Fingers shaking from exhaustion and excitement, Artemis clicked Print. A single page scrolled from the LaserWriter. It was in English now. Yes, there were mistakes, some fine-tuning needed, but it was perfectly legible, and, more important, perfectly understandable.
Fully aware that he was probably the first human in several thousand years to decode the magical words, Artemis switched on his desk light and began to read.
THE BOOKE OF THE PEOPLE. BEING INSTRUCTIONS TO OUR MAGICKS AND LIFE RULES.
Carry me always, carry me well. I am thy teacher of herb and spell. I am thy link to power arcane. Forget me and thy magick shall wane.
Ten times ten commandments there be. They will answer every mystery. Cures, curses, alchemy. These secrets shall be thine, through me.
But, Fairy, remember this above all. I am not for those in mud that crawl. And forever doomed shall be the one, Who betrays my secrets one by one.
Artemis could hear the blood pumping in his ears. He had them. They would be as ants beneath his feet. Their every secret would be laid bare by technology. Suddenly the exhaustion claimed him and he sank back in his chair. There was so much yet to complete. Forty-three pages to be translated for a start.
He pressed the intercom button that linked him to speakers all over the house. “Butler. Get Juliet and come up here. There are some jigsaws I need you to assemble.”
Perhaps a little family history would be useful at this point.
The Fowls were, indeed, legendary criminals. For generations they had skirmished on the wrong side of the law, hoarding enough funds to become legitimate. Of course, once they were legitimate they found it not to their liking, and returned almost immediately to crime.
It was Artemis the First, our subject’s father, who had thrown the family fortune into jeopardy. With the breakup of communist Russia, Artemis Senior had decided to invest a huge chunk of the Fowl fortune in establishing new shipping lines to the vast continent. New consumers, he reasoned, would need new consumer goods. The Russian Mafia did not take too kindly to a Westerner muscling in on their market, and so decided to send a little message. This message took the form of a stolen missile launched at the Fowl Star on her way past Murmansk. Artemis Senior was on board the ship, along with Butler’s uncle and 250,000 cans of cola. It was quite an explosion.
The Fowls were not left destitute, far from it. But billionaire status was no longer theirs. Artemis the Second vowed to remedy this. He would restore the family fortune. And he would do it in his own unique fashion.
Once the Book was translated, Artemis could begin planning in earnest. He already knew what the ultimate goal was; now he could figure out how to achieve it.
Gold, of course, was the objective. The acquisition of gold. It seemed that the People were almost as fond of the precious metal as humans. Each fairy had its own cache, but not for much longer if Artemis had his way. There would be at least one of the fairy folk wandering around with empty pockets by the time he’d finished.
After eighteen solid hours of sleep and a light continental breakfast, Artemis climbed to the study that he had inherited from his father. It was a traditional enough room—dark oak and floor-to-ceiling shelving— but Artemis had jammed it with the latest computer technology. A series of networked Apple Macs whirred from various corners of the room. One was running CNN’s Web site through a DAT projector, throwing oversized current-affairs images against the back wall.
Butler was there already, firing up the hard drives.
“Shut them all down, except the Book. I need quiet for this.”
The manservant started. The CNN site had been running for almost a year. Artemis was convinced that news of his father’s rescue would come from there. Shutting it down meant that he was finally letting go.
“All of them?”
Artemis glanced at the back wall for a moment. “Yes,” he said finally. “All of them.”
Butler took the liberty of patting his employer gently on the shoulder, just once, before returning to work. Artemis cracked his knuckles. Time to do what he did best—plot dastardly acts.
CHAPTER 3
HOLLY
Holly Short was lying in bed, silently fuming. Nothing unusual about this. Leprechauns in general were not known for their geniality. But Holly was in an exceptionally bad mood, even for a fairy. Technically she was an elf, fairy being a general term. She was a leprechaun too, but that was just a job.
Perhaps a description would be more helpful than a lecture on fairy genealogy. Holly Short had nut-brown skin, cropped auburn hair, and hazel eyes. Her nose had a hook, and her mouth was plump and cherubic, which was appropriate considering Cupid was her great-grandfather. Her mother was a European elf with a fiery temper and willowy figure. Holly, too, had a slim frame with long tapered fingers, perfect for wrapping around a buzz baton. Her ears, of course, were pointed. At exactly three feet in height, Holly was only a centimeter below the fairy average, but even one centimeter can make an awful lot of difference when you don’t have many to spare.
Commander Root was the cause of Holly’s distress. Root had been on Holly’s case since day one. The commander had decided to take offense at the fact that the first female officer in Recon’s history had been assigned to his squad. Recon was a notoriously dangerous posting with a high fatality rate, and Root didn’t think it was any place for a girlie. Well, he was just going to have to get used to the idea, because Holly Short had no intention of quitting for him or anybody else.
Though she’d never admit it, another possible cause for Holly’s irritability was the Ritual. She’d been meaning to perform it for several moons now, but somehow there just never seemed to be time. And if Root found out she was running low on magic, she’d be transferred to Traffic for sure.
Holly rolled off her futon and stumbled into the shower. That was one advantage of living near the earth’s core—the water was always hot. No natural light, of course, but that was a small price to pay for privacy. Underground. The last human-free zone. There was nothing like coming home after a long day on the job, switching off your shield, and sinking into a bubbling slime pool. Bliss.
The fairy suited up, zipping the dull-green jumpsuit up to her chin and strapping on her helmet. LEPrecon uniforms were stylish these days. Not like that top-o’-the-morning costume the force had to wear back in the old days. Buckled shoes and knickerbockers! Honestly. No wonder leprechauns were such ridiculous figures in human folklore. Still, probably better that way. If the Mud People knew that the word “leprechaun” actually originated from LEPrecon, an elite branch of the Lower Elements Police, they’d probably take steps to stamp them out. Better to stay inconspicuous and let the humans have their stereotypes.
With the moon already rising on the surface, there was no time for a proper breakfast. Holly grabbed the remains of a nettle smoothie from the cooler and drank it in the tunnels. As usual there was chaos in the main thoroughfare. Airborne sprites jammed the avenue like stones in a bottle. The gnomes weren’t helping either, lumbering along with their big swinging behinds blocking two lanes. Swear toads infested every damp patch, cursing like sailors. That particular breed began as a joke, but had multiplied into an epidemic. Someone lost their wand over that one.
Holly battled through the crowds to the police station. There was already a riot outside Spud’s Spud Emporium. LEP Corporal Newt was trying to sort it out. Good luck to him. Nightmare. At least Holly got the chance to work above ground.