On this night, as Artemis raced across the moonlit meadow, kicking up diamond dewdrops, there were no protesters ringing the pylons, but they had planted their signs like moon flags. Artemis slalomed through this obstacle course while simultaneously craning his neck to track the figures above.
The lemur was on the wire now, silhouetted by the moon, scampering easily along the metal cable, while Artemis the younger and Butler were stranded on the small platform at the pylon’s base, unable to venture any farther.
Finally, thought Artemis. A stroke or two of luck.
Stroke one was that the lemur was suddenly up for grabs. Stroke the second was that while his young nemesis had chosen to follow the silky sifaka directly up the pylon the animal was scaling, he himself could go up the adjacent pole, which just happened to be the service pylon.
Artemis reached the pylon’s base, which was secured by a cage. The heavy padlock submitted instantly to a quick jab from the omnitool, as did the steel equipment locker. Inside were various tools, walkie-talkies, and a Faraday suit. Artemis tugged on the heavy overalls, wiggling his fingers into the attached gloves, tucking his long hair inside the hood. The flame-retardant and steel-thread suit had to completely enclose him to act as a protective Faraday cage. Otherwise he could not venture out on the wires without being burned to a criminal-mastermind cinder.
More luck. An elevator platform ran along the side of the pylon. It was locked and key-coded. But locks quailed when faced with an omnitool, and a key code was of little value when it was a simple matter to unscrew the control panel and activate the pulley manually.
Artemis held tight to the safety rail as the tiny elevator shuddered and whined its way into the night sky. The valley spread out below him as he rose, and a westerly wind crept over the hills, tugging a strand of hair from his hood. Artemis gazed north, and for a fanciful moment imagined he could see the lights of Fowl Manor.
Mother is there, he thought. Unwell now and unwell in the future. Perhaps I can just talk to my younger self. Explain the situation.
This thought was even more fanciful than the last. Artemis had no illusions about what he had been like at the age of ten. He had trusted no one completely but himself. Not his parents, not even Butler. At the first mention of time travel, his younger self would have his bodyguard shoot a dart first and ask questions later. A lot of questions and at great length. There was no time for explanations and debate. This battle would have to be won by wits and guile.
The elevator grated into its brackets at the top of the pylon. A skull and crossbones sign was riveted to the tall safety gate. Even if Artemis had not been a genius, the sign would have been difficult to misinterpret, and just in case a total idiot did manage to scale the pylon, there was a second sign depicting a cartoon man being zapped by electricity from a cartoon pylon. The man’s skeleton was clearly visible, X-ray style.
Apparently electricity is dangerous, Artemis might have commented had Butler been by his side.
There was yet another lock on the safety gate, which delayed Artemis about as long as the first two. Outside the safety gate was a small platform covered with wire mesh, with twin power lines humming directly beneath.
There are half a million volts running through those lines, thought Artemis. I do hope there are no rips in this suit.
Artemis squatted low, peering along the line. The lemur had paused halfway between the two pylons and was chattering to himself as if weighing up his options. Luckily for the small creature, it was only touching one line and so no current flowed through its body. If it put so much as a toe on the second line the shock would spin it a hundred feet into the air, and it would be stone dead before it stopped revolving.
On the far pylon, Artemis the younger scowled at the animal while simultaneously trying to tempt it back with his bag of paste.
There is nothing to do but go out on the wires and bring the lemur back yourself.
The hotsuit was equipped for moving across the wires. There was a safety cord wrapped around his waist and a lightning rod in a long pocket on his thigh. Below the platform was a small sled on insulated runners that the engineers used to hand-crank themselves between pylons.
Brains count for little now, he realized. What I need is balance.
Artemis groaned. Balance was not his forte.
Taking a deep breath, he crouched low and drew the lightning rod from his pocket. Almost as soon as it cleared the material, jets of white-hot sparks jumped from the power lines connecting with the tip of the rod. The stream buzzed and hissed like a neon snake.
You are equalizing voltage, that’s all. The electricity cannot hurt you.
Perhaps not, but Artemis could already feel the hair standing on his neck. Was that anxiety, or were a couple of volts sneaking in somewhere?
Don’t be absurd. If there is a hole, all the volts will worm inside, not just a couple.
Artemis was vaguely familiar with the technique for wire-walking, as the national broadcasting service had done a news special on the high-wire daredevils who risked their lives to keep the lights of Dublin burning. It wasn’t so much wire-walking as wire-crawling. The cables were extremely taut, and the maintenance engineers clipped on their safety lines, lay on the sled, then turned the winch until they reached the maintenance site.
Simple. In theory. For a professional on a calm morning.
Not so easy for an amateur in the dead of night with only the stars and the ambient light of nearby Dublin to guide him.
Artemis sheathed his lightning rod and gingerly clipped his safety line to one of the cables.
He held his breath, as though that could possibly make a difference, and laid his gloved hands on the metal sled.
Still alive. A good start.
Artemis inched forward, the metal warm under his clumsy gloved hands, until he was lying flat on the sled with the double-handled winch in front of his face. It was a delicate maneuver and would have been impossible had the cables not been tethered together at regular intervals. He began to twist, and almost immediately the strain on his arms was tremendous as he moved his own bodyweight.
The gym. Butler, you were right. I’ll do weights, anything, just get me off these cables with that lemur under my arm.
Artemis slid forward, feeling the runners scrape the rough metal of the cables, their intense hum setting his teeth on edge and sending constant shivers coursing along his arched spine. The wind was low, but still threatened to topple him from his lofty perch, and the ground seemed like another planet. Distant and uninviting.
Twenty feet later his arms ached, and he was noticed by the opposition.
A voice floated across from the other pylon. “I advise you to stay where you are, young man. If that suit has the tiniest rip, then one slip and those cables will liquefy your skin and melt your bones.”
Artemis scowled. Young man? Had he really been so obnoxious? So patronizing?
“It would take less than a second for you to die,” continued ten-year-old Artemis. “But that’s quite long enough to be in mortal agony, don’t you think? And all for nothing, as the lemur will obviously return for this treat.”
Yes, he had been smug as well as obnoxious and patronizing.
Artemis chose not to reply, concentrating his energy on staying alive and enticing the silky sifaka toward him. From his considerable reservoir of knowledge on just about everything, Artemis plucked the fact that smaller simians were comforted by a purring noise. Thank you, Jane Goodall.
So he began to purr, much to the amusement of his younger self.
“Listen, Butler. There’s a cat on the wire. A big tom, I would say. Perhaps you should throw him a fish.”
But the mocking tone was undercut with tension. Young Artemis knew exactly what was going on.
More purring and it seemed to be working. The ghostly sifaka took a few cautious steps toward the elder Artemis, his beady black eyes glittering with starlight and perhaps curiosity.
Holly would be proud. I am ta
lking to an animal.
Even as he purred, Artemis winced at how ludicrous the situation had become. It was a typical Fowlesque melodrama. Two parties hunting for a lemur on the highest power lines in Ireland.
Artemis looked along the dip of the lines across to the other pylon, where Butler stood, jacket tail flapping around his thighs. The bodyguard leaned into the wind, and the intensity of his stare seemed to pierce the darkness, homing in on Artemis the elder like a laser.
I miss my bodyguard, thought Artemis.
The lemur scampered closer, encouraged by the purring and perhaps fooled by the steel-gray hotsuit.
That’s right. I am another lemur.
Artemis’s arms were shaking from the strain of turning the handles at such an awkward angle. Every muscle in his body was stretched to its limit, including several he had never used before. His head was dizzy from keeping his balance.
All this and animal impersonations too.
One yard now. That was the distance between Artemis and the lemur. There were no more taunts from the other side now. Artemis glanced across and found that his nemesis had his eyes closed and was breathing deeply. Trying to come up with a plan.
The lemur jumped onto the sled and touched Artemis’s gloved hand tentatively. Contact. Artemis stayed stock still, apart from his lips, which burbled out a comforting purr.
That’s it, little fellow. Climb onto my arm.
Artemis looked into the lemur’s eyes, and for perhaps the first time realized that it had emotions. There was fear in those eyes, but also a mischievous confidence.
How could I have sold you to those madmen? he wondered.
The lemur suddenly committed itself and scampered onto Artemis’s shoulder. It seemed content to sit there while Artemis ferried it back to the service pylon.
As Artemis retreated, he kept his eye fixed on his younger self. He would never simply accept defeat like this. Neither of them would. Young Artemis’s eyes suddenly snapped open and met his nemesis’s stare.
“Shoot the animal,” he said coldly.
Butler was surprised. “Shoot the monkey?”
“It’s a . . . never mind. Just shoot it. The man is protected by his suit, but the lemur is an easy target.”
“But the fall . . .”
“If it dies, it dies. I will not be thwarted here, Butler. If I cannot have that lemur, then no one will have it.”
Butler frowned. Killing animals was not in his job description, but he knew from experience that there was no point in arguing with the young master. At any rate, it was a bit late to protest now, perched atop a pylon. He should have spoken up more forcefully earlier.
“Whenever you’re ready, Butler. The target is not getting any closer.”
Out on the cables, Artemis the elder could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Butler had drawn his pistol and was climbing over the rails to get a better shot.
Artemis had not intended to speak, as interaction with his younger self could have serious repercussions for the future, but the words were out before he could stop them.
“Stay back. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
Oh, the irony.
“Ah, he speaks,” called young Artemis across the abyss. “How fortunate that we can understand each other. Well, understand this, stranger, I will have that silky sifaka or it will die. Make no mistake.”
“You must not do this. There’s too much at stake.”
“I must do it. I have no choice. Now send the animal over, or Butler will shoot.”
Through all of this, the lemur sat perched on fourteen-year-old Artemis’s head, scratching the stitching of his hood.
So the two boys who were one boy locked eyes for a long tense moment.
I would have done it, thought Artemis the elder, shocked by the cruel determination in his own blue eyes.
And so he gingerly reached up one hand and plucked the silky sifaka from his head.
“You have to go back,” he said softly. “Go back for the nice treat. And if I were you, I’d stick close to the big human. The little one isn’t very nice.”
The lemur reached out and tweaked Artemis’s nose, much as Beckett might have done, then turned and trotted along the cable toward Butler, nose sniffing the air, nostrils flaring as they located the sweet scent of Artemis’s goody bag.
In a matter of seconds it sat curled in the crook of young Artemis’s elbow, contentedly dipping its long fingers into the sap. The young boy’s face glowed with victory.
“Now,” he said, “I think it best that you stay exactly where you are until we leave. I think fifteen minutes should be fine. After that, I advise you to be on your way and count yourself fortunate that I did not have Butler sedate you. Remember the pain that you are feeling now. The ache of utter defeat and hopelessness. And if you ever consider crossing swords with me again, review your memory of this pain, and perhaps you will think twice.”
Artemis the elder was forced to watch as Butler stuffed the lemur into a duffel bag, and boy and bodyguard commenced their climb down the service ladder. Several minutes later the Bentley’s headlights scythed the darkness as the car pulled away from Rathdown Park and onto the motorway. Straight to the airport, no doubt.
Artemis reached up and gripped the winch handles. He was not beaten yet—far from it. He intended to cross swords with his ten-year-old self again just as soon as he possibly could. If anything, the boy’s mocking speech had fueled his determination.
Remember the pain? thought Artemis. I hate myself. I really do.
CHAPTER 8
A BLOB OF PHLEGM
By the time Artemis had made his way down from the pylon, Holly had disappeared. He’d left her by the tunnel mouth, but there was nothing in the spot now except mud and footprints.
Footprints, he thought. Now I suppose I need to track Holly. I really must read The Last of the Mohicans.
“Don’t bother following those,” said a voice from the ditch. “False trail. I laid it in case the big human took our LEP friend along for a snack.”
“That was good thinking,” said Artemis, squinting through the foliage. A shaggy shadow detached itself from a hillock and became Mulch Diggums. “But why did you bother? I thought the LEP were your enemy.”
Mulch pointed a stubby mud-crusted finger. “You are my enemy, human. You are the planet’s enemy.”
“And yet you are willing to help me for gold.”
“A stupendous amount of gold,” said Mulch. “And possibly some fried chicken. With barbecue sauce. And a large Pepsi. And maybe more chicken.”
“Hungry?”
“Always. A dwarf can eat only so much dirt.”
Artemis didn’t know whether to giggle or groan. Mulch would always have trouble grasping the gravity of situations, or perhaps he liked to give that impression.
“Where’s Holly?”
Mulch nodded toward a grave-shaped mound of earth.
“I buried the captain. She was moaning quite loudly.
Arty this and Arty that, with a few Mothers thrown in.” Buried? Holly is claustrophobic.
Artemis dropped to his knees and scooped the earth from the mound with his bare hands. Mulch let him at it for a minute, then sighed dramatically.
“Let me do it, Mud Boy. You’ll be there all night.”
He strolled over and casually thrust his hand into the mound, chewing his lip as he searched for a specific spot.
“Here we go,” grunted the dwarf, yanking out a short branch. The mound vibrated then collapsed into small heaps of pebbles and clay. Holly was underneath, unhurt.
“It’s a complex structure called a na-na,” said Mulch, brandishing the twig.
“As in ...?”
“As in ‘Na-na-ne-na-na, you can’t see me,’” said the dwarf, then slapped himself on the knee, exploding in a fit of giggles.
Artemis scowled, shaking Holly’s shoulders gently.
“Holly, can you hear me?”
Holly Short opened bleary
eyes, rolled them around for a while, then focused.
“Artemis, I . . . Oh gods.”
“It’s okay. I don’t have the lemur . . . Well, actually, I do. The other me, but don’t worry, I know where I’m going.”
Holly dragged at her cheeks with delicate fingers. “I mean, Oh gods, I think I kissed you.”
Artemis’s head pounded, and Holly’s mismatched eyes seemed to hypnotize him. She still had a blue eye, even though her body had rejuvenated itself in the tunnel. Another paradox. But though Artemis felt hypnotized, even slightly dazed, he knew he was not mesmerized. There was no fairy magic here.
Artemis looked into those elfin eyes, and he knew that this younger, somehow more vulnerable Holly felt the same way, at this particular tangle of time and space, as he did.
After all we have been through. Or maybe because of it.
A memory smashed the delicate moment like a rock thrown through a spiderweb.
I lied to her.
Artemis rocked backward with the strength of the thought.
Holly believes that she infected Mother. I blackmailed her.
He knew at that instant that there was no recovering from such a brutal fact. If he confessed, she would hate him. If he did not, he would hate himself.
There must be something I can do.
Nothing came to mind.
I need to think.
Artemis took Holly’s hand and elbow, helping her to stand and step from the shallow gravelike hole.
“Reborn,” she quipped, then punched Mulch on the shoulder.
“Oww.‘Why-for, miss, dost thou torment me?’”
“Don’t quote Gerd Flambough at me, Mulch Diggums. There was no need to bury me. A simple broadleaf across my mouth would have done.”
Mulch rubbed his shoulder. “A broadleaf desn’t have the same artistry. Anyway, do I look like a fern type of guy? I am a dwarf and we deal in mud.”
Artemis was glad of the banter. It gave him a minute to compose himself.
Forget your adolescent confusion about Holly. Remember Mother wasting away in her bed. There are less than three days left.