The Time Paradox

  Artemis fumbled the Webcam and it rolled under the bed.

  “Hellfire,” he swore, kneeling to reach an arm into the dark space. “I can’t . . . I just can’t . . .”

  And suddenly the enormity of the situation struck him hard.

  “What kind of son am I?” he whispered. “A liar and a thief. All my mother has ever done was love me and try to protect me, and now she may die.”

  Holly helped Artemis to his feet.“You’re not that person anymore, Artemis, and you love your mother, don’t you?”

  Artemis huffed, embarrassed. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Then you are a good son. And your mother will see that as soon as I cure her.”

  Holly clicked her neck, and magical sparks leaped from her fingertips, spinning in an inverted cone.

  “No,” blurted Artemis. “Wouldn’t it be wise to check the symptoms first?”

  Holly closed her fist, smothering the sparks. Suspicious.

  She took off her helmet and stepped close to Artemis, closer than he liked people to be, staring hard into his mismatched eyes. It was strange to see her own eye looking back at her.

  “Have you done something, Artemis?”

  Artemis met her gaze steadily. It seemed that there was nothing in his eyes but sadness.

  “No. I am more cautious with my mother than I would be with myself, that is all.”

  Holly’s suspicion was born of years of experience with Artemis, and so she wondered why he would be reluctant to allow her to use magic now, when it had never bothered him before. Perhaps he had already tried this route himself. Perhaps the time stream had not stripped him of his stolen magic, as he had claimed.

  She clamped her hands to the side of Artemis’s head, then laid her forehead against his.

  “Stop this, Holly,” objected Artemis. “We have no time.”

  Holly did not answer, closing her eyes, concentrating. Artemis felt heat spread across his skull and the familiar buzz of magic. Holly was probing him. It lasted barely a second.

  “Nothing,” she said, releasing him. “Echoes of magic. But no power.”

  Artemis stumbled backward, dizzy.

  “I understand your suspicion, Holly. I have earned it repeatedly. Now, would you please examine my mother.”

  Holly realized that up to this point she had avoided doing anything more than take a cursory glance at Angeline Fowl. This entire situation brought back too many painful memories.

  “Of course, Artemis. I’m sorry about the probe. I had to be sure that I could take all of this on face value.”

  “My feelings are not important,” said Artemis, leading Holly by the elbow. “Now, my mother. Please.”

  Holly had to force herself to properly examine Angeline Fowl, and the moment she did, a deep-rooted dread sent pins and needles fluttering up and down her limbs.

  “I know this,” she whispered. “I know it.”

  “This condition is familiar to you?” asked Artemis.

  His mother’s face and arms were coated with a clear gel, which oozed from her pores and then steamed away. Angeline’s eyes were wide, but only the whites were visible, and her fingers clutched the sheets as though hanging on to life.

  Holly took a medi-kit from her belt, placed it on the bedside table, and used a swab to take a sample of the gel. “This gel. That smell. It can’t be. It can’t.”

  “It can’t be what?” asked Artemis, his fingers tight on her forearm.

  Holly ignored him, slipping her helmet on and opening a channel to Police Plaza.

  “Foaly? Are you there?”

  The centaur responded on the second buzz. “Right here, Holly. Chained to the desk. Commander Kelp has sent me a couple of mails asking where you are. I fobbed him off with the Ritual story. I reckon you have about—”

  Holly interrupted his chatter. “Foaly, listen to me.

  Artemis’s mother. I think we have something . . . I think it’s bad.”

  The centaur’s mood changed instantly. Holly suspected that he had been waffling to hide his anxiety. After all, Artemis’s message had been very grim.

  “Okay. I’ll sync with the manor systems. Ask Artemis for his password.”

  Holly lifted her visor to look Artemis in the eye. “Foaly wants your security password.”

  “Of course, of course.”Artemis was drifting, and it took him a moment to remember his own secret word. “It’s CENTAUR. All caps.”

  Below the earth’s crust, Foaly stored the compliment in the corner of his brain that held treasured memories. He would take that one out later and gloat over a glass of sim-wine.

  “Centaur. Right. I’m in.”

  A large plasma television on the wall flickered on, and Foaly’s face appeared, first in blurred bubbles, then sharp focus. The Webcam in Artemis’s hand whirred as the centaur remotely fiddled with its focus motor.

  “The more points of view the better, eh?” he said, his voice pulsing from the television speakers in surround sound.

  Artemis held the camera before his mother’s face, his arm as still as possible.

  “I take it, from Holly’s reaction, that this condition is familiar to you?”

  Holly pointed to the sheen covering Angeline’s face. “See the gel, Foaly, from the pores. And the smell of lilies too—there can’t be any doubt.”

  “It’s impossible,” muttered the centaur. “We eradicated this years ago.”

  Artemis was growing weary of these vague references.

  “What is impossible? Eradicated what?”

  “No diagnosis just yet, Artemis; it would be premature. Holly, I need to run a scan.”

  Holly positioned the palm of her hand over Angeline Fowl’s forehead, and the omnisensor in her glove bathed Artemis’s mother with a matrix of lasers.

  Foaly’s finger swished like a metronome as the information was fed to his system. It was an unconscious movement that seemed too jolly for the situation.

  “Okay,” he said after half a minute. “I have what I need.”

  Holly closed her fist on the sensor, then stood with Artemis, clasping his hand in hers, silently awaiting the results. It did not take long, especially when Foaly had a good idea of his search parameters.

  His face was grim as he read the results. “The computer has analyzed the gel. I am afraid it’s Spelltropy.”

  Artemis noticed Holly’s grip tightening. Whatever this Spelltropy was, it was bad.

  He broke free from Holly, striding to the wall-mounted television. “I need an explanation, Foaly. Now, please.”

  Foaly sighed, then nodded. “Very well, Artemis.

  Spelltropy was a plague among the Fairy People. Once contracted it was invariably fatal, and progressed to terminal stages in three months. From that point the patient has less than a week. This disease has everything: Neurotoxins, cell destruction, resistance to all conventional therapies, incredibly aggressive. It’s amazing, really.”

  Artemis’s teeth were clenched. “That’s fabulous, Foaly. At last, something even you can admire.”

  Foaly wiped a bead of sweat from his nose, pausing before he spoke.“There is no cure, Artemis. Not anymore. I’m afraid your mother is dying. Judging by the concentration in the gel, I would say she has twenty-four hours, thirty-six if she fights. If it’s any consolation, she won’t suffer at the end.”

  Holly crossed the room, reaching up to grasp Artemis’s shoulder, noticing how tall her human friend was becoming.

  “Artemis, there are things we can do to make her comfortable.”

  Artemis shrugged her off, almost violently. “No. I can achieve wonders. I have talents. Information is my weapon.” He returned his attention to the screen. “Foaly, forgive my outburst. I am myself now. You said that this Spelltropy was a plague—where did it begin?”

  “Magic,” said Foaly simply, then elaborated. “Magic is fueled by the earth, and when the earth could no longer absorb the sheer bulk of pollutants, the magic became tainted also. Spelltropy first appeared about twen
ty years ago in Linfen, China.”

  Artemis nodded. It made sense. Linfen was infamous for its high pollution levels. As the center of China’s coal industry, the city’s air was laden with fly ash, carbon monoxide, nitrogen oxides, volatile organic compounds, arsenic, and lead. There was a joke among Chinese employers: If you hold a grudge against an employee, send him to work in Linfen.

  “It is passed on through magic, and thus is completely impervious to magic. In ten years it had almost decimated the fairy population. We lost twenty-five percent of our numbers. Atlantis was worst hit.”

  “But you stopped it,” Artemis insisted. “You must have found a cure.”

  “Not me,” said Foaly. “Our old friend Opal Koboi found the antidote. It took her ten years, then she tried to charge through the nose for it. We had to get a court order to confiscate the supply of antidote.”

  Artemis was growing impatient. “I don’t care about the politics, Foaly. I want to know what the cure was, and why we can’t administer it to my mother.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Abbreviate,” snapped Artemis.

  Foaly’s eyes dipped, unable to meet Artemis’s. “The cure occurred naturally. Many creatures contain important pharmacopoeia and act as natural magic enhancers. But because of human activities, more than twenty thousand of these potentially lifesaving species are made extinct every year. Opal developed a simple syringe gun to extract the cure for Spelltropy without killing the donor animal.”

  Artemis suddenly realized why Foaly couldn’t look him in the eye. He cradled his head in his hands.

  “Oh no. Don’t say it.”

  “Opal Koboi found the antidote in the brain fluid of the silky sifaka lemur of Madagascar.”

  “I always knew,” moaned Artemis, “that this would come back.”

  “Unfortunately, the silky sifaka is now extinct. The last one died almost eight years ago.”

  Artemis’s eyes were haunted by guilt.

  “I know,” he whispered. “I killed it.”

  CHAPTER 4

  MONKEY’S UNCLE

  Fowl Manor, Almost Eight Years Ago

  Ten-year-old Artemis Fowl closed the file he was working on, put his monitor to sleep, then rose from his study desk. His father would arrive momentarily for their meeting. Artemis Senior had confirmed the appointment that morning by internal mail, and he was never late. His time was precious, and he expected his son to be ready for their morning talk. Artemis’s father arrived promptly at ten, leather greatcoat swishing around his knees.

  “Minus fifteen in Murmansk,” he explained, formally shaking his son’s hand.

  Artemis was standing on a specific flagstone before the fireplace. He was not actually required to stand in this spot, but he knew his father would sit in the Louis XV chair by the hearth, and Artemis Senior did not like to crane his neck as he spoke.

  His father lowered himself into the period chair, and Artemis enjoyed a quiet moment of satisfaction.

  “The ship is ready, I take it?”

  “Ready to sail,” said his father, excitement flashing in his blue eyes. “This is a new market, Arty, my boy. Moscow is already one of the most commercial cities in the world. Northern Russia will inevitably follow.”

  “I gather Mother is not very pleased with your latest venture.”

  Recently, Artemis’s parents had been arguing late into the night. The conflict in their otherwise happy marriage was over Artemis Senior’s business interests. He controlled a criminal empire that had tentacles from the silver mines of Alaska to the shipyards of New Zealand. Angeline was a dedicated conservationist and humanitarian, and believed that Artemis Senior’s criminal activities and ruthless exploitation of natural resources set a terrible example for her son.

  “He will grow up just like his father,”Artemis had heard her say one evening, through a little radio bug he’d planted in the aquarium.

  “I thought you loved his father.”

  Artemis heard a rustling of material as his parents embraced. “I do. I love you more than life. But I love this planet too.”

  “My love,” said Artemis Senior, so gently that it was difficult for the bug to pick up his voice. “The Fowl finances are in a delicate state right now. What capital we have is locked up in illegal ventures. I need one big deal so that I can begin the transition to completely legitimate businesses. Once we have some blue chip stock under our belts, then we can save the world.”

  Artemis heard his mother kiss his father. “Very well, my pirate prince. One big deal, then we save the world.”

  One big deal. A shipload of tax-free cola for the Russians. But more important, a pipeline of trade into the Arctic. Artemis suspected that his father would find it hard to abandon this pipeline after a single deal. There were billions to be made.

  “The Fowl Star is fully loaded and ready for her voyage,” Artemis’s father informed his son later during their scheduled meeting in his study. “Remember, the world cannot be saved with good intentions alone. Leverage is needed, and gold is leverage.”

  Artemis Senior pointed to the Fowl crest and motto, carved into a wooden shield above the fireplace.

  “Aurum est potestas. Gold is power; never forget that, Arty. Until the greens have wealth behind them, no one will listen.”

  Young Artemis was torn between his parents. His father embodied everything the family stood for. The Fowl dynasty had flourished for centuries because of their dedication to wealth, and Artemis had no doubt that his father would find a way first to increase their fortunes and then turn his attention to the environment. He loved his mother, but the Fowls’ finances must be saved.

  “Someday, control of the family business will fall to you,” Artemis Senior told his son, standing to button his greatcoat. “And when that day comes, I will rest easy because I know you will put the Fowls first.”

  “Absolutely, father,” said Artemis. “Fowls first. But that day will not come for decades.”

  Artemis Senior laughed. “Let’s hope not, son. Now, I must be off; look after your mother while I am gone. And don’t let her squander the family fortune, eh?”

  The words were said in a lighthearted way, but a week later Artemis Fowl Senior was missing, presumed dead, and those words became the code his son would live by.

  Look after your mother, but don’t let her squander the family fortune.

  Two months later, and Artemis was back at his desk, staring at the computer display in his study. On screen were the gloomy details of the family finances, which had dwindled rapidly since the disappearance of his father. He was the man of the house now, custodian of the Fowl empire, and must behave as such.

  No sooner had Artemis Senior’s ship been claimed by the black Arctic waters than his debtors unanimously defaulted, and his cells of forgers, musclemen, thieves, and smugglers allied themselves to other organizations.

  Honor among thieves? reflected Artemis bitterly. I think not.

  Most of the Fowl money simply disappeared overnight, and Artemis was left with an estate to run and a mother who was heading rapidly toward a nervous breakdown.

  It hadn’t been long before the creditors were closing in, eager to claim their slice of the pie before only crumbs were left. Artemis had been forced to auction a Rembrandt sketch just to pay the mortgage on the manor and settle various other debts.

  Mother was not making things any easier. She refused to believe that Artemis Senior was missing and forged ahead with her mission to save the world, hang the expense.

  Artemis, meanwhile, was trying to mount expeditions to find his father. This is difficult when you are ten years old and not taken seriously by the adult world in general, in spite of various international art and music prizes, not to mention more than a dozen lucrative patents and copyrights filed worldwide. In time Artemis would build a fortune of his own, but in time was not soon enough. Money was needed now.

  Artemis wanted to put together a proper situation room to monitor the Internet and
world news channels.

  That would take twenty computers at least. Also there was the team of Arctic explorers waiting in their Moscow hotel for him to wire the next portion of their payment. A payment that he didn’t have.

  Artemis tapped the screen with an elegant finger.

  Something must be done, he thought.

  Angeline Fowl was crying on her bed when Artemis entered the bedroom. His heart lurched at the sight, but he clenched his fist and told himself to be strong.

  “Mother,” he said, waving a bank account statement. “What is this?”

  Angeline dried her eyes on a handkerchief, then rose to her elbows, slowly focusing on her son.

  “Arty, little Arty. Come and sit with me.”

  Angeline’s eyes were ringed with black mascara tears, and her complexion had faded to a white that was almost translucent.

  Be strong.

  “No, Mother. No sitting and talking. I want you to explain this fifty thousand euro check to a wildlife center in South Africa.”

  Angeline was bewildered.“South Africa, darling? Who’s gone to South Africa?”

  “You sent a check for fifty thousand euros to South Africa, Mother. I had that money put aside for the Arctic expedition.”

  “Fifty thousand. That figure is familiar. I’ll ask your father when he gets in. He had better not be late for dinner again today, or I’ll—”

  Artemis lost his patience. “Mother, please. Try to think. Wedo not have spare funds for South African charities. All the staff have been let go except Butler, and he hasn’t been paid in a month.”

  “Lemur!” shouted Angeline triumphantly. “I remember now. I bought a silky sifaka lemur.”

  “Impossible,” snapped Artemis. “The Propithecus candidus is extinct.”

  His mother was suddenly passionate. “No. No, they found little silky in South Africa. They don’t know how it managed to get there from Madagascar, probably on a poacher’s boat. So I had to save it. It’s the last one, Arty.”

  “In a year or two it will die,” said Artemis coldly. “Then our money will have been wasted.”