The Time Paradox

  “In case of emergency,” he explained, “I could swallow a buried lug of metal, or a strip of old tire. Now, those I would have to evacuate on the spot, annoying Mud Boy to the rear or not. No sense in ruining my trousers too, is there, dopey?”

  “I suppose not,” said Artemis, thinking that with such a wide-bore loaded weapon pointed at him, he could bear being called dopey.

  “Anyway,” continued the dwarf, hawking another wad at the wall, “you should consider yourself privileged. Not many humans have seen a dwarf working with spit. This is what you might call an ancient art. First you—”

  “I know, I know,” interrupted Artemis impatiently. “First you excavate, then you strengthen the walls with your spittle, which hardens on contact with the air, providing it’s out of your mouth, obviously. And it’s luminous too, amazing material.”

  Mulch’s behind wobbled in surprise. “How do you know these secrets?”

  “You told me, or rather, you will tell me. Time travel, remember?”

  The dwarf peered over his shoulders, eyes red in the glow of his spittle. “Just how close do we become?”

  “Very close. We get an apartment together, and after a whirlwind courtship you marry my sister and honeymoon in Vegas.”

  “I love Vegas,” said Mulch wistfully. Then, “Such snide wit. I can see how we might be friends. All the same, keep your comments to yourself, or we might have to see how funny you are covered in tunnel waste.”

  Artemis swallowed hard, then moved the flashlight away from Mulch’s behind.

  The plan was a simple one. They would tunnel underneath the compound and wait below the lemur’s cage for Holly to contact them on the short-range LEP adhesive communicator stuck to Artemis’s cheek, part of Mulch’s stash. From that point forward, the plan became fluid. Either they would pop up and grab the lemur while Holly caused consternation among the animals, or if young Artemis had already secured the lemur, Mulch would dig a hole under Butler and make it easier for Holly to relieve the boy of his prize.

  All very straightforward, thought Artemis. Which is unusual for me.

  “Okay, Mud Boy,” said Mulch, scooping a bulb-shaped hollow with his flat fingers. “We are here. X marks the monkey.”

  “Lemur,” corrected Artemis automatically. “Are you certain you can distinguish this particular animal’s scent from all the others?”

  Mulch held a hand to his heart in mock affront. “I? Certain? I am a dwarf, human. A dwarf nose can tell the difference between grass and clover. Between black hair and brown. Between dog poo and wolf poo.”

  Artemis groaned. “I shall take that as a yes.”

  “And so you should. Keep this up and I may choose not to marry your sister.”

  “If I had a sister, I’m sure she would be inconsolable.”

  They crouched in the hollow for several minutes, the park’s nighttime growls and snores drifting down through the clay. By some curious anomaly, once the sounds penetrated the tunnel’s coating of dwarf spittle, they were trapped inside and bounced off the walls in conflicting waves. Artemis felt as though he were literally in the lion’s den.

  As if this wasn’t disturbing enough, he noticed that Mulch’s cheeks were glowing bright pink. All of them.

  “Problems?” he asked, unable to mask a nervous tremor.

  “I’ve been holding in this gas for a long time,” replied the dwarf through clenched teeth. “It’s coming out soon. You got any sinus problems?”

  Artemis shook his head.

  “Pity,” said Mulch. “This would have cleared them right up.”

  If it hadn’t been for Artemis’s determination to save his mother, he would have bolted right then.

  Luckily for Artemis’s nasal passages, Holly beeped him on the ad-com. The communicator was a basic vibration model that sent signals directly to Artemis’s ear without any external noise. Artemis heard Holly’s words but not her voice. The ad-com was only sophisticated enough to produce robotic tones.

  “In position. Over.”

  Artemis placed a finger on the communicator, completing the circuit that allowed him to speak.

  “Received. We are directly below the target’s cage. Can you see the opposition?”

  “Negative. No visual. But I do see the lemur. He seems to be asleep on a low branch. I can easily reach him.”

  “Negative, Holly. Hold your position. We will secure the target. You watch for my younger self.”

  “Understood. Don’t hang around, Arty. Get up, get down, and back to the car.”

  Arty?

  Artemis was surprised that Holly would call him that. It was his mother’s pet name for him.

  “Got it. Up, down, and back.”

  Arty?

  Mulch tapped him urgently on the shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready, Mud Boy. Now would be great.”

  “Very well. Proceed. Try to be quiet.”

  Mulch changed position and pointed the crown of his head at the tunnel roof, squatting low on his haunches.

  “Too late for quiet,” he grunted. “Pull your jacket over your face.”

  Artemis barely had time to do what he’d been asked, when Mulch released a thundering cylinder of gas and earth, spraying the boy with undigested clods. The shell of dwarf spittle cracked in a thousand places, and Mulch was borne aloft by a churning pillar of force, easily punching through to the surface.

  Once the dust had settled somewhat, Artemis scrambled after him into the cage. Mulch had pinballed off a low cage ceiling and was unconscious, blood matting his already tangled hair, his bum-flap fluttering like a wind sock while the remainder of the tunnel waste escaped.

  Low cage ceiling?

  The lemur in the next cage seemed highly amused by all the commotion, and hopped up and down on a truncated branch wedged between the bars.

  The next cage, realized Artemis. We are not in the lemur’s cage. What cage are we in?

  Before he had time to investigate, his cheek beeped, and an emotionless robotic voice droned into his ear.

  “Get Mulch out of there, Arty. Get back down now.”

  What is it? wondered Artemis. What’s in this cage?

  Then a four-hundred-pound Ugandan mountain gorilla crashed into him, leaving the thought behind like a speech bubble.

  Young Artemis and Butler were watching all of this through the slot windows of a camouflaged hide that sat in front of the cages. The hide had been built inside a rockery and water feature and allowed close study of the various animals without disturbing the natural rhythms of their day. The director had been kind enough to let Artemis sit in the observer’s chair earlier that day.

  “Someday we’ll be able to run the hide’s thermal imaging camera and all this equipment from that chair,” he had said.

  “Perhaps sooner than that,” Artemis had replied.

  “Oh dear,” said Butler, the phrase sounding over-delicate in his gravelly voice. “That must really have hurt.”

  He reached into his pocket for the dart gun. “I’d better lend a hand, or at least a dart.”

  Butler had been busy with his darts. Two night workers lay unconscious on cots at the rear of the hide.

  Through the slot window they had a clear view of the male intruder being shaken like a rag doll by an enormous gorilla. The cage’s third occupant had collapsed and appeared to be racked by an energetic bout of flatulence.

  Incredible, thought Artemis. This day is full of surprises.

  He tapped a few keys on the computer keyboard before him, redirecting the compound’s thermal imaging camera.

  “I don’t think a dart will be necessary,” he said. “Help is already on the way.”

  Sure enough, a red-hearted glow bounced across the cobbled walkway, hovering before the gorilla cage.

  “Now, this should be interesting,” mused ten-year-old Artemis.

  Holly was forced into action. She had been discreetly tucked away behind the broad trunk of an imported baobab tree, shield off, conserving magic, keeping an eye
out for young Artemis, when Mulch blew a hole in the earth into the wrong cage. He exploded from the ground in a minicyclone of debris and bounced off a few surfaces like a cartoon pinball, before collapsing onto the cage floor.

  The cage’s resident, a black-and-gray bull gorilla, shot straight up, woken from deep sleep. His eyes were wide but blurred, his teeth yellow and bared.

  Stay down, Artemis, she thought. Stay in the hole.

  No such luck. Artemis clambered to the surface, carefully navigating the simple climb. The time stream had not granted him any agility. As Artemis often said, the physical was not his area.

  Holly thumbed her ad-com. “Get Mulch out of there, Arty,” she shouted. “Get back down now.”

  It was too late. The gorilla had decided these newcomers were a threat to be dealt with. It rolled from its nest of leaves and bark, landing on eight knuckles, the impact sending a jarring wave along its arm hair.

  Holly buzzed up her shield as she ran, silver strands floating behind her as the wig fell apart, marking her trail.

  The gorilla attacked, grabbing a surprised Artemis Fowl by the shoulders, roaring in his face, head back, teeth like a bear trap.

  Holly was at the gate, powering down, pulling the omnitool from her pocket, jabbing the business end into the lock. She surveyed the scene inside the cage while she waited for the tool to work.

  Mulch was up and on his elbows now, shaking a groggy head. It would be a moment or two before he was in any shape to help, if he deigned to help a human stranger.

  Anyway, it was immaterial; a moment or two would be too late for Artemis.

  The omnitool beeped and the cage door swung open, a narrow walkway extended from the footpath crossing a moat and slotting into grooves on the habitat floor.

  Holly charged across without hesitation, waving her arms, shouting, making herself a target.

  The gorilla huffed and snorted, gathering Artemis close to its chest, warning Holly to stay back. Artemis’s head flopped on his shoulders, and his eyes were half closed.

  Holly stopped ten feet from the animal and lowered her arms and gaze. A nonthreatening stance.

  The gorilla made a few fake attacks, thundering to within a foot of Holly then contemptuously turning his back, all the while grunting and barking, pressing Artemis to his chest. Artemis’s hair was slicked back with blood, and a crimson trickle leaked from the corner of his left eye. One arm was broken, and blood pouched the sleeve of his tracksuit.

  Holly was shocked. Appalled. She felt like crying and running away. Her friend was injured, possibly dead.

  Get a grip! she told herself. You are older than you look.

  One of the fairy magical powers was the gift of tongues, and this encompassed a rudimentary grasp of some of the more sophisticated animal tongues. She would never be discussing global warming with a dolphin, but she knew enough for basic communication.

  With gorillas it was as much about body language as what was actually said. Holly squatted low, elbows crooked, knuckles on the earth, spine curved forward— the posture of a friend—then she funneled her lips and hooted several times. Danger! the hoots said. Danger is near!

  The gorilla did a comical double take, amazed to hear gorilla-speak coming from this creature. It sensed a trick but was not sure what that trick might be. And when in doubt, beat your chest.

  The gorilla dropped Artemis, stood tall on two feet, thrusting forward chin and pectorals, and began beating its chest with open palms.

  I am king here. Do not trifle with me, was the clear message.

  A wise sentiment indeed, but Holly had no choice.

  She darted forward, hooting all the time, throwing in the odd terrified screech, and then, against the advice of every wildlife expert who had ever held a steadi-cam, she looked directly into the animal’s eyes.

  Leopard, she hooted, layering her voice with the fairy mesmer. Leopard!

  The gorilla’s fury was replaced by dull confusion, which was in turn pushed aside by terror.

  Leopard! Holly hooted. Climb!

  Moving with less than its customary grace, the gorilla stumbled toward the rear of the cage, moving as though underwater, senses dulled by the mesmer. Trees and foliage were batted aside, leaving a wake of sap-crowned trunks and flattened grass. In moments the animal had disappeared deep into the dark recesses of its artificial habitat.

  Fearful gibberings floated from the upper canopy.

  Holly would feel bad later for putting the beast under a spell, but now there was not a heartbeat to waste on guilt. Artemis was grievously injured, perhaps mortally so.

  The gorilla had dropped Artemis like a carcass that had been picked clean. He lay there, still as the dead.

  No. Don’t think that.

  Holly raced to her friend’s side, skidding the final yard on her knees.

  Too far gone. He’s too far gone.

  Artemis’s face was pale as bone. His long black hair was matted with blood, and the whites of his eyes were twin crescents through hooded lids.

  “Mother,” he said, the word riding on a breath.

  Holly reached out her hands, magic already dancing on her fingertips, shooting off in arcs like tiny sun flares.

  She froze before the magic could make the jump to Artemis’s body.

  If I heal Artemis will I also damn him? Is my magic tainted with Spelltropy?

  Artemis thrashed weakly, and Holly could actually hear bones grating in his sleeve. There was blood on his lips too.

  He will die if I don’t help. At least if I heal him, there is a chance.

  Holly’s hands were shaking, and her eyes were blurred with tears.

  Pull yourself together. You are a professional.

  She didn’t feel very professional. She felt like a girl out of her depth.

  Your body is playing tricks on your mind. Ignore it.

  Holly cupped Artemis’s face gently in both hands.

  “Heal,” she whispered, almost sobbing.

  The magical sparks leaped like dogs unleashed, sinking into Artemis’s pores, knitting bones, healing skin, staunching internal bleeding.

  The sudden transition from death’s door to hale and hearty was rough on Artemis. He shuddered and bucked, teeth chattering, hair frizzing in an electric halo.

  “Come on, Artemis,” said Holly, bending over him like a mourner. “Wake up.”

  There was no reaction for several seconds. Artemis looked like a healthy corpse, but then that was how he usually looked. Then his mismatched eyes opened, lids flickering like hummingbird wings as his system rebooted. He coughed and shuddered, flexing fingers and toes.

  “Holly,” he said when his vision had cleared. His smile was sincere and grateful. “You saved me again.”

  Holly was laughing and crying at the same time, tears spilling onto Artemis’s chest.

  “Of course I saved you,” she said. “I couldn’t do without you.” And because she was happy and flushed with magic, Holly leaned down and kissed Artemis, magic sparking around the contact like tiny fireworks.

  * * *

  Ten-year-old Artemis Fowl was keeping one eye on the drama unfolding in the gorilla cage.

  “Troglodytes gorilla,” he commented to Butler. “Given the name by Dr. Thomas S. Savage, an American missionary to western Africa, who first scientifically described the gorilla in 1847.”

  “You don’t say,” murmured the bodyguard, who was more interested in the brute’s bite radius than its proper name.

  They had used the commotion as cover to slip out from the artificial hide and across the small courtyard to the lemur’s cage, which was beside the gorilla’s.

  The strange newcomers were far too busy to notice them swipe the cage’s key-card lock and open the gate door.

  “Look at those two. Wasting time. You wouldn’t catch me doing that.”

  Butler snorted, as he usually did immediately before delivering a deadpan line. “Most people never catch you doing anything, Artemis.”

  Artemis
allowed himself a chuckle. This was an interesting day, and he was enjoying the challenges that it presented.

  “And there we are,” said Artemis quietly. “The last silky sifaka lemur in the world. The hundred-thousand-euro primate.”

  The lemur was perched high in a Madagascar palm, clinging to the branches with its long grasping toes and opposable thumb digits. Its coat was snow white with a brown patch on the chest.

  Artemis pointed at the animal. “That coloring results from chest scent-marking with the sternal-gular gland.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Butler, who cared slightly less about this than he did about the gorilla’s scientific name. “Let’s just grab the animal and get out of here before our friends next door regroup.”

  “I think we have a moment or two,” said Artemis.

  Butler studied the strangers in the adjacent cage. It was surprising that the male was not in pieces by now, but somehow the female had appeared from nowhere and chased the gorilla off. Impressive. That one had a few tricks up her sleeve. There was serious technology behind her. Perhaps some kind of camouflage software in the clothing, which would explain the sparks. The Americans, he knew, were developing an all-terrain camouflage suit. One of his military contacts had sent him a link to a leaked video on the Internet.

  There was another creature in the cage, the hairy individual who had released the first two from the Bentley, picking what was supposed to be an unpickable lock in the process. The creature was neither man nor beast, a rough stumpy character who had been propelled through the earth by some force, and was now suffering from a debilitating attack of gas. Somehow, this thing had managed to dig a thirty-yard tunnel in a matter of minutes. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the cages were modular with overlapping walls, then the creature would have been in the same cage as the lemur. As it was, while it emerged directly below the lemur, it was one cage over.

  Butler knew that Artemis would be just itching to study these strange creatures, but now was not the time. They were in a position of total ignorance, and people in that position often died without being enlightened.

  The bodyguard drew his dart pistol, but Artemis recognized the sound of a gun sliding from a holster and waved his index finger.