Artemis knocked twice, and waited. Butler - silent as a shadow, not quite as insubstantial - loomed behind him.
There was a long pause.
"Enter," commanded a voice, eventually, but Artemis didn't move. Instead, Butler reached over his shoulder and twisted the door handle - because, you see, though old enough to knock, Artemis had yet to grow the necessary extra inch to follow through on the second half of that particular task. It was a source of great irritation for the young Fowl, but any adjustments he had suggested had been met with stern, if not amused, refusal.
And so, Butler accompanied him.
Artemis entered first; his bodyguard followed silently, closing the door and then standing beside it. Artemis Senior sat at his desk, still making notes in a small book, but glanced up as his son approached.
"Arty," greeted his father, distracted, and went to continue writing in his book - but then he stopped, turning in his seat to give his son his full attention, but not able to bring himself to put the pen down. He frowned, just slightly. "Is something wrong?"
"No, father," came the response - quickly, so he wasn't left waiting, but calmly, so his sincerity would not be called into question. He took a small breath. "I was listening to Bach this week-"
"Excellent," was the instant approval, though his father's eyes still flicked back to the notebook.
"Thank-you," Artemis agreed, trying to ignore that. He stepped forward again, a piece of paper clasped in both hands, and his father reached out. "I admired his use of-"
The phone on the desk rang, and he stopped talking. His father hesitated, his fingers just shy of the paper, and then turned to pick up the handset. It must have been important, of course, but...
"Yes?" A pause. "Good. Tell him-" His father broke off, looking up at his still-present son, and covered the mouthpiece with one hand. "I'm sorry - can we talk later, Arty? This is important."
"Of course," agreed the boy without hesitation, and his father offered a small smile. He turned away and began to speak again - rapidly now, in hushed tones that sounded more strained than pleased. It was an abrupt dismissal, but Artemis saw no reason to linger.
It wouldn't be mature to whine about it, after all.
Butler opened the door, and closed it again once they stepped into the hallway. It was a thick door, Artemis thought, and even if he had been inclined to try and eavesdrop, it would have been impossible.
He stared down at the paper in his hands, and told himself it was silly to be disappointed. He could always give it to him later, couldn't he? It would be no less important then.
"I thought it was a very good piece," rumbled Butler, and he looked up, vaguely surprised by the sudden statement.
Butler was not known for his empty reassurances.
"It's yours," Artemis stated impulsively, in what he considered to be a calm tone. He thrust it towards his bodyguard who accepted it gingerly, flicking his gaze over the scribbled marks on the pre-drawn lines. It was all in crayon, of course - despite his arguments, his mother refused to allow him the use of the fountain pen set, but that didn't change what was recorded there. Butler hummed a few lines in the awkward hush, and Artemis only just resisted the urge to tell him what a butchery he was making of the entire thing.
He was getting it wrong - all of it. Not a single note correct. It was almost like he was doing it on purpose.
"Thank-you," Butler stated, breaking him from his thoughts.
"It's nothing," Artemis responded, nonchalant and dismissive.
The man looked back down at the paper - he could hardly fold it, obviously, and he wasn't even certain he could roll it without damage. He could feel Artemis' eyes on him, watching him intently, but before he could say anything-
"I will take a nap," his charge decided, hands clasped behind his back and staring solemnly at the wall opposite their position. "Your presence is not required."
Butler inclined his head in a slight nod.
"As you wish," he agreed, and stepped aside - there was plenty of room for him to pass by anyway, but it was a symbolic gesture. Artemis walked away without another word and Butler watched as he ascended the stairs, just in case he tripped and died or something of that nature.
It was always possible he would.
But he hadn't taken a day nap in years, and though it was a terribly flimsy excuse for solitude, this didn't seem the time to point it out. No doubt his skill at lying would only increase with practice.
Butler waited until the bedroom door had closed, and then silently followed up the stairs, taking up his usual position outside it. He had no choice, after all - but he wasn't about to be a jerk about it.
He was still holding the paper, and he honestly - sincerely - hoped that no-one would choose that afternoon to attack the manor.
It would be a shame to see it crinkled.
When dinner was served and the family was eating, Butler slipped out of the room.
He laid the paper on his desk, smoothed it out with both hands, and walked to the bookcase. There was a meager selection to choose from, all things considered, but he had little concern for this - he already knew what one he wanted.
It was a short song, Artemis had informed him - entirely original, mind you, but hardly more than a few minutes long. That's how it all fit on the one page, you see. He had stated this reasonably as they walked along the hallway, like they were discussing the weather, and Butler had only nodded silently. He would have liked to declare nothing his charge did surprised him anymore, but that would be a lie.
He flicked The Art Of War open to the center and carefully placed the page inside. Once it was closed he hesitated a moment - the thought the crayon might be smudging on the pages niggled at him, and he found he couldn't shake the concern.
He opened it again.
It was, but only faintly. Not enough to damage the notes, so carefully coloured in, and therefore an acceptable compromise. Butler breathed a sigh of relief, and then stoically pretended he hadn't.
He replaced the book on the shelf and hurried back downstairs to take up his post. Artemis glanced up as he re-entered the room, and looked back to his meal before anyone noticed his expression.
Butler, for his part, also remained silent.
There was nothing left to say on the matter, anyway.