Thursday, 12:53 AM
We sent Artemis on his way yesterday morning at about two o'clock, along with his Butler and a few of my most trusted men to oversee his departure. Angeline was heartbroken to see him go, as mothers are want to do, but I told her that a fledgling will never learn to fly if it isn't first pushed from the nest. She found no comfort in this analogy, which is why I am currently writing at this godforsaken hour. Her weeping started some time after ten o'clock and has gone nonstop since. Little Juliet is currently trying to console her in the master bathroom, as my attempts have borne no fruit.
Juliet says that Angeline is terrified that our Jr. will be hurt on this endeavor, but I doubt that is the true source of her distress. Any rational thought would lead her to the conclusion that our son, as the children say nowadays, has got it in the bag. It's a simple task, requiring little more than just being in the right place at the right time. No, it is my belief that she is just sad to see him mature into a young man, embrace our family tradition, and become overall less entwined with her own life. I recall my own mother becoming emotional when I first became a part of my father's exploits, so many years ago.
It seems her crying has stopped now, so I suppose that means it is time at last to settle down. Artemis should send us a message tomorrow when he reaches the checkpoint. Perhaps that will bring Angeline some joy.
Friday, 3:32 PM
We received an encoded email this afternoon. My Butler deciphered it and reported that Artemis and the shipment have reached the Oslo checkpoint without issue. It was signed from Artemis's Butler, and contained few details pertaining to how our boy was faring, but did mention he had hit a spot of seasickness. Angeline was in fits after reading that, insisting that we should have known better than to put Artemis on a boat, of all things. Her hysterics were short-lived though, for after Juliet described a picture of Artemis as a weathered and scurvy-ridden old sailor, she saw some humor in the situation.
With luck, he'll reach St. Petersburg soon to drop off the shipment. If all goes well, he'll be with us again before next week.
Angeline will be so relieved, and I will be relieved that my son is competent enough to perform such a simple task.
Saturday, 9:13 PM
We have received no word from the St. Petersburg checkpoint. Little Juliet says Artemis has likely forgotten, or botched the job so badly he cannot face me. Neither seem likely, in my opinion or in Angeline's. She's gone gray with worry. My Butler is trying to establish contact, thus far to no avail.
I tell Angeline that the ship has likely veered off course.
Monday, 10:33 AM
Over breakfast, my Butler informed us of an encoded email from one of our contacts in Russia.
My son is dead.