Dr. Po leaned back in his fake Victorian chair, a smug smile on his face. Ever since Angeline Fowl had arranged for weekly sessions for her son, Artemis Fowl, to meet him the staff had been taking bets on how long he'd take to retire, most of them putting a wager on a week or two. But look now! Here he was, and will be for years to come. I hope, he silently added. With Artemis Fowl, you'd never know.
Furthermore, since his sessions with Artemis, the principle of St. Bartleby's School for Gentlemen had almost doubled his pay, owing to the amount of stress and aggravation Artemis inflicted. The smirk widened. It wouldn't be long before that classy new Porsche was his, he reminded himself. The door opened, and a raven haired, pale individual of about fourteen appeared. Dr. Po took a long, shuddering breath.
"Ah, Artemis, I've been expecting you."
Artemis sauntered in, but his bored, indifferent expression did not reveal his disgruntled temperament. It was his fault, really, he thought. He should have known better that to protect his files on his illegal projects with only two passwords and one firewall, especially with his dad home now, what more with his father's newfound passion of acting the hero.
His father had informed his mother, who quickly arranged for meetings with none other than Dr. Po. He sighed inwardly, letting the irony that he knew more than Dr. Po in this particular field, or for that matter any field, run through his mind. He was, after all, a certified, bona fide genius. That thought lightened his mood a little and put back the spring in his step. He stopped swaggering and settled himself into the chair facing Dr. Po.
"Hello, Dr. Po. I assume you have my mother's note?"
"Yes. She was, shall we say, rather distraught over your recent, ah, excursion into Swiss bank accounts."
"Not nearly as distraught as you were after finding out about our intended meetings, I imagine," commented Artemis.
Dr. Po loosened his tie and chuckled uncomfortably. "Let's get on, shall we?"
"Of course, Dr."
Dr. Po leaned forward, licking his lips nervously. "Despite your attempts to resist any sort of progress in our sessions, I feel that we had made a breakthrough the last time we met, two years ago, was it? We were dwelling on how you had finally found someone to respect and treat as an equal, remember?"
Artemis frowned. "I am afraid you are mistaken, Dr. Po. I have, to date, not found anyone I know worthy of that particular emotion from me."
Dr. Po looked thoroughly flabbergasted. "My files clearly indicate that you have stated that you find a few people whom you respect, Artemis." His tone revealed a slight desperation. It was hard enough to get any response from Artemis at all, what more a genuine concession.
Artemis furrowed his brow even further. Yes, he did recall acknowledging that fact, but strangely enough, he could not for the life of him remember who it was he respected, or why he respected whoever it was. He coaxed his memory, but, for once, she steadfastly ignored him. Another mystery. The first time he had forgotten something since his fifth birthday, in fact. Or so he thought. Of course, he could have forgotten an incident where he had lost control of his memory functions, he reasoned wryly. He filed this away, along with the Limerick incident.
That was another puzzling matter. After waking up with a peculiar lassitude one fine morning, he found semi-corroded contact lenses on himself. Furthermore, Juliet and Butler also shared the same experience. When Butler went to Limerick to meet a contact who would analyse the lenses, the expert gave Butler a politely puzzled look and claimed that Butler was the one who requested these be made for Artemis.
Butler had left, perplexed, leaving his contact muttering to himself about tall Eurasian wackos, no doubt. Artemis was lost in thought at the memory of this incident. His train of thought was rather rudely interrupted by Dr. Po tapping his pen irritably on the table. "Yes…?" Dr. Po asked expectantly.
"I'm sorry, Dr, but I feel a headache coming on. Perhaps it would be better if-"
"No, young man, you are staying where you are. I feel we are nearing another breakthrough," he remarked while trying unsuccessfully to mask his irritation.
"Um… Dr Po. I do not believe my mother or the principle would be very amused if I were to suffer a severe migraine after a session with you, no? Perhaps due to the immense pressure and stress you apply on me?" Artemis said slowly, an eyebrow raised. Dr. Po looked consternated. He was so close… He sighed.
"Very well, you may go."
"Well, thank you very much, Dr," Artemis replied with only the faintest hint of sarcasm as he excused himself.
As Artemis left, Dr. Po rubbed his temple while popping an aspirin into his mouth. Maybe he should buy stock in it, he thought humourlessly, considering how much he was using it now, as he heard Artemis's shoes clacking down the corridor.
*
Artemis continued deep in thought as Butler, his, um, butler cum bodyguard drove him home for the weekend. "Problems, Artemis?"
"No, Domovoi, nothing's wrong." The words were out of his mouth before he knew it. Butler was shocked.
"How did you know my first name, Artemis?" Butler had never revealed his first name to Artemis, due to a principle from Butler's training academy. It helped keep things impersonal, though that didn't really work out in Artemis's case.
"I… I don't know, Domovoi," stuttered Artemis. He sighed, and mentally filed this incident away as well. Strange memories were pervading his thoughts, teasing him, taunting him, but there was nothing he could do about it. Butler chose not to pursue the matter, and the ride home ensued in silence.
*
Artemis was in the study, checking on his various bank accounts. Strange, he thought, there was a surplus of 280 million American dollars in one of his numerous accounts. Not that he was complaining, but nonetheless… This only added to his frustration. He constantly felt that there was something he should know, but whatever it was evaded him. He felt like pounding the table, but such juvenile, uncouth behaviour was, of course, beneath him. He settled for pounding the keyboard instead.
There was a timid knock on the door. "Come in", snapped Artemis Fowl irritably as he hastily stopped abusing the keyboard. Juliet appeared, carrying his lunch. Juliet had recently left for a stint in the United States to try out for a wrestling audition. However, the guy she was supposed to wrestle had rather unwisely labelled her a 'girlie', and, as to be expected, she proceeded to make such mincemeat out of him that the 'Plaster of Paris' on his casts now outweighed the wrestler himself, no mean feat for a 300-pound muscleman. The auditioner had yelled at her for incapacitating one of his superstars, and acidly informed her that wrestling was fake and the point was not to injure your opponent while making it still seem believable, contrary to popular preconceptions. Juliet did not take being yelled at and the shattering of her illusions kindly. The auditioner now occupies a nice hospital bed with a splendid view of the garden, and the doctors are almost sure he'll wake up soon, hopefully within the next week or so.
"I've brought you your lunch, Arty," she said as she laid down a dish of lightly marinated swordfish.
"By the way, Mr. and Mrs. Fowl have left for Aspen. A skiing trip, as I understand it," she continued, with a slight glance at the computer screen. For some strange reason, she saw indecipherable squiggly lines dotting the screen. She inwardly shrugged. Probably another of Arty's brilliant plans, perhaps some code or a computer program.
Artemis acknowledged this with a dismissive wave and a noncommittal grunt. However, a while after Juliet had gone, his stomach began to complain to him in a loud voice. He then attacked his meal contentedly, firmly putting away thoughts of conspiracies and stubborn, hidden memories, and for once, he looked at peace. If only it would last.
He sighed and stretched languidly on his bed. Suddenly, for some strange reason, he put his hand beneath his comfortable four poster bed, and felt around. He was just as surprised as anyone when he encountered a small, rounded disk-like object.
He removed it slowly and stared at it incredulously. It appeared to be a circular, gold medallion which seem peculiarly familiar. He sighed yet again, now resigned to not understanding the secrets of the universe, curled up and took a nap.
*
"And now, for the top story today, a bank has been robbed by the infamous 'Fried Fishes and Baked Broccoli' gang, which made away with almost 3 million Euros. They-"
Artemis was barely listening, his mind still on that peculiar medallion, which now resided in his tightly clenched fist. The television droned on.
"And on a lighter note, folks, apparently Jon Spiro, former billionaire and president of Fission Chips, who has presently been convicted of breaking and entering Phonetix's compounds, has broken down in an interview and claimed that Artemis Fowl Junior had framed him, in spite of there being no trace of him in the camera rolls. Jon has now been commited to a mental ward-"
Artemis smiled indulgently at this piece of news. Jon Spiro was evidently far gone indeed. Artemis had never seen the guy before, much less plan his downfall.
Suddenly, Artemis had a flash of Butler lying on the floor, bleeding profusely from a chest wound. He shook his head. He better had watch himself too, or he could end up in the same state at Spiro, what with weird hallucinations. Though it had looked real… nagged an irritating voice in his mind. That's why it's called a hallucination, Artemis replied irritably. And out of the blue, Artemis remembered a snippet of conversation.
"I am that male. Artemis the hunter. I hunted you." A furious howl filled the air as he floated up, invisible…
Artemis was, if anything, even more irritated. It was well nigh impossible for him to float, much less turn invisible at will. He sighed, not for the first time that day, and made his way upstairs. He needed that rest more than he thought.