Holly scowled behind her mask. There must be something she could salvage from this.
“Give me that tiara. And the helmet.”
Artemis rolled the helmet across the ground. “The helmet, certainly. But the tiara is mine.”
“Give it to me,” shouted Holly, authority in every syllable. “Give it to me, or I will stun you both and you can take your chances with Ehrich Stern.”
Artemis almost smiled. “Congratulations, Holly. A masterstroke.” He took the tiara from his pocket, tossing it to the LEP officer.
“Now you can report that you broke up a gang of dwarf jewel thieves, and recovered the stolen tiara. A clutch of feathers in your cap, I would think.”
People were coming. Their thumping feet jarred the earth.
Holly set her wings to hover.
“We’ll meet again, Artemis Fowl,” she said, rising into the air.
“I know,” replied Artemis. “I look forward to it.”
It was true. He did.
Artemis watched his nemesis lift slowly into the night sky. And just as the crowd appeared around the corner, she vibrated out of the visible spectrum. Only a fairy-shaped patch of stars remained.
Holly really makes things interesting, he thought, closing his fist around the stone in his pocket. I wonder if she will notice the switch. Will she look closely at the blue diamond and see that it seems a little bit oily?
Butler tapped him on the shoulder.
“Time to be gone,” said the giant manservant.
Artemis nodded. Butler was right, as usual. He almost felt sorry for Sergei and the Significants. They would believe themselves safe right up until the Retrieval squad arrived to take them away.
Butler took his charge by the shoulder, and directed him to the shadows. In two steps they were invisible. Finding the darkness was a talent of Butler’s.
Artemis looked skyward one last time. Where is Captain Short now? he wondered. In his mind she would always be there, looking over his shoulder, waiting for him to slip up.
EPILOGUE
Fowl Manor
ANGELINE Fowl sat slumped at her dressing table, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. Today was her husband’s birthday. Little Arty’s father, missing for over a year. Every day made his return more unlikely. Each day was difficult, but this day was almost impossible. She ran a slender finger over a photograph on the dresser. Artemis senior, with his strong teeth and blue eyes. Such a startling blue, she had never seen quite that color before or since, except in the eyes of her son. It had been the first thing she had noticed about him.
Artemis entered the room hesitantly. One foot outside the threshold.
“Arty, dear,” said Angeline, drying her eyes.
“Come here. Give me a hug, I need one.”
Artemis crossed the deep pile carpet, remembering the many times he had seen his father framed by the bay window.
“I will find him,” he whispered once he was in his mother’s arms.
“I know you will, Arty,” replied Angeline, fearful of the lengths her extraordinary son would go to.
Afraid to lose another Artemis.
Artemis drew back. “I have a gift for you,
Mother. Something to remind you, and give you strength.”
He drew a golden chain from his breast pocket.
Swinging in its V was the most incredible blue diamond. Angeline’s breath caught in her throat.
“Arty, it’s uncanny. Amazing. That stone is exactly the same color …”
“As Father’s eyes,” completed Artemis, coupling the clasp around his mother’s neck. “I thought you might like it.”
Angeline gripped the stone tightly in her hand, the tears flowing freely now. “I shall never take it off.”
Artemis smiled sadly. “Trust me, Mother, I will find him.”
Angeline looked at her son in wonder. “I know you will, Arty,” she said again. But this time, she believed it.
Don’t miss the thrilling
new futuristic adventure
by EOIN COLFER
AT THE CLARISSA FRAYNE INSTITUTE for Parentally Challenged Boys, every day was basically the same. Toil by day, fitful sleep by night. There were no days off, no juvenile rights. Every day was a workday. The marshals worked the orphans so hard that by eight P.M. most of the boys were asleep standing up, dreaming of their beds.
Cosmo Hill was the exception. He spent every moment of his waking life watching for that one chance. That split second when his freedom would beckon to him from outside an unlocked door, or an unguarded fence. He must be ready to seize that moment and run with it.
It wasn’t likely that his chance would come on this particular day. And even if it did, Cosmo didn’t think he would have the energy to run anywhere.
The no-sponsors had spent the afternoon testing a new series of antiperspirants. Their legs had been shaved and sectioned with rings of tape. The flesh between the bands was sprayed with five varieties of antiperspirant, and then the boys were set on treadmills and told to run. Sensors attached to their legs monitored their sweat glands, determining which spray was most effective. By the end of the day, Cosmo had run six miles, and the pores on his legs were inflamed and scalding. He was almost glad to be cuffed to a moving partner and begin the long walk back to the dormitory.
Each boy had a section in the dorm where he ate, slept, and passed whatever leisure time the no-sponsors had. These rooms were actually sections of cardboard utility pipe that had been sawed into six-foot lengths. The pipes were suspended on a network of wires almost fifty feet off the ground. Once the pipes were occupied by orphans, the entire contraption swayed like an ocean liner.
Cosmo climbed quickly, ignoring the pain in his leg muscles. His pipe was near the top. If the lights went out before he reached it, he could be stranded on the ladder.
After a few minutes of feverish climbing, Cosmo reached his level. A narrow walkway, barely the width of his hand, serviced each pipe. Cosmo slid across carefully, gripping a rail on the underside of the walkway above him. His pipe was four columns across. Cosmo swung inside, landing on the foam rubber mattress. Ten seconds later, the lights went out.
Someone knocked gently on the pipe above. It was Ziplock Murphy. The network was opening up. Cosmo answered the knock with one of his own, then pulled back his mattress, signaling Fence in the pipe below. The no-sponsors had developed a system of communication that allowed them to converse without angering the marshals. Clarissa Frayne discouraged actual face-to-face communication between the boys, on the grounds that friendships might develop. And friendships could lead to unity, maybe even revolt.
Cosmo dug his nails into a seam in the cardboard pipe and pulled out two small tubes. Both had been fashioned from mashed gum bottle and crispbread, then baked on a windowsill. Cosmo screwed one into a small hole in the base of his pipe, and the other into a hole overhead.
Ziplock’s voice wafted through from above. “Hey, Cosmo. How are your legs?”
“Burning,” grunted Cosmo. “I put my gum bottle on one, but it’s not helping.”
“I tried that too,” said Fence from below. “Antiperspirants. This is nearly as bad as the time they had us testing those Creeper slugs. I was throwing up for a week.”
Comments and suggestions snuck through the holes from all over the pipe construct. The fact that the pipes were all touching, along with the acoustics of the hall, meant that voices traveled amazing distances through the network. Cosmo could hear no-sponsors whispering almost three hundred fifty feet away.
“What does the Chemist say?” asked Cosmo. “About our legs?”
The Chemist was the orphanage name for a boy three columns across. He loved to watch medical programs on TV and was the closest the no-sponsors had to a consultant.
Word came back in under a minute. “The Chemist says spit on your hands and rub it in. The spit has some kind of salve in it. Don’t lick your fingers, though, or the antiperspirant will make you sicker than those Cre
eper slugs.”
The sound of boys spitting echoed through the hall. The entire lattice of pipes shook with their efforts. Cosmo followed the Chemist’s advice, then lay back, letting a hundred different conversations wash over him. Sometimes he would join in, or at least listen to one of Ziplock’s yarns. But tonight all he could think about was that moment when freedom would beckon to him. And being ready when it arrived.
Eoin Colfer, The Artemis Fowl Files
(Series: Artemis Fowl # 0.50)
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