The Time Paradox (Artemis Fowl 6)

She flashed back to the day, eighteen years ago, when her own mother had passed away. Almost two decades now, and the loss was still as painful as a raw wound. A thought struck her.

It’s not eighteen years. It’s twenty-one. I’ve been away for three.

Coral Short had been a doctor with LEPmarine, who patrolled the Atlantic, cleaning up after humans, protecting endangered species. She had been mortally injured when a particularly rancid-looking tanker they were shadowing accidentally doused their submarine with radioactive waste. Dirty radiation is poison to fairies, and it had taken her mother a week to die.

“I will make them pay,” Holly had vowed, crying at her mother’s bedside in Haven Clinic. “I will hunt down every last one of those Mud Men.”

“No,” her mother had said with surprising force. “I spent my career saving creatures. You must do the same. Destruction cannot be my legacy.”

It was one of the last things she would ever say. Three days later, Holly stood stone-faced at her mother’s recycling ceremony, her green dress uniform buttoned to the chin, the omnitool that her mother had given her as a graduation present in its holster on her belt.

Saving creatures. So Holly applied to Recon.

And now Artemis’s mother was dying. Holly realized that she didn’t think of Artemis as a human anymore, just as a friend.

“I need to go to Ireland,” she said.

Foaly did not bother to argue, as he had sneaked a peek at this urgent mail on Holly’s screen.

“Go. I can cover for you here for a few hours. I could say you’re completing the Ritual. As it happens, there’s a full moon tonight and we still have a few magical sites near Dublin. I’ll send a message to Section Eight. Maybe Qwan will let No1 out of the magi-lab for a few hours.”

“Thanks, old friend.”

“You’re welcome. Now go. I’m going to get out of your head for a while and monitor the chatter here. Maybe I can plant a few ideas in the human media. I like the idea of an underground natural gas pocket. It’s almost the truth.”

Almost the truth.

Holly couldn’t help applying the phrase to Artemis’s mail. So often the Irish boy manipulated people by telling them almost the truth.

She chided herself silently. Surely not. Even Artemis Fowl would not lie about something this serious.

Everyone had their limits.

Didn’t they?

CHAPTER 3

ECHOES OF MAGIC

Artemis senior assembled his troops in Fowl Manor’s conference room, which had originally been a banqueting hall. Until recently the soaring Gothic arches had been hidden by a false ceiling, but Angeline Fowl had ordered the ceiling to be removed and the hall restored to its original double-height glory.

Artemis, his father, and Butler sat in black leather Marcel Breuer chairs around a glass-topped table with space for ten more people.

Not so long ago there were smugglers seated at this table, thought Artemis. Not to mention crime lords, hackers, insider traders, counterfeiters, black marketers, and cat burglars. The old family businesses.

Artemis Senior closed his laptop. He was pale and obviously exhausted, but the old determination shone brightly in his eyes.

“The plan is a simple one. We must seek out not just a second opinion, but as many opinions as possible. Butler will take the jet and go to China. No time for official channels, so perhaps you could find a strip where immigration is a little lax.”

Butler nodded. “I know just the place. I can be there and back in two days, all going well.”

Artemis Senior was satisfied. “Good. The jet is fueled and ready. I have already organized a full crew and an extra pilot.”

“I just need to pack a few things, then I can be on my way.”

Artemis could imagine what kinds of things Butler would pack, especially if there were no officials at the airstrip.

“What will you do, Father?” he asked.

“I am going to England,” said Artemis Senior. “I can take the helicopter to London City Airport, and from there a limousine to Harley Street. There are several specialists I can talk to, and it will be far more efficient to send me there than to bring them all here. If any can shed even the most feeble ray of light on your mother’s situation, then I will pay them whatever it takes to get them back here. Buy out their practices, if necessary.”

Artemis nodded. Wise tactics. Still, he would expect no less from the man who had successfully run a criminal empire for more than two decades, and a humanitarian one for the past few years.

Everything Artemis Senior did now was ethical, from his fair-trade clothes company to his shares in Earth-power, a consortium of like-minded businessmen who were building everything from renewable fuel cars to geothermal rods and solar panels. He had even had the Fowl cars, jet, and helicopter fitted with advanced emission filters to lighten the family’s carbon footprint.

“I shall remain here,” announced Artemis, without waiting to be told. “I can coordinate your efforts, set up a Webcam so that the Harley Street specialists can see Mother, supervise Dr. Schalke and Miss Book, and also conduct my own Internet search for possible cures.”

Artemis Senior half smiled. “Exactly, son. I hadn’t thought of the Webcam.”

Butler was anxious to leave, but he had a point to make before going. “I am not comfortable with Artemis being left alone. A genius he may be, but he is still a habitual meddler and a magnet for trouble.” The bodyguard winked at Artemis. “No offense, young sir, but you could turn a Sunday picnic into an international incident.”

Artemis accepted the accusation graciously. “None taken.”

“That thought has occurred to me,” said Artemis Senior, scratching his chin. “But there is nothing for it. The nanny has agreed to take the twins to her cottage in Howth for a couple of days, but Arty is needed here, and so he will have to fend for himself.”

“Which will not be a problem,” said Artemis. “Have a little faith, please.”

Artemis Senior reached across the table, covering his son’s hand with his own. “Faith in each other is all we have now. We have to believe that saving your mother is possible. Do you believe it?”

Artemis noticed one of the upper windows swinging slowly ajar. A leaf curled into the room, riding a swirling br

eeze, then the window seemed to close itself.

“I absolutely believe it, Father. More with every minute.”

Holly did not reveal herself until Artemis Senior’s modified Sikorsky S-76C had lifted off from the rooftop heliport. Artemis was busy rigging a Webcam at the foot of his mother’s bed when the elf shimmered into view with her hand on his shoulder.

“Artemis, I am so sorry,” she said softly.

“Thanks for coming, Holly,” said Artemis. “You got here quickly.”

“I was aboveground, in Finland, chasing a kraken.”

“Ah yes, Tennyson’s beast,” said Artemis, closing his eyes and remembering a few lines from the famous poem.

“Below the thunders of the upper deep;

Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,

His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep,

The Kraken sleepeth.”

“Sleepeth? Not anymore. Watch the news headlines later. There was a natural gas explosion, apparently.”

“I would guess that Foaly is up to his old spin-doctoring tricks?”

“Yes.”

“Not many kraken left now,” commented Artemis. “Seven, by my reckoning.”

“Seven?” said Holly, surprised. “We’re only tracking six.”

“Ah, yes, six. I meant six. New suit?” he asked, changing the subject a little too quickly.

“Three years more advanced than the last one,” replied Holly, filing the kraken tidbit for investigation at a later time. “It has autoarmor. If the sensors feel something big coming, the entire suit flexes to cushion the blow. It saved my life once today already.”

A message icon beeped in Holly’s helmet, and she took a moment to read the short text.

“No1 is on the way. They’re sending the Section Eight shuttle. No way to contain this now, so whatever we need to do has to be done fast.”

“Good. I need all the help I can get.”

Their conversation petered out as Angeline Fowl’s deathly illness completely occupied their thoughts. She radiated pallor, and the smell of lilies hung yellow in the air.