Big, big thanks to reviewers of the last chapter: Steinbock, HolidayBoredom, pedrokotti and Sana Lama Samaha - I hope this lives up to your .
This is the new plan, all you readers - silent and otherwise (the latter being the more awesome, of course). I'm splitting these chapters up into smaller chunks, because this turned out to be another 10K+ one and the last one of those got a grand total of four reviews. So I'm guessing either people didn't really like it or they never made it to the review box at the bottom haha
So how's 3,000 words for ya? Better? Or do people prefer the monster-chapters? Let me know if you're arsed either way :)
Disclaimer: All based on Eoin Colfer's work directly. Dialogue (not much of it in this one) and some paragraphs lifted directly from the book.
Warning: Definitely more swearing in this than there was in the original.
You have Jolinnn to thank for this one. Anybody else got any suggestions I'll be happy to add them to the list. Long-term list, mind you. HolidayBoredom's will be the next one, although it's a beast so it may be some time in the making haha
ARTEMIS FOWL: BOOK ONE
CHAPTER 8: TROLL
From A Higher Vantage Point
for Jolinnn
Fowl Manor, Present Day
I take the stairs up from the cellar four at a time, shaking the lingering dizziness from my head. One side of it is caked with something I'd rather not try too hard to identify. For one, I am past caring by this point.
This entire operation has gone to shit. Literally. I'm pretty sure I just narrowly escaped being decapitated by a chunk of the stuff. But that thought is gone – banished to the corner of my mind I throw stuff that only warrants reflection at some point in the never-promised future.
Ko would skin me alive for leaving my principal like this, but he's in a secure room and my sister isn't. If the fairy woman has already got to her, it may even be too late.
I once received a hefty dose of punishment for breaking protocol to drag a friend of mine out of a river just before he went over a waterfall in a Grade 6 river. I was supposed to stay on the bank and snipe the enemy team on the far bank. But once Ro went in… The guy is five and a half foot tall and seventy kilograms soaking wet nowadays, back at The Academy he was even smaller. I was nearly half again that even back then and it nearly killed me getting to him. Ko wasn't pleased. Neither was Rolando actually. Ungrateful little shite.
Juliet will be the same when she's OK and I rush in to 'save her'. She'll point out the shit on my face and laugh at me for being concerned about her.
I hope.
But I've got no time to worry about that.
Right now there's only room for… it's not fear. That would be the wrong word for it. But it is a feeling I've had too many times before. It's more than worry. It's… dread. Dread for someone close to me.
Juliet's all I've got left for family.
I couldn't live with myself if something happened to her because of some stupid, insane mission I dragged her into.
I'm physically sweating at the thought of it. It's not the sprinting that's got beads of the stuff running down my shaven crown, anyway.
But it's not just her that's the problem.
There's a dangerous hostage loose in the manor – and that's probably the least of my worries.
Turns out – would you believe it? – fairies exist and they don't spend their days living in flowers, playing flutes and hanging around at the end of rainbows. They're a technologically advanced race with better weaponry and smarter gadgets and I'm thinking Artemis has bitten off more than he can chew this time. Or more like; more than I can chew. He just cuts the pieces; it's me that has to deal with the result.
How the hell am I supposed to control this? I'm one person. Granted, I am who I am and if there's anyone one person who can be expected to try to deal with these rapidly down-spiralling circumstances, it's probably me. But it takes a four man team to guard the lowliest politician and I'm expected to control this whole impossible situation on myself.
In previous years there have always been at least two Butlers in the manor – three at some points, even. And now there's just me. Well, Juliet would argue that she's a Butler too. And she is, of course, but I mean a trained one. A Blue Diamond. I've always been furiously independent and adamant I can handle it myself – stubborn, my uncle called it. Goddammit I miss the old git. If he was here… But he's not. And right now I'd take a couple of half-trained third years over dealing with this myself. The very reason I'm alone is the reason we're in this situation at all. Someone managed to get one over on him and Fowl Senior. They're both dead. It's about time I try to convince Artemis of the fact and put an end to these ridiculous escapades.
Nobody could survive that attack.
Surely?
But I've been wrong before. And here is a prime example.
Fairies like something out of Die Hard? You have got to be kidding me.
I don't often get chance to sprint at full speed, but this has to be the closest I've got to maxing out in a long time. I burst into the 'cell' Artemis spent pretty much the last of his savings on building, all for this mission.
Juliet is sprawled out on the cot, just as I've seen her be many times on the sofa in one of the unused lounge rooms, watching one of her wrestling video marathons.
She's… she's OK.
"What are you doing?" I demand, trying to control my breathing so I don't look too much like I've just rushed to her side for no apparent reason.
My gun is in my hand before I've thought of it, which is good, because I neglected to check the room for hostiles before I ran in like that. Idiot. What is it about emotions that have me acting like a first year rookie? I thought I'd long since learnt to turn those distractions off. I had. And then someone blew up my uncle and his charge and left me with an emotional wreck of a charge and teenage sister. The Major was like a dad to both of us. I think Artemis forgets that sometimes when he uses 'But he's my father, Butler, I can't give up' as his trump card to get me to agree to anything he wants to do in his futile mission to find the man – or at least what's left of him. My uncle's body had been a hell of a mess, according to the ID-er I sent, but at least we had some sort of closure. To be honest, I'd be happy enough if someone dredged Artemis Senior's body up from the bottom of the Bay of Kola where it's surely resting right about now while his son puts us all in exponentially-increasing amounts of danger in order to find him.
Juliet's eyes flick lazily at me for a second before she outright ignores me in favour of staring at the opposite wall. She didn't even notice the stripe of muck I'm decorated with. Something is wrong.
"Quiet, you big ape. Louie the Love Machine is on. He ain't so tough, I could take him."
Okaaay…
The insults are normal. The name I somewhat recognise loosely from one of the posters in her room. The guy in pink? I don't waste brain-space on trying to keep track of them all. Maybe she could take him on, in a few years. But all of that is beside the point because taken entirely out of context it is complete gibberish. It's like she's on drugs. And trust me, I've seen enough to know.
There was that thing Artemis said about the hypnotising, but she had glasses for that. I step towards her and almost crush something on the floor. Sunglasses.
Great. So either she's drugged or she's hypnotised.
I try to snap her out of it.
"Let's go. Artemis wants us upstairs in the situations room."
Military-style speak. That should do it. Juliet grew up around it. She was raised by two soldiers. She knows when I'm being serious. When to snap out of whatever civilian strop she's throwing at the time. But on this occasion…
She raises her arm and points at the wall. I follow her gesture. Blinking a few times in case I'm missing something in the gloom of the cell. But no, it's a blank wall. Definitely blank. Nothing there. She's hallucinating.
"Artemis can wait. This is for the intercontinental title. And it's a grudge match. Louie ate Hogman's pet piggie."
He ate…? I don't have time for this.
"Right. Let's go," I growl at her, grabbing her by the armpits and slinging her over my shoulder as though she was five years old again.
"Nooo. You big bully," she yells at me, thumping a weak tattoo on my back with her fists. She should be hitting harder than that. There's definitely something wrong with her. "Not now. Hogman! Hogmaaaan!"
I'm fairly certain I've never heard of this 'Hogman' person and so I ignore her, settling into a loping run and remembering to duck a little lower through the door before I bruise her back with the frame. Although if I had the heart for it, a short, sharp, shock of pain might be enough to snap her out of her trance. Given that's she's hallucinating, this 'Hogman' could be one of her boy 'mates'. Not boy 'friends' she assures me, but I'll be keeping a closer tab on 'visitors' to the lodge in future.
Presuming we have a future.
There's a buzzing on my belt, heralding the arrival of yet another variable in this never-ending equation.
"Butler? Pick up."
I am tempted to answer with a curt, 'What is it? I'm busy.', but I hoik Juliet a little higher over my shoulder so I can reach the walkie-talkie. Artemis is already speaking again before I can answer him.
"Lollipops!" he snaps.
Lolli… what?
Oh great. Has he been drugged too?
The fairy couldn't get in the situations room, could she? So he can't be… mesmerised, or whatever it was.
"Say again. I thought you said – " I start, cautiously. If he's not functioning mentally he is quite literally useless. At least a sane-Juliet can throw a punch.
"Eh…"
My 'also drugged' theory is looking more and more likely. Artemis doesn't say words that aren't 'real'.
"I mean get out of there. Take cover! Take cover!"
Nor does he use military terminology.
What the hell has the fairy bitch spiked them both with? Is it airborne? A gas? None of us have eaten anything in hours and I would have noticed if she'd been carrying hallucinogenic drugs on her person.
Am I only not reacting to it because there's not a high enough concentration in the air?
Don't get me wrong, it's a treat not to have to engage my brain in order to understand what my charge is saying, but it's still… off.
"Take cover?" I confirm, baiting him. If he's drugged he'll prattle on. If he's lucid, he'll respond with some sort of scathing comment about me wasting time.
"Yes, Butler. Cover. I thought speaking in primal terms would be the quickest route to your cognitive functions. Obviously I was mistaken."
I grunt in acknowledgement. That was more like it. Probably not drugged. Probably just stress. I'll ask him about the lollipops later.
I scan the hall. There wasn't much choice. I already knew that, of course. For security reasons, there's barely a single place to hide in the manor, unless it was specifically designed to be so. There's the alcoves with the ancient suits of armour. They'll have to do.
I duck behind one of the larger ones. And I mean it's large. This thing could probably fit me. The suits of armour aren't ornamental and it may very well have fitted one of my ancestors from the… fourteenth century, I think. Growing up in the manor, I picked up on these things. I also begged my uncle to teach me how to wield the ancient weapons each suit of armour is equipped with. He snorted derisively at me, but within a few weeks I had convinced him and I would bet he enjoyed it, if he would admit such a thing to himself.
Juliet taps on the breastplate of the old husk of a knight.
"You think you're mean? I could take you with one hand."
She's still in 'wrestling-mode', but my soldier's sense is thrumming in my skull. There's danger coming. Hiding is not in my nature, but I have no idea what threat is on the way and rushing in blindly has a high probability of getting me killed today, perhaps even more so than any other day.
"Quiet," I hiss at her, lest she give away our position.
I hold my breath, using a Ko-taught technique to minimise interfering noise. Which is difficult when your sister is huffing in annoyance and struggling over your back, heel of her closest foot threatening to chin you every so often. But still, I can hear something. Voices outside the door. Clunking of machinery. It was big, whatever it was.
I lean out slightly, only so far enough to get one eye on the lobby, the rest of me – and more importantly, Juliet – staying behind the cover of the wall.
And that was when the door…
'Exploded' doesn't do it justice.
It all-but disintegrated.
My vision rattles and suddenly I'm taken back to the last time I saw something like this. A lifetime ago, now. The mercenary team I was a part of had been hired to take out a Columbian druglord and destroy his estate to ensure his son didn't take over the mantle. We'd spent a good few hours setting up the charges – at great physical risk to ourselves, for the place was guarded like a fortress. I was just confirming everyone had evac'd the area, my thumb on the 'Big Red Button' so to speak – it was actually a switch. As if we'd be so melodramatic to use a button… That time, anyway.
And then… well, Mother Nature decided to improvise on our plan.
"Jesus Cookie – I thought you calculated the charges!"
"I did."
"Then what the fuck just happened?!"
What had 'just happened', was that a major earthquake had rippled through the tectonic plate below us, the vibrations triggering all of our carefully set, carefully measured explosives at once. The building was decimated – exploding into dust. And then the aftershock came and with trees toppling, the team and I made a swift exit, complaining about the lengths we'd gone to and how such a thing could 'only happen to us'.
This one was slightly different. Instead of ripping the front of the manor off, only the door was affected. It was very localised. As though it had been specifically designed for one purpose. Tailored. Professional. The part of me that isn't going into overdrive about this latest attack on the manor wonders how it was done. Explosives have always interested me. Demolition was one of my favourite classes in The Academy. It certainly isn't my favourite thing right now. Whatever is about to happen is going to be big. That's about all I can predict from this latest development.
It's classic anti-terrorist tactic. A very small part of me acknowledges the fact that I'm admitting we're the terrorists here. But I've been called that before and worse, so the idea bounces off.
I've employed these very tactics myself.
Hit 'em with smoke and sonics, go in while the targets are disorientated.
Only I'm not disorientated.
Unlucky, fairies.
Still, whatever is coming through that door is bad news, I'd bet my life on it.
I was not wrong.
My instincts are screaming at me to move. Get to high ground before the dust settles and they can see their target: me. But the dust is settling on that stupid Tunisian rug Madam Fowl insisted on buying. She'd be furious… if she ever so much as poked her nose out of the attic. That's the first time I've thought of her safety in hours, but she's knocked out with sleeping pills and there's not much more I can do to protect her. Her son is my priority over her.
I could go now. Stay low to minimise the target, zig-zag across the hall to make myself unpredictable, be up the stairs before the hail of bullets come whistling through the newly blown-out archway… Every second I stand here is another second closer to that moment. The ideal window before the visibility clears is closing rapidly. The last place I want to be is pinned down on a lower level…
I know this. I know all of this. On any other day I'd be halfway up that stairway before my brain had had time for a second thought.
But I still haven't moved.
Because today I've got my baby sister slung over my shoulder spouting gibberish and even beyond my own well-being, the last thing I want to do is risk running her into gunfire.
I grip her legs against my chest a little tighter. The state she's in she'd probably challenge the fairy commandos to a tag-wrestling match.
She talks tough, but she's just a kid, really. One day, maybe, but for now she's no match for trained military personnel, even if they are half her size.
I wonder for half a second if this is how my uncle used to feel when I'd plead to be allowed to tag along with him and my grandfather on the mission Eugene Fowl – Artemis Junior's grandfather – took them on.
You're just a kid, Dom, he'd tell me, scarfing a hand over my hair. When you're older, I promise.
He kept his promise, but at the time the thought that I just wasn't good enough almost crushed me. Kids are stupid. I know that. I was one, once. Hard as that is to believe and I'll admit I never had a conventional 'childhood', but I was still a kid. And now I'm not, so I prop Jules up against the tapestry behind the suit of armour and hunker down, flicking the safety off my gun with a quiet click.
At the noise, a strange calm settles over me. I'm prepared to fight to my death to defend the two things that are important to me in this word. Even if one of them is currently giggling to herself about something unbeknown to me and the other thinks I'm a hired chunk of muscle than can get him out of whatever mess he's plunged us all head-first into this time.
Safety off, a full clip in the gun and a couple more on my belt. I'm ready for them.
Come and get me, fairy boys.
Okidoki one third down, two to go.
I ain't a review junkie and I can't offer you anything but a reply (every time, honest) and more fics in return, but if you want to tell me what you think, that'd be pretty awesome. Lack of reviews won't stop me writing, but it'll probably make me think I might as well just keep it to myself and that's a shame for anyone who enjoys my fics.
Well, it's all pre-written as per usual, so there'll be the next two thirds coming up soon if you're looking forward to them :)
Wolfy
ooo
O