“No. I can’t tell him, and neither will you…”
Holly interrupted with a wave of her gun. “No orders from you, Mr. Civilian. I am the officer in charge. And I am categorically vetoing this tactic.”
Artemis sat in his chair, resting his face in his hands.
“Holly, we have thirty minutes before sunrise, then I die anyway. Butler dies, and Juliet. My family. Almost everyone I love will be gone. All you’re doing is making sure that Opal wins. You would not be saving anyone.”
Holly stood beside him, and her touch was light at his shoulder. Artemis realized suddenly that elves had a signature odor.
Grass and citrus. Once, I would have filed that information.
“I know you don’t like it, Holly, my friend, but it’s a good plan.”
Holly’s fingers traveled to Artemis’s neck, an
d he felt a slight tingle.
“I don’t like it, Arty,” she said. “But it is a good plan.”
The tranquilizer pad took a few seconds to work, and then Artemis found himself keeling over onto the Afghan rug, his nose parting the fibers of a tree-of-life motif. The drug numbed his mind, and he could not fathom exactly what was happening.
“I’m sorry, Artemis,” said Holly, kneeling beside him. “Opal is one of my people, so this is my sacrifice to make.”
Artemis’s left eye rolled in its socket and his hand flapped weakly.
“Don’t hate me forever, Arty,” whispered Holly. “I couldn’t bear that.”
She took his hand and squeezed it tightly. “I am the soldier, Artemis, and this is a job for a soldier.”
“You make a good point, Holly,” said Artemis, clearly. “But this is my plan and, with all due respect, I am the only one who can be trusted to execute it.”
Holly was confused. Just a moment ago, Artemis had been on the verge of unconsciousness, and now he was lecturing her in his usual supercilious way.
How?
Holly pulled back her hand and saw a small adhesive blister on her palm.
He drugged me! she realized. That sneaky Mud Boy drugged me.
Artemis stood and led Holly to the leather sofa, laying her down on the soft cushions.
“I thought Foaly might tattle, so I took an adrenaline shot to counteract your sedative.”
Holly fought the fog clouding her mind.
“How could you…? How?”
“Logically you have no right to be angry. I simply followed your lead.”
Tears filled Holly’s eyes, spilling down her cheeks as the truth called to her from far away, across a misty chasm.
He is really going through with it.
“No,” she managed.
“There is no other way.”
Holly felt the hollowness of dread sour her stomach.
“Please, Arty,” she mumbled. “Let me…” but she said no more as her lips had turned to slack rubber.
Artemis nearly broke—she could see it in his mismatched eyes, one human, one fairy—but then he stepped away from the couch and breathed deeply.