Thanks to: shiningpearls, Readergirl99, Spencerblue, Shadow914, 6000j, The Littlest Mouse and Steinbock for the reviews!
What a response to that last chapter. Seriously, so chuffed. I was about as excited to reply to all your reviews like "YES YOU CLEVER PEOPLE!" as I was to post the chapter haha
I wanted to make it obvious without making it too obvious who it was on the phone. Because I mean, well we know, but Dom doesn't. I should've known you guys would get it straight from the off - you've been reading my fics too long haha
Unfortunately we have to wait a while for anything to come of that phonecall, but hey - kudos to you all for being well on the ball with it! It will eventually play a part, but by then we'll probably all have to check back and read the transcript again to remind us what the hell he said - including me haha
And a few of you even spotted the Supernatural quote, too! I was half-surprised so many of you got that too, but then again it's another awesome series. Well spotted, anyway.
WARNINGS: Swearing, dubious decision making, even more dubious sandwich making, hilarity. Also, this chapter was 4K but then I started writing about sandwiches and it got away from me and doubled in length and I didn't want to split it. So enjoy this chapter taking us over 100K words (yeah I know I said this fic was like 85K initially but I also said it would probably tip over 100K after the edit and you should know what I'm like by now haha) featuring lots of extra Dom and Tim brotherly bonding time, plenty of laughs and generally the complete opposite of the proper angsty chapter earlier on.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Collation
Disused Barn, Outskirts of Fowl Manor
Artemis Fowl – the senior, though he did not know that yet – dropped the last hefty mechanics tome atop the stack of books they had been working from.
They had stashed the car in one of the abandoned farm buildings just outside the manor walls. The bikes were still there too, given that the young Butler had thought it a job enough to get Artemis back over the wall and reset the motion sensor at the break of dawn without being noticed, let alone both bicycles and replace them in the garages, get back up to his room and grab an hour of sleep before his grandfather knocked on his door to ask if he wanted to train with him.
They would have to be returned before The Major got back of course, but that was a problem for another day.
For now, the problem facing them was...
"Well..."
"Well..." Dom repeated, closing the bonnet with a metallic thud.
"I guess now it's time to see if it'll start," said the Fowl.
The oil-streaked boy who had done most of the 'heavy lifting' side of the mechanics thought it was about time for a nice cup of tea, but as with the Artemis Fowl to follow, once this one was obsessed with a project, he cared little for trivial things such as sustenance. The younger teenager was different. No less obsessive once he got his teeth stuck into something, but aware – through rigorous, unwavering teaching - of the importance of proper hydration and its affect on mental and physical performance. He had been taught by the best, after all.
In fact, his two favourite tutors would not approve of either of them skipping lunch to continue with their project. But then again, if they would approve at all, they would be helping. And he would not be holed up in a barn, working to improve the specs of a stolen car that happened to have previously belonged to his own mother, with nothing but a box of tools filched from the manor garages, some old mechanics books, a couple of terms-worth of vehicle maintenance classes from the academy and his uncle's lifelong lessons to go off.
"Of course it'll start," said Dom, refraining from correcting the Fowl on his pronouns.
For most vehicles he would have said 'she'; that was traditional, after all. But his mother had always insisted – purely to irritate his uncle, no doubt – on using male pronouns for their ageing Mini. She had never wanted to sell it. Him. Henry. Dom had never asked, but he suspected his father had bought it before he vanished – apparently off the face of the Earth. He wasn't so sure she'd be much more pleased about him stealing the car for the purpose of taking part in an illegal rally race organised by the older brother of Artemis's girlfriend. But it was a bit too late to be worrying about that now. They were way too far into this excursion to escape without retribution, so hoping against hope that they didn't get caught was currently the best - if most futile - course of action.
"I admire your enthusiasm, Junior," Artemis said, with a nervous wring of his hands. "But I'm afraid this one part of the project I really would have appreciated The Major's assistance with."
Dom raised an eyebrow. His uncle was currently over a thousand miles away in a ski resort in Zermatt, Switzerland, with Artemis's father. Something neither of the older Butlers were particularly happy with, but the youngest was currently very grateful about indeed.
"There is no way he would have agreed to this."
"Which is why, old friend, I am ever so appreciative to have you around."
Dom's eyebrows would have disappeared into his hair, had he not been sporting his usual Academy haircut.
"Have you never heard that flattery will get you nowhere, Master Fowl," he said, but he smirked as he leaned in through the window and twisted the wires he had pulled loose from the ignition last night.
The car rumbled into life, sounding remarkably healthier than it had done before they had started 'tinkering' with it.
Artemis grinned back, the buzz of achievement glowing on his face.
"So..." he said, eagerly. "Where shall we take it for a test drive?"
Dom cut the engine. "Ah-ah. We take this thing for a spin now, we'll get caught for sure."
"Just around the outside of the grounds!"
"No way. It's meant to rain later this week so Old Richards will be out baling like a madman and he already hates me."
"Richards... the name rings a bell."
"You've met him before."
"I suppose," Artemis shrugged. He didn't exactly pay much attention to the tenant farmers on his father's land. The Fowls owned much of the fields surrounding their fortress and he supposed he may have come across the name on some paperwork before now.
"He's that farmer – the angry one. You almost got us both mown over, trampled by cows and drowned that day, remember?"
The memory did surface suddenly and Artemis grimaced and chuckled. "Ah yes. Gracious – is he still alive?"
"Yeah I think so. Unless he's got a son that looks just like him," said Dom. "Didn't hit him in the gut hard enough when I was younger, clearly."
"We got into a few scrapes when we were youngsters, didn't we?"
Dom raised an eyebrow. "You got us into some scrapes as youngsters, you mean. And you still are, actually."
"Details," the Fowl waved his hand. "When can we drive it?"
"When's the race?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, then," said Dom.
"But we need to practice!"
"I don't need practice. You might need some practice, but I'll be fine."
Artemis was going to be the navigator, that much had been decided by their game trials.
"It's reading off a sheet. I really don't see how I could mess that up..."
Dom snorted and closed the toolbox up, placing it through the open window and gathering up the books to follow.
"Come on. We need to get back before we're missed."
"I told Butler we may be a few hours on our 'hike'."
"Yeah and he'll be waiting on us," Dom said, throwing a sheet they had found in the barn over Henry. "Let's not never get permission to leave again by being late for home for tea."
Dom had found it remarkable enough that his grandfather had granted the young master's request that they be allowed to hike the countryside together under the guise of Artemis 'broadening his horizons' for the sake of Angeline, who apparently enjoyed the occasional promenade through nature. Butler had agree that it was probably in the young man's best interests to have a basic grasp of navigation and had even allowed him to leave with only Dom in tow, something The Major certainly would have had doubts about. Although he was fairly certain his grandfather would not stoop to his uncle's level of snooping and be hiding in the bushes somewhere on their route back, he was reluctant to take the mountain bikes back with them as Artemis had suggested.
Although the Fowl heir had thought of a contingency for that too. Through various means and guiles Junior did not know the details of exactly, the young man had managed to convince his mother to go clothes shopping. This was a two-fold advantage to the miscreant teens, for it meant not only Mrs Fowl was off the premises, but Butler had been forced to chauffer her and her two handmaids into the city, then stand around in various clothing stores, holding bags and looking like a rather menacing hat stand.
"Are we taking the bikes now?" Artemis asked, eyeing where they had stashed them last night after a heated, whispered debate about the benefits of not riding them home.
"I dunno..."
"Oh come on, Junior – Mother definitely won't be back yet."
"I thought you never wanted to cycle again after last night?"
"That was before I had the evidence of how tedious walking is," Artemis told him. "It's basically downhill to The Manor, is it not?"
Dom pulled a face. "I guess. But I think Harson saw us leave."
"Oh screw that old codger," Artemis snorted. "We'll say we had a change of plan and doubled back for the bikes."
Dom hummed doubtfully, but he had to admit there wasn't going to be many other opportunities to return them and free-wheeling down to the tradesman's entrance did sound a whole lot more fun than walking with Artemis dragging his toes every step of the way and complaining of the heat.
After checking quickly for Mr Richards, or indeed anyone else, Dom hauled open the wooden door and slotted the bikes through. The big barn doors they had had to fight with last night in the grey light of dawn had swollen over the years and were a nightmare to get closed again. He had to admit, they didn't look quite as 'undisturbed' as he had hoped they would, but seen as though it was only a temporary measure that the car would be there, they'd just have to hope nobody ventured over to the derelict barn in the next day or so. After that, Dom wasn't sure what to do with Henry, but he supposed it would be planning too far ahead to presume they were going to get out of the rally race in one piece.
He took one last look at the car, carefully tucked under the dust sheet. It was not exactly in the same condition it had been in the night before, given the effort it had taken to get it to its place of concealment, but at least the mud would wash off and the scratches from hedgerow scrapes were superficial. Mechanically the vehicle was, arguably, sounder than it had been when it had been unlawfully driven away from the residence of its rightful owner some 12 hours ago.
The teenagers pushed their bikes through the gate and out onto the country lane. It didn't take them even half as long as it had taken to walk out to the barn and Dom had to admit that maybe it had been a good idea after all. Especially when they didn't bump into Harson and had changed their clothes to some clean of all evidence of their foray into mechanics, and were safely squirrelled away, back into the games room before Vivienne Fowl and Butler returned.
"Do you fancy some food?" Dom asked, when staring at the screen as Artemis had a turn behind the wheel had become tedious. It hadn't taken long.
Artemis took his hands off the wheel and allowed the car to crash on purpose this time. It was mid-afternoon and he had to admit, having missed lunch, that he was a feeling a tad peckish.
"What do you suggest? I doubt the chefs will be happy to make us anything when they're probably busy preparing dinner for tonight."
Dom looked at him, his mouth twisted in amusement. "We could just get our own food, you know Tim?"
Artemis faltered a moment. "Well, yes I supposed we could..."
"Have you ever actually cooked for yourself?" the junior bodyguard asked, still grinning.
"Well... yes of course I have. I mean... I must have at some point..."
"You've never even made yourself a sandwich, have you?" he asked.
"Well, perhaps not a sandwich but..." Tim said, a little disgruntledly.
"You're nearly twenty and you've never made your own lunch?"
The Fowl looked at his watch. "Well, it's gone three in the afternoon, it's hardly lunchtime.."
"You're avoiding the point, Master Fowl," Dom said, deepening his voice, mock-sternly.
"Don't do that," Artemis frowned. "You sound like..."
"My uncle? I know," he grinned. "That's what I was going for. Now come on. I'm going to teach you how to make a sandwich. But we may have to go on the rob for supplies..."
"On the rob?" Artemis said, scathingly. "You mean steal? This is my house, Junior. I don't need to steal food from my own kitchen..."
"Oh we're not stealing from your kitchen," the young Butler said, a mischievous glint to his eye.
"Junior, need I remind you of the last time we stole food from the staff pantry?" Artemis said, warningly. "And Mrs Callaghan she told me had I not been the master's boy she would have had me caned."
"I know - and she almost did cane me! She would have done if Pa hadn't caught me and made me do ten score and a halfy," Dom laughed, quoting a common '200 press-ups, 13.1 mile run' physical retribution of the Butler family for minor misdemeanours, used mainly to keep the perpetrator out of trouble for the next couple of hours and tired enough to keep them out of mischief for a few more following that. "Which is why we're going to be a sneakier pair of bastards about it this time. And not knock over a twenty kilo sack of potatoes and a bag of flour climbing up for the jam, because I'm tall enough now to reach the top shelf..."
"Junior..." Artemis sighed.
But the younger teen was gone, disappearing up the stairs with a barely restrained cackle.
The Kitchen, Staff Quarters, Fowl Manor
As it turned out, they did not quite have to resort to such skulduggery. As they slipped past the main kitchens, they could hear the head chef singing to herself as she began making the evening meal for the manor. There were just the two Fowls to feed at the moment, of course, but she and her assistants would be cooking for the other staff as well.
"Come on," Dom said, beckoning Artemis through a door he had rarely been through despite living in the manor his entire life. "She won't come through here now."
"What about the other staff?" he said, looking behind him.
"Ah, what about them?" Dom said, grinning at him. "You're the boss's son and I'm the Butler's boy. They might snitch on us, but so long as we're not arseholes to them they'll probably leave us be. Come on!"
"I suppose we're a little more grown up than we used to be when we were skulking around the servants' quarters," the Fowl said, laughing at himself.
Artemis followed him through the heavy, wooden door and as Dom raided the fridge, he sat himself down on one of the benches drawn up against the long edge of the table and inspected its worn surface. It was as polished as the dining table upstairs, but although it was as clean, this table was marked. A dark ring where a pan had been put down whilst still too hot. Six dents, evenly spaced in a semi-circle near one edge. A mark scratched into the corner. It looked like... a very rudimentary butterfly, with sharply accentuated wings. It had been carved into the wood by a knife. He touched it lightly.
"What are these marks, Junior?"
"What marks?" he asked over his shoulder, through a mouthful of something.
He had moved with the automatic ease set of someone in a very familiar environment, reaching from cupboard to drawers in the fewest number of steps possible, setting down onto the table; two plates, a chopping board, a large loaf of unsliced bread, a jar of pickle of some sort, something that looked like chutney, half a lettuce, a beef tomato, a brick-red butter dish, a long, jagged breadknife, a sharper, shorter vegetable knife and two butterknives...
He turned, closed the fridge door with his elbow and placed a large block of cheese on the table with a surreptitious look at the kitchen door.
"OK most of this stuff is fair game, but this is the good cheese," he said, over the food in his mouth. "So if anyone walks in just hide it under the table or something. What were you asking about?"
Artemis chuckled at the thought that clandestine cheese consumption seemed to concern the young Butler more than theft of a motor vehicle, and traced some of the indents with one slender finger.
"Here," he clarified.
"Oh," said the Butler boy, swallowing whatever hadn't quite made it to the assortment of potential sandwich ingredients he had laid out on the table in front of the Fowl. "They're from the knife game."
"The knife game?" Artemis repeated, frowning.
The younger teen pursed his lips. "Yeah - you've never heard of it?"
"Would I be asking if I had?" sniffed the Fowl.
Dom snatched the short vegetable knife up, tossing it into the air and twirling it like a baton before he snapping his fist closed over the handle.
"Ah, of course you haven't," he said, nudging his friend along the bench. "Budge up."
Artemis shuffled across to make room and Junior placed his left hand flat on the table, spreading the fingers of his large hands so that the marks were visible in the gaps between them.
"What are you..." Artemis began, but Junior merely looked him straight in the eye and began darting the knife back and forth between his fingers in a repetitive pattern, without so much as glancing at the tip as it sunk in and out of the table wood.
...thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud...
First the knife hit the mark on the right-hand side of his left thumb, then it went to the second mark on the table, which was set between his thumb and forefinger, then back to the first, then to the third between his forefinger and his middle finger, then back to the first and so on until he reached the furthest mark on the left outer edge of his little finger. Then he began the same process in reverse, the knife jabbing up and down like the needle on a sewing machine.
...thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud...
"You'll stab yourself!" Tim said warningly, leaning away from the rapid movement.
...thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud...
"Not since I was about eight," Dom grinned, pausing and touching the tip of the knife lightly to a silvery patch of skin on the edge of his middle finger. "I started playing it when I was four. With a pencil at first, then a butter knife. My uncle wouldn't let me use a proper knife until I was six."
...thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud...
"Of course," Tim snorted. "The Knife Game is a treasured childhood tradition of the Butler family. I should have guessed."
...thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud...
"Well it is. But it's not just my family. Loads of people play it," said Dom, starting up again; but even faster. "I'm surprised you haven't at least heard of it at St Bart's."
...thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud...
"Funnily enough, Junior," drawled the Fowl heir. "My piano-playing, calligraphy-penning, typewriting classmates did not engage in a game which could potentially end in digit amputation... Will you stop that? It's unnerving!"
...thud-thud, thud-thud, thud - ...
Domovoi grinned, but he desisted. "Why? Do you want a go?"
"Not at all!"
"Oh good - I was going to say if you're going to learn something new today, I'd rather teach you how to make a sandwich," he said. "What with you needing your fingers to play piano, write fancy and type shit and all that."
"I do not need a tutorial on how to make a blasted sandwich..." Artemis grumbled.
"Alright," smirked Junior. "Well the stuff's all here - you make your own."
Ten minutes later, he was tucking into what Artemis described as;
"... practically a three course meal between two halves of a loaf of bread! Honestly, Junior; you'll ruin your dinner..."
And Artemis had what Dom described as;
"... an explosion on a plate..."
The two teenagers chomped through their respective approximations of sandwiches in amicable silence for several minutes until Artemis spoke again.
"Junior," he said, leaving the crusts on his plate. "I would like you to know I think of you as one of my closest friends."
"What do you want now...?" Dom drawled, as he poured them both a large glass of juice. "I already donated my mother's car and probably several years off my life to your latest cause..."
"Yes, thank-you for the car," he said, taking the glass gratefully and chinking it against the young bodyguard's. "I don't require anything else off you for the time being."
"Except my skills as a driver, you mean," he interjected.
"Well, yes, that too," admitted Artemis. "But I was going to ask you a question."
"Go on..." Dom said guardedly.
"Do I have your trust, old boy."
"Trust? 'Course I trust you," he said, cramming crusts into his mouth and chewing. "I mean... do I trust you not to get us killed doing some mad shit? Probably. Do I trust you not to bankrupt the family and make us both homeless? Sure. Would I trust you to make me a sandwich? Meh..."
"Don't be facetious when I'm trying to be genuine," Artemis tutted.
"Artemis Fowl, being genuine," Dom pretended to steady himself on the table. "I think I better lie down."
"Do stop being an arse," the Fowl scowled. "I'm being serious."
"Well that's more familiar," Junior said, miming relief. "I can relax now."
"That's rather the point," said Artemis, pausing as though he wasn't quite sure whether or not to continue. "You keep your cool in the most serious of situations."
"Comes with the territory," Dom said simply.
"Perhaps," continued his friend. "But last night - when we were outside the block of flats. I saw... well..."
"Saw what?" Dom asked, his smile fading.
"I saw a different side to you."
"What do you mean?" he asked, gruffly. "If you mean I was more pally with Pash than I am with you and you're jealous or something, then I'm sorry but..."
"No, no - not that," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "And I imagine you're quite different again with your Academy classmates. No, I'm quite content with our friendship on that front."
"Then what?" the boy asked, guardedly.
"Just that... That you definitely weren't relaxed then," said the older teen. "You seemed... unsettled. Nervous, even. Quite unlike yourself. I don't think I've ever seen you like that."
"Well we were stealing my mother's car - I wasn't exactly content with the whole thing," he muttered. "But nervous? No. I wasn't nervous."
"I've seen you discontent with orders before, Junior - and I've seen you under threat of trouble with your elders. This was different."
"Was it? I didn't feel any different," he said, standing up suddenly and beginning to tidy away the sandwich fillings.
Artemis had thought he was likely to be evasive and decided to come straight out with it.
"It was something you said. And then... something Pash said," he said, carefully. "It made me think about your injuries. What you alluded to about receiving them in the flat. The fact they look like they were inflicted by someone larger than yourself and that isn't likely to be anyone of our sort of age - I mean look at the size of you already - you certainly have the appetite of a giant!"
He risked a chuckle, but his bodyguard's nephew stayed stonily silent.
"Junior... Your mother's partner... I don't want to pry, but..."
"Pash shouldn't have said shit to you about my business," Dom said, a little sharply. But some part of him was quietly pleased that he hadn't said 'step-father'.
"Oh she didn't say much," Artemis said hurriedly; not wanting to get the girl into trouble. "She wouldn't answer when I asked her if..."
"Glad to hear it," he said, shortly. "But if you don't want to pry, then you shouldn't have asked at all."
"You are perfectly entitled to your own private affairs, Junior," Artemis said quickly. "I just mean to say that if there was anything I could do to alleviate your situation then..."
"Tim," said the youngest Butler, cutting him off.
"Yes?"
The fifteen-year-old ran a hand over his bristled head, his thumb brushing the glue holding the cut together at the back. He forced himself not to pick at it; it was beginning to itch in the way all healing wounds did at some point. He was a fast healer, but opening it up again would do nothing to speed up the process.
"In case you haven't noticed, I come from a family with all the necessary skills, experience and equipment to deal with any 'situations' I might need 'alleviating'," he said, wryly.
"I am aware," Artemis said, in a similar tone.
"And besides that, any 'alleviating' you could do, would probably involve them quite a bit."
"Yes, I suppose you're right there too," Artemis said, taking a deep breath. "I just meant... As a friend I'm concerned about you, and..."
"Well don't be," Dom said, downing his glass of juice and wiping his mouth. "I appreciate it - and likely my uncle would very much appreciate you ordering him to do something he's been itching to do for years, because then he could just claim he was doing his job. But I'm fine. Honestly."
Artemis Fowl eyed him for a moment.
"This has been going on for years?" he asked, seriously.
Dom scowled, mentally kicking himself for making such a simple slip up.
"Can you just drop it?" he said. "Please?"
"If you're sure," Artemis replied, begrudgingly.
"As sure as I am that I'll still be able to eat a full dinner after that sandwich," he said, with a cheery wink. "Now are you gonna learn how to do washing up as well today or..."
"Junior," the young man said, with a smirk. "You have more chance of me learning not to stab myself in the hand with a knife whilst playing that ridiculous game of yours..."
"Fine," Dom huffed, gathering the used cutlery and plates. "Think you can you at least manage to wipe down the table? Since you're the one that managed to get half a sandwich filling all over it."
"If you insist," the Fowl sighed, missing the catch completely as his friend tossed him a damp cloth from the sink.
He made an effort at it, although admittedly he mostly smudged the various spilt food across the surface and made the whole thing more difficult to clear up than it had been in the first place. The cloth wiped over the marked area of the corner of the table and he paused.
"I forgot to ask with the whole knife game thing - what's this? It looks very... purposeful," he said, indicating the strange butterfly-like graffiti he had noticed earlier.
"What?" Dom asked, draining the bowl of water. "Oh - I dunno. My uncle doodles that symbol sometimes. Probably did it when he was a kid. This table is probably older than my Pa, let alone him."
"I've never seen The Major doodle," the man's charge said, incredulously. "And I wouldn't imagine he would draw butterflies if he did..."
"It's not a butterfly," Junior scoffed.
"What is it then?"
"Well I asked him once and he just said it's mountains and the sea. So like, there's the 'M' of the mountains," he drew the shape in the air at a horizontal rotation to how Artemis had looked at it. "And then there's the 'W' of the waves underneath. Or maybe that's the reflection of the mountains and the straight line between them is the edge of the water... I don't know, he didn't really talk about it."
In fact, Dom knew The Major had the mark on his own body, too. High up on his ribcage, under the same arm that bore his Blue Diamond on his shoulder. The mark itself wasn't a tattoo; instead of ink, it was made of raised, pale skin - made by a process he had been told was called 'scarification'.
"And you never asked again?" Artemis said, raising a brow. "I can hardly believe that - you're more curious than the average farm cat!"
"Yeah, but some things you don't press when people don't want to talk about them," Dom said, pointedly, followed swiftly by; "Oh jaysus, Tim - you've got butter bloody everywhere! Give me that..."
Artemis relinquished the dish cloth willingly. "Well it's an interesting symbol, anyway. I just wondered..."
"In that case, you can ask him why he likes to carve butterflies on things as soon as he gets back from skiing with your father," said Dom with a dry snort. "Because I'm sure he'll be in quite the mood to discuss it..."
The teenagers exchanged a knowing glance and smirked.
"Mystery best left unsolved, perhaps," said the elder of the pair.
"Yeah - like the mystery of how the hell you can make so much mess whilst supposedly clearing up!" the younger teased.
"Hey - it's harder than it looks!"
The Games Room, Fowl Manor
Their sandwich-making, as messy as it turned out to be, went unoticed.
Better still, was the fact that neither Domovoi's grandfather, nor Artemis's mother, said anything to suggest they had been notified by anyone who might have noticed the teenagers' afternoon antics had not been entirely as advertised.
Although the lady of the house had ventured down to see them for once, which was a surprise.
"How was your walk today, boys?" she asked, tousling Artemis's collar-length hair. "Was it nice for you to get some fresh air before returning to the depths of this basement to stare at a screen all evening? Honestly your eyes will be square, I swear it!"
"Mother!" he tutted at her, flipping the page of the notebook covered in scrawls of his calligraphic handwriting. "Yes our walk was most refreshing, that is an anatomically impossible statement, and would you please leave my hair alone? You know how I detest you titivating it!"
"It really does need a trim, darling," she sighed.
"Ah yes, I suppose you'd prefer me to sport a crew cut like Junior's?"
"A happy medium, perhaps – no offence, dear," she directed at the young Butler.
"None taken, m'am," he said, shooting her a smile.
"Why can't you smile like that when your mother talks to you, Timmy?" Vivienne asked, teasingly.
"Because my mother insists on dictating my appearance!" Artemis huffed, glaring at his companion who smirked slightly and turned his attention back to the screen of the game.
"Speaking of such," she said, sporting a smug smile of her own. "I've got those clothes you asked me for, if you'd like to come try them on."
Dom raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly and Artemis flushed.
"Thank-you, Mother – I'll come look at them later," he called, his ears turning an interesting shade of pink.
"What are you writing?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder to peer at the notebook.
"Oh, what? These? They're ahm... It's..." Artemis glanced at the young bodyguard imploringly.
"Cheat codes," Dom provided, gesturing at the screen. "For the game."
"Cheat codes, indeed!" she gave a tinkling laugh. "Always have to find a way to get around the competition, even if it is illicit, ah? Boys after your own fathers!"
Dom always felt a little uncomfortable when she said things like that. She was well aware of his situation and it made him remember she had known his father more than he had his entire life. She also, on more than one occasion, had been politely reminded - corrected lightly by one Butler or another and sometimes by her own husband - that Junior was not, in fact, The Major's son.
"Well he is more of a father to that boy than you act to our own son sometimes, Eugene!" she had said, in one heated argument several years ago now. It was true, too. The Fowl patriarch had initially struggled with the concept of fatherhood. The loss of one of his sons early on had not helped. He had distanced himself emotionally from the remaining twin - as protection, he had claimed. For the boy, of course. So that nobody would try to reach him through them again. That had lessened somewhat after Butler had 'lost' one of his sons a few years later. In the midst of one of his rages and after a throwaway, hurtful comment, the Butler had quietly informed his charge that he was not the only person present who had lost a child - or even who had lost one half of twins - and the Fowl had, in the privacy of his study, frozen in realisation. Apologised. Been forgiven. Broken down sobbing into his bodyguard's shirt as his emotional dam had ruptured. He had promised to be a better father to Artemis. Of course, Vivienne's accusation had come much later down the line than that; he hadn't always managed to come good on his word. But he had tried. And nowadays his son was a young man and their relationship was decent, both in the family and the business sense. Another thing he had his bodyguard to thank for.
"Yes, yes, thank-you, Mother – you can leave us now," said Artemis, shooing at her.
"Of course, darling. I'll leave you to your games," she said. "Remember I'm speaking at the WI meeting tomorrow evening ahead of the Summer Gala – are you sure you won't attend?"
"Attend a hall of gabbling womenfolk? No, I think I shall leave he delights of the Women's Institute to Butler, thank-you very much."
"Oh, Timmy, must you be so rude..." she sighed, but she left anyway, her heels clacking up the stairs and down the corridor beyond.
"WI meeting? When were you going to tell me about that?" Dom asked him as soon as she was out of earshot. "What about the race?"
"Well I told you I'd sorted something about the night of the rally," he said.
"Yeah, that we were going to go to the Devlins'. You said you had permission."
"Well... I haven't exactly told her that yet."
Dom should have known it was too good to be true.
"What?! Tim it's tomorrow!" he protested.
"I know, I know – but I have a plan!"
"Well can you please tell me it?" Dom said, exasperatedly. "Because my grandpa is going to be like a bear with a sore head having to hang around the bloody Tart Brigade all evening enough as it is – he isn't going to want us to not be safely tucked up here – you said we wouldn't need to sneak out!"
"Yes well I've thought of that too," said Artemis, then frowned. "Tart Brigade? I do hope he means in terms of baking..."
"Not exactly," Dom grimaced. "Why do you think he sends The Major with her to the WI meets if he can help it?"
"Usually because my father has a conflicting engagement, why?"
"No he doesn't," Dom revealed. "Almost never, anyway. They just have a deal that they both tell the same cover story so that neither of them have to go to the talks and spend the night avoiding the coven."
"Coven? You mean like witches?" Artemis frowned, confused.
"It's what they call widows on the hunt for their next husband," Dom said sagely. "My grandfather and your father both have an agreement that he will say he has a prior commitment and needs Butler with him, so that they can both get out of going to the meeting and my uncle will have to go in Butler's stead."
Artemis burst out laughing. "That's why The Major looks so sour when he sees her baking in the kitchen! I always assumed it was the amount of mess she manages to make and the fact the cook complains to him instead of her."
"Well, I mean when you put it like that, it is easy to see where you get your culinary skills from..."
"Oh shut up..."
"Nope, anyway. It's not the mess," Dom grinned. "It's because all the old ladies at your mam's club start hankering after him with all the 'oh if I was twenty years younger' lark. Apparently they're even worse with Pa – Butler, I mean. He's more in their age range though, I suppose."
Artemis snorted with laughter again. "Yes, I suppose he is. Many of them are much older than my mother, aren't they? Oh my days, why have you never told me this before? How did you find out?"
"Well," Dom said, with a smirk. "Do you remember that massive flower arrangement she made for the Summer Gala last year?"
"Yes," Artemis said, interestedly. "Do go on."
"Well remember that Uncle made me go along with him to help carry it to and from the car and so on? Well whilst I was there, I found out why he hates it so much..." he broke off laughing.
"What? What? You have to tell me!" Artemis leant forward in his chair.
"No, I can't – he'll kill me!" Dom cackled.
"I swear I won't tell him!" Artemis promised.
"Well I swore I wouldn't tell anyone!"
"Then I order you," Artemis insisted. "Junior Butler, I order you to tell me what happened that's making you so hysterical, man!"
Dom controlled his laughter, his shoulders still shaking slightly.
"Alright," he relented. "Alright, but you absolutely did not hear it from me, OK?"
"Yes, yes – go on!" Artemis said impatiently.
"Oh he's going to kill me when he finds out..."
"He won't!"
"OK, OK," said Dom, taking a steadying breath. "So we were by the flower tent..."
"Do get to the point, I'm expecting a lot here."
"Hang on – you need the scene," Dom said insistently. "We were outside the flower tent and Mrs Whatsherface from the post office was there – you've seen her, right? The one with the..."
He moved his hands around his head in an approximation of the woman's hairstyle.
"The hair that looks like a judge's wig, yes do continue. Mrs Kelly, I believe."
"Yeah that's it. So she's there and she goes;" Dom adopted a pose not unlike the post mistress and said. "'Oh Mr Major, sir. Mr Murphy has quite hurt his back putting these ropes in this hard ground...' Are you even going to listen to this story?"
"I'm sorry – you're making me laugh just with the awful impression," Artemis giggled, composing himself. "Do go on."
"So she says would he mind putting the last few in. And so obviously my uncle says he'll do it because structural integrity of the tent your mam is going to be in all day is important and all that," Dom said and Artemis nodded, for this was very predictable behaviour for his bodyguard. "And so he puts a few in and then he sees one peg Mr Murphy put in is at totally the wrong angle, so he decides to take that one out and replace it. And Mrs Kelly's all following us around and stuff and Mrs Murphy – the butcher's wife, you know – she's judging the cattle later. So she comes over too to have a look at what he's up to and she says, just as he's bending over..."
The young Butler lapsed into laughter once more.
"Junior, please – do share what it is that's making you laugh so hard!"
"She says, she says..." Dom took a deep breath and readied himself to put on the accent. "She says; 'By 'eck, I haven't seen muscles on a rump that good since Arthur Dinly packed up breeding his Angus steers!' And Mrs Kelly says; 'Even firmer, I'd say, Mary!' And then she... and she... she..."
"What? Do tell me!"
Junior steadied himself. "You know what of those sticks? The ones they carry in the livestock rings with the cattle?"
"Yes," said Tim, wondering where this was going. The livestock shows didn't much interest him, but he had seen a few. "I've seen them."
"Well the was one leaning against the tent and she..." he took another, steadying breath. "She picked it up and she..."
It was almost a lost cause to speak now. Junior mimed something that looked incredibly like the motion the Fowl heir had seen the farmers handling belligerent bulls and the like perform to get them moving again if they halted in the ring.
"She did what?" Artemis roared with laughter.
"She... whacked... him," Dom repeated through gasps. "On the arse... with the stick!"
Artemis was gone. He laughed so hard he almost tipped the chair over.
"And what did he... what did he...?" he gasped, waving his hand in front of him.
"Well he straightened up rather quickly," Dom told him, his bruised ribs in physical pain from the effort of guffawing. "And he said..."
"Oh do go on what did he say?"
"He said..." Dom was laughing too hard to do his best impression of his uncle, but he gruffened his voice all the same. "M'am, I can assure you I appreciated that even less so than Mr Dinly's bulls. Kindly keep your comments and your stick to the judging ring in future."
Artemis made a noise between a honk and a bleat.
"I can't believe he didn't even break character!" he cried. "He still didn't leap up or swear!"
The pair had had a lifelong goal to make The Major 'jump'. Dom especially, still made the odd effort at achieving the impossible. Artemis, whilst glad he hadn't missed a successful attempt, was disappointed to hear that his bodyguard had remained composed under even the duress of a unexpectedly crook-wielding countrywoman.
"Well he did afterwards," Dom admitted. "Under his breath. Quite a lot. And then made me swear never to tell anyone. So now I am definitely dead when he finds out I told you. But I think it's been worth it, I've been dying to tell someone that story for eleven months!"
"Oh I'm so glad you broke that promise," Artemis said, tears streaming down his face. "What did you do?"
"I swore I'd never repeat the incident and then I legged it before I burst out laughing!" Dom told him. "Hid behind the bins and got stung by like a dozen wasps - but I couldn't exactly stand there and piss myself like I am now, could I?"
"Oh I would have!" Artemis cried. "I couldn't have helped myself!"
"Yeah I know you would have - but he can't give you a thousand press ups for laughing at him!" Dom said, still cackling.
"That's the funniest thing I've heard all week! All year, even! Mrs Kelly... What a dark horse!"
"A dark what?" Dom said, snorting so hard he had to wipe his nose on his t-shirt.
"Horse!" Artemis spluttered, laughing even harder at his friend's misfortune.
"I thought you said dark arse!"
"Arse!" cried Artemis, wiping a tear from his eye as another wave of laughter hit him.
They were still in a hopeless state of laughter when Butler poked his head down the stairs to the games room, a slight frown on his brow. It wasn't like the young master to be so rapt with mirth that he could hear the laughter from the upper floors.
"Everything alright down here, boys?" he asked. "Having fun, are we?"
Dom wiped tears of mirth out of his eyes and calmed himself to a snigger, preparing to answer something about a joke or the likes, when Artemis beat him to it.
"Oh-ho - Oh-ho - Not as much fun as it sounds like you'll have at the WI, Butler!" he exclaimed – and he was off again, crying with laughter even harder at the bemused look on the senior bodyguard's face.
Xandr turned to his grandson, raising an eyebrow quizzically, but the younger teenager just shook his head, slumped over the steering wheel of the video game console and buried his face in his arms, shoulders shaking up and down, in quite the same irrevocably hysterical state as the Fowl heir.
Oh well, he thought.
They may be clearly up to some mischief or other, but so long as they weren't causing anyone any harm, at least they seem to have completely gotten over their little tiff at the Devlin's the other day.
OK, so that was a much more lighthearted chapter than we have had recently and I hope you all enjoyed it.
In all seriousness though, unwanted arse-whacking of any variety isn't on the whole, a laughing matter. Blokes can suffer sexual assaults too - the awesome Terry Crews (who has gotta be my second favourite actor, only after Jason Statham) is a big advocate against it. But I imagine at a summer fair in rural Ireland in the 70s, it would not be unlikely for such a thing to occur to a fine, strapping gentleman like The Major, nor would it also be unlike the two teenage boys closet to him to have a massive laugh about it. Myles was fine, if a little more cautious about the more forward WI members in future.
The symbol he carved on the table, doodles occasionally and has scarified on his skin looks like this:
M
W
... if you wanted to know! Slightly like a butterfly if you tilt your head... but you can tell him that if you're feeling brave haha And I know you're all super sharp but you'll probably have to draw that to have any chance of guessing the symbolism of it because it doesn't come across great as text.
Answers on a postcard and I'll stick the explanation in the next A/N before Dom finds out what it really is all about ages later, if you want.
Anyhoo, I hope you all enjoyed that, you epic people :)
Wolfy
ooo
O
09/06/2020