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1854 Fraser's Mag 69 75. The gods of their final and accepted polytheism were, in point of fact, only those sublimer portions of nature which...they had not yet dared to reify.

"reify, v.". OED Online. June 2011. Oxford University Press. .com/view/Entry/161514?redirectedFrom=reify (accessed January 9, 2012).

Chapter 2 - Cells

'So…' drawled PC Kelp from his place in the passenger seat. 'Explain to me again why there's a naked man in the back of our car?'

Holly Short's brow creased. 'Because, Kelp –'

'Holly! Holly, listen to me!'

The policewoman sighed. 'I thought I told you to be quiet, sir!'

Artemis was wriggling desperately in the back seat, straining against his cuffs to reach the safety divider. 'Holly! Holly, please –'

'Sir, I mean it. Shut up or I willshut you out.'

Artemis's chin jutted against the speech hatch. 'Holly! You've got to –!'

She reached back and slammed the hatch shut, reducing the teenager's pleas to unintelligible mumbles.

'Well,' sniffed Kelp primly, 'whatever trouble this gets you into just leave me well out of it. I don't want any of your dissident conduct going down on my record.'

Holly's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. 'He was caught harassing students, Graeme. What was I supposed to do? Wave at him as he ran by and carry on handing out parking tickets?'

'Yes!' exclaimed Graeme, his voice half an octave higher than usual. 'Because that's what being on traffic duty means!'

'Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree won't we?'

Kelp huffed. 'Yes. Yes, we shall.'

Holly rolled her eyes and pulled into the police HQ, bypassing the security gate and driving down the ramp beneath the building.

In the rear seat, Artemis gave up his fight to be heard. He stared glumly out of the window, the glare from the underground strip-lights striping against his naked skin.

That morning he had been happily (well, perhaps not happily) trapped inside his own mind, watching as an increasingly stricken Holly attempted to coax him back out again. He had watched the orderlies flood into his room, felt as his hair was sheared from his scalp, seen Holly's anguished profile as he'd been driven away from her. And then what? The lights of an operation theatre, small hands pushing him backwards, a plastic mask over his face and then… and then… nothing. He had woken here; in this alien world where Minerva could share his bed and Holly could arrest him for indecent exposure.

I must be dreaming. I am either still anaesthetised or am lying in some form of coma resulting from surgery.

The car stopped. The ignition cut off and a few seconds later Artemis's door was wrenched open.

'Out you get.'

He squinted up into the light. The human Holly was stood directly in front of him, her brown eyes stern and business-like. 'Come on,' she snapped. 'Before one of us dies of old age.'

Artemis scowled at her. 'You could at least fetch me some clothes.'

'Kelp, hold the pillow.'

Kelp shuffled forward and Artemis's expression dropped. He heaved himself out of the car, the cushion barely keeping him decent. 'Happy?' he spat at Holly, once fully upright.

The policewoman smiled at him. 'Ecstatic,' she replied, before turning on her heel and striding towards the main building.

Artemis glared after her.

'Come on,' snapped Graeme and Artemis felt the pillow dip. He moved his head to voice his displeasure before realising, with a slight jolt, just how little he had to move. Kelp's face was just a few inches above his own, and the officer had to be at least six foot tall.

I have grown. A lot.

'This way!'

Artemis looked forward to see Holly holding open a door. Behind her the sounds of a dozen men's voices were drifting out into the open.

The teenager paled. 'You cannot be –' But with a surprisingly firm hand, Kelp forced him inside.

They emerged in a wide corridor studded by groups of officers, mostly male, mostly holding clip-boards, either talking to hand-cuffed civilians or to each other. On the right stood a high, reinforced counter manned by a tubby man with a thick moustache and tonsure.

'Well, well, well,' boomed the man, leaning over the counter. 'Who's this sorry sod?'

Artemis's eyes widened.

Mister Crampfit, the games master at St Bartleby's, sent to torture me again.

Heads were turning in his direction, necks craning, eyes widening. Some officers were raising their arms to point.

Holly pulled Artemis to her side, shielding his body from the majority of sight. 'Just get on with it, Crampfit. I've got things to do.'

Crampfit's smile stretched. 'Ey up, Short. Now just how did I know you'd be behind this then? Date gone wrong was it?' He winked at her lecherously.

Holly didn't return the gesture. 'Just shut up and process him, Crampfit, before I break that smirk off your face.'

The man shifted quickly back behind his computer. 'Alright, alright, love, keep yer knickers on.' He coughed heavily and finally looked at Artemis. 'Name, lad.'

Artemis didn't say anything.

What was it that Minerva called me?

Crampfit banged the desk with a fat fist. 'You deaf? I said name.'

'Fowl. Artemis Fowl.'

'Ain't that a girl's name?'

Holly growled.

'Alright, alright. Date of birth?'

'First of the ninth, nineteen eighty nine.'

'And address?'

'Fowl Manor, County Dublin –'

Crampfit stopped typing. 'Fowl what?'

'Fowl Manor.'

The guardsman snorted. 'Artemis Fowl of Fowl Manor? Fuck off, lad, I weren't born yesterday. Now, give us your real name or I'll be charging you with obstruction.'

'I have given you my real name –'

'Oh for God's sake,' snarled Holly. Officers were getting closer now, some grinning, some shocked, but all wanting to come for a peep. 'Look,' she said to Artemis. 'The sooner you give your proper details, the sooner you'll be out of sight. So just stop being an idiot and give him your name and address.'

Artemis was belligerent. 'I have given him my details. What else do you want me to do?'

'To tell the truth.'

'I have! One of the very few times I have actually neglected to lie to the authorities! It is not my fault that you have chosen not to believe me!'

Kelp piped up from behind. 'Maybe he's got some official ID on him?'

Artemis shot him a withering glance. 'And where, pray tell, would I be keeping it?'

Holly pulled him sharply back to face front. 'No, Kelp,' she sighed. 'Not unless he's got a passport stuffed up his arse, I really don't think so.'

Crampfit interrupted. 'Well what's his name then?'

'Just write that down.'

'Write what down?'

Both Artemis and Holly yelled at him. 'Artemis Fowl!'

Crampfit recoiled. 'Alright, alright! Blimey, keep your hair on…'

Once finished giving all his details, (of which every word was greeted with blatant scepticism) Artemis was forced to stamp his fingerprints on an official looking form and led off to be photographed. They decided they could skip the strip search.

'Smile please!'

Artemis's face remained a hard grimace.

Flash.

'And turn to the right!'

Flash.

'And turn to the left!'

Flash.

The photographer leant out from behind his tri-pod. 'Beautiful, sweetheart, just beautiful.'

There was a roar of laughter as the dozen or so officers who had come to watch finally broke their composure. Holly strode across to Artemis. 'Come on,' she'd muttered, quickly giving him back his pillow. 'Let's get you in a cell…'

Eleven hours later and he was still in that cell; or more specifically, he was laid back on the hard cell-bench, brooding. If this really was all a dream it was certainly a trying one. The police hadn't been able to find a single trace of "Artemis Fowl" on any of their databases, nor a single brick of "Fowl Manor". In this world he and his home simply didn't exist, and he had been pulled out of his cell to be questioned about this fact no fewer than nine times. He'd been pleaded with, threatened, and given stiff-talking-to's by at least three dozen officers, but in the end he had had no choice but to repeat his original identity over and over… and over again.

The peep-slot in his door suddenly slid open. A face appeared in the hole, grinning and eager. Then it spotted the teenager lying on the bed and dropped with disappointment. The slot slid shut again. Artemis scowled darkly.

After his forth interview someone had finally taken pity on him, opening his cell door and tossing in a pair of ratty track-suit bottoms and a police training t-shirt at least three sizes too big for him. He'd pulled them on without complaint, never having appreciated cloth more in his entire life. But a steady stream of officers and varying other police staff had still been coming to his cell hoping to catch a glimpse and a giggle at his expense.

The teenager adjusted himself on the hard mattress.

What am I supposed to do? Just wait to wake up?

It wasn't like he had many other options. He had asked earlier for his one phone-call home but on typing in the number and putting the receiver to his ear had been told in no uncertain tones that the number did not exist. He had tried Butler, each of his parent's mobiles, he'd even tried Juliet's number in South America – none of them had worked. He'd slammed the phone back to the wall and been returned to his cell.

The peep-slot slid open again.

'If you were hoping to see a naked body then I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you,' drawled Artemis without bothering to look up.

There was a clunk and the door pulled open completely. A figure stood in the doorway, flanked by two uniformed officers.

'Disappoint me?' Artemis sat quickly upright. The figure in the door took a long drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, observing the boy before him with clear distaste. 'From what people have been telling me your body could disappoint a cat.'

Artemis stared up at him.

Commander Julius Root.

The human commander was a little less red in the face than the elfin one had been, but there was still a definite beet-root tinge to his cheeks. His grey hair still stood on end as if he was being electrocuted and the lower buttons of his shirt strained to cover his still slightly portly stomach. He was of average height, shorter than the now sprouted Artemis, but the expression in his eyes more than made up for any lost intimidation.

The commander moved into the cell, the two other officers darting past him like Rottweilers released from their leads. Artemis was hauled to his feet, his arms pushed behind his back and handcuffs snapped about his wrists.

'Where are you taking me?' he demanded.

Root took another drag of his cigarette. 'A friend of yours has turned up at the front desk claiming he can tell us who you are. Seeing as no-one else has managed to drag anything up on you, and frankly I'm getting sick of hearing about it, we're going to see if he's telling the truth.'

He gave a swift nod and Artemis was bustled from the cell. He was led up a flight of stairs and out into a corridor nicer and brighter than any he'd been dragged down so far. Curious faces poked out from open office doorways, coffee mugs and folders in their arms. Artemis endured their gawping with his jaw set and was eventually halted at an interview-room door. The first officer pulled it open and the second pushed the teenager inside.

It was a relatively small room, dominated by a low plastic table of the type you'd usually find in a classroom. Three seats were dotted about it, thinly padded and straight-backed. One was already occupied.

Artemis gaped at the figure openly.

'Mister Butler?' inquired the human Commander, side-stepping Artemis to approach the table. 'I'm DCI Root, and I've been told that you can shed a little light on our problem with Mister Fowl here.'

Artemis still couldn't quite take it in.

Butler?

But, really, who else could it be? The man in front of him must have been nearly seven foot tall and had enough muscles to fit out two Mr Universes and still have some bicep to spare. He bore the familiar, almost inky-black eyes, the thin lips, the narrow nose. But his head was matted with a short crop of yellow hair and instead of his customary suit he wore battered jeans and an equally beat-up army jacket. The Butler Artemis knew was forty years old, though physically pushed into his sixties due to the En Fin incident so long ago, thisButler was barely into his mid-twenties. There were no crinkles at the corners of his eyes, no slackness at all in his skin – he was young and strong; in the prime of his life.

Artemis was shaken from his sudden reverie by an officer's hand on his shoulder, forcing him down into one of the remaining seats.

'I've got all the documents,' said the younger Butler, in trade-mark, gravel tones. 'It took me a while to find them all, but I've got them.'

Root took the outstretched papers. Artemis remained silent, unable to keep his eyes from his altered manservant, and then Root placed one of the papers down on the desk. Words immediately jumped out at him.

Delusionary.

Possible psychosis.

Long-term rehabilitation.

The paper was pulled swiftly away again.

'Ah,' said Root grimly. 'This certainly does explain a lot.' He flicked to the back of the last document – a battered British passport. 'Alice Sweete,' he announced, and then looked down at Artemis. 'Well, MisterSweete, I see no reason to keep you here any longer. I think you should return to your home with Mister Butler here and try and recover the rest of your evening.'

The commander nodded at the blond across the table and made to leave the room.

Artemis frowned.

Alice Sweete?

'I'm sorry,' said Artemis, shaking his head slightly, 'but I think there's been some form of misunderstanding.'

Root turned back to him, a look of faint surprise on his face. 'Misunderstanding..?'

'I am not,' Artemis looked down at the passport left on the table. 'Alice Sweete.'

A large hand suddenly gripped his arm. 'Come on, Al,' said the blond Butler, his eyes hard. 'Let's go home.'

Artemis looked up at him 'What–?'

'If it's the indecent exposure thing you're worried about,' interrupted Root, an amused smile playing about his lips. 'Then don't worry. In light of all things, we'll drop the charges.'

An officer clicked a key into Artemis's handcuffs, dropping them from about his wrists. The Butler's hand tightened on his arm again and he was pulled upwards.

'Come on,' repeated the giant darkly. 'Home.'

Despite the room containing four living occupants there was not a single living sound to be heard: only the steady beep of mechanical monitors and the rasp of artificial breath. Angeline Fowl stood with her hand over her mouth, tears silently tracking over her fingers. Butler stood at her shoulder. Holly was sat in the room's only chair, her head sunk into her hands. Artemis was on the bed, his eyes closed, a thick tube lodged in his open mouth and a white sheet pulled up to his chest, rising and falling with the bellows of a nearby machine.

'Oh, my baby,' whispered Angeline.

Holly clutched tighter at her hair whilst Butler remained motionless. Angeline approached the bed, the linen of her long trousers brushing Holly's knees. She knelt to the floor.

'Arty.' She stroked the skin of her son's pale forehead. 'Come on, my darling. You need to wake up. Everyone's waiting to see you.' She attempted a smile but it trembled and cracked. 'Come now, Artemis. I've never known you be so quiet. What about THE PROJECT, eh? And all your other schemes? Why are you being so–'

A firm hand landed on her shoulder. Angeline looked up, then back to the bed. Butler cupped her elbow in one massive palm and pulled her to her feet.

'C'mon, Missus Fowl,' he murmured. 'Why don't we go and get you a cup of tea?'

For a moment they simply stood there, Angeline staring at her motionless child and Butler supporting her arm. Then she nodded, barely a tip of her head, and the manservant guided her from the room.

'I'll be back soon, my love,' she croaked. 'I'll be back.'

The door closed softly behind them.

Holly opened her eyes, staring out between thin fingers before slowly raising her head. It was no little effort. She hadn't slept for forty six hours, willing herself awake throughout Artemis's surgery. She had wanted to be there when he woke up; she had wanted to be able to answer all his inevitable and probably innumerable questions. Instead she had been met with a very grim faced surgeon, and had been shown into a room filled with bloodied silver instruments and the faint, bleach-masked smell of sweat.

He had never looked deader. Not even when he had lain beneath her in that gorilla cage so long ago, his body limp, his skin the colour of milk. This went beyond that. He was unrecognisable. His head was now a Frankenstein creation, his shorn scalp stitched together like a badly repaired rag doll. A long bruise stretched from the sewing-site, reaching down across his cheekbone and ending in an ugly black pockmark under his left eye. The rest of his face was obscured by tubes – one down his throat and another two snaking into his nostrils.

Holly had closed her eyes tight, taken a deep breath, before forcing herself to speak. 'Does he need all these pipes in his mouth? And the stitches? Can't you just heal those?'

The sprite had shaken his head sharply. 'No. There's to be no magical contact for the patient for at least eight weeks; it could risk triggering a relapse of the complex.'

The room had fallen silent.

'So when does he wake up?'

'We don't know.'

'What do you mean you don't know?'

The sprite had looked away, checking a suspended pouch that was slowly dripping something into one of Artemis's tubes. 'I shouldn't be telling you this, Captain Short. His next of kin should be informed first.'

Holly had almost growled. 'Well while they're not here I'm the closest he's got.'

The surgeon had hesitated. 'Yes. I suppose.' He had looked up from his patient and stared her straight in the eye. 'There were unforeseen complications.'

'What complications?'

'Calm yourself. The patient has been taking medication under the direction of Doctor Argon and I… we underestimated how long that medication would take to leave Mister Fowl's system. As a result some of it has affected the barbiturates used to induce temporary coma.'

'What? What does that mean? Coma? You're telling me he's in a coma?'

'Yes, essentially. But a far deeper one than planned. He could wake up tomorrow, in a year, or perhaps…' Holly had glared at him, her fingers balling into fists, daring him to say it, 'never.'

The surrogate Butler had escorted Artemis quickly from the room. Once clear, he'd then yanked him down a corridor and two flights of stairs, stormed him up to the reception desk, signed the teenager's multiple discharge forms and hauled him away again by the scruff of the neck. He'd dragged him out the main entrance, down the front steps, across a gravel car park and finally shoved him towards a P-reg Nissan Micra.

'Whoa!' protested Artemis, his hands stretching out to stop himself slamming into a car bonnet for the second time that day. 'Was that really necessary?'

The blonde had chuckled darkly before swinging himself into the driver's seat. He reached across to the passenger door and pulled up the lock. 'Get in,' he mouthed, his expression leaving no room for protest.

Artemis glared back at him.

This is Butler. Even in a dream, and in this form, he surely must offer some salvation.

So he followed the appeal of his stinging bare feet, opened the door and got in the car.

'Right,' said Butler as soon as the teenager was inside. 'Have this.' He shoved an open bottle of water into the boy's hand.

Artemis scowled. 'What's this for?'

The blonde reached over the teenager's knees and slammed a fist against the glove box. The front fell open, allowing a labelled bottle of tablets to roll into the crook of the latch. 'To take those with.'

Artemis took the bottle. 'These… these are antipsychotics.'

'Yep,' said the blonde, twisting a key into the ignition. 'The ones you promised me you were still taking.'

Artemis frowned. The engine sputtered, attempting to turn over, but died. Butler slapped a hand against the steering wheel.

'Well?' he snapped, glancing at Artemis.

The teenager was still looking at the bottle with wary eyes.

Is this reality encroaching on fantasy? Am Imeantto take this medication?

He hesitated, then popped the cap and poured two thin pills onto his palm.

Will I wake up if I do..?

He could feel the giant's gaze on the side of his face, waiting.

'Alright,' said Artemis, scowling again.

Bottoms up.

He tipped his head back, cupping the pills into his mouth and following them with a quick swallow from the bottle of water.

'Open your mouth,' ordered the Butler.

'What?'

'Open it.'

Artemis sighed heavily. 'Is this really necessary?'

'Just do it.'

The teenager raised a thin eyebrow. Butler shot out a hand and grabbed his jaw.

'Alright!' yelled Artemis, twisting away into the door. 'Okay! There! … See?'

The blonde grunted, satisfied. 'Now stick out your tongue.'

'Now, really, that is unnecessary.'

'Just do it.'

The teenager glared at him and, like he had seen Myles and Beckett do many times, poked out his tongue. 'Alright? Do I pass the test?'

The blonde nodded and tried the key again. This time the engine kicked into life. He hissed quietly in celebration and reached for his seatbelt. Artemis did the same, though his hands felt strangely heavy.

'Home?' asked the teenager blinking hard.

The Butler nodded. 'Yep. Though I doubt you'll be conscious when we get there.'

'Conscious?' asked Artemis, with emphasized sibilance. 'Not. Conscious? What?'

The blonde flashed him an amused grin. 'Nighty night, Al.'

Artemis tried to shake the spots from his eyes. 'My namthe's snot… Al,' he protested. 'It's… It's… Arth…'

'Your name's Arse?'

'No… it's…'

And he was gone.

The comments improved - woo! So here's the long belated second chapter!

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Happy 2012!

Holi