Author's Note: The events in this story occur directly after the events in Book #1, and precede anything in "The Arctic Incident." I started this without any clear idea of what the criminal scheme was going to be, just that there was going to be one. Then I went to www.artemisfowl.com and read the prologue. Can you say plot hook? :)

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Artemis Fowl the Second felt naked.

It could partially have been because he /was/ naked, standing in what passed for a shower at Saint Bartleby's School for Young Gentlemen and trying to ignore the giggling and splashing of his peers under the jets of lukewarm water by reciting in his head every ingredient in his school-issue bar of soap, what year the ingredient was discovered and by whom. But mostly, it was because the school's student population ranged in age from six to fourteen, and no adults were permitted on campus who were not part of the school's own teaching or administrative staff. Hence, Butler was consigned to a small flat in Wicklow County proper, and at least four minutes away at all times. Almost every boarding school student feels a sense of loss when first leaving their family environment, but Butler was far more than a family member. It was as unacceptable to Artemis to be without him as it would be for another student to attend school without his right leg. It certainly made the boundless, youthful energy of his fellow students feel that much more inappropriate.

Palm Kernel Oil. Babylonian culture had references to it's use in cleansing rituals dating as far back as 2800 B.C. Check. Mutton tallow. Traditionally added to soap materials by Caesar Augustus during his reign of the Roman Empire. Check.

A rather obnoxious second-former named Covey Hanlon cupped his hands to gather water and then splashed Artemis' left side. "Hey, Fowl!" he whined. Artemis' gaze shifted to take the boy in. About a year younger, of Irish descent. All hair seemed to look darker when it was wet, but Artemis gauged that Covey's would likely be somewhere between light brown and dirty blonde when it was dried. Prepubescent, of course, but attractive in his own way, at least physically. Personality-wise, he was rapidly earning the reputation of a class clown, which Artemis found distasteful.

"Yes?" Artemis replied.

"I said, 'You goin' to the rock or not'?" Covey repeated, annoyance in his voice.

Artemis placed the soap bar back onto the small dish in front of his shower head, and headed for the exit. "I have other plans this evening, Covey," he declared.

Covey bounded after him, looping one arm over his shoulder and tackling him into the wall with complete disregard for the fact that they were both still nude. While a small part of Artemis did find the contact exciting, the vast majority of him was struck by the crassness of it all. Completely uncivilized. It was the curse of a truly gifted minor, to be surrounded by 'peers' who seemed little more than animals.

"What plans?" Covey insisted, breaking contact and keeping pace towards the boys' dormitory. "Curfew's at eleven o'clock, y'know." Another boy handed each of them a towel, which they used to dry off as they spoke. To Artemis, this was a methodical, deliberate act, with five strokes from the towel to each area of his body in a counterclockwise circle to achieve maximum dryness. Conversely, Covey seemed to give no thought whatsoever to how he dried off, overscrubbing some areas while completely ignoring others. Again, totally uncivilized.

Artemis sighed. "I have an engagement in the school library that couldn't possibly be of any interest to you. It involves very careful and deliberate action to ensure a specific, preferably lucrative outcome."

Covey seemed to think that over for a moment. "You're right," he finally admitted. "Sounds boring as hell."

Artemis shrugged. "Actually, I find immersing myself in Leonaro da Vinci's works rather enjoyable," he started to share. If it seems odd that Artemis would give any kind of opening to this young lad, it should be mentioned at this point that Covey was his roommate, which required that at least some small semblance of pleasantry remain between them. Besides, as the old adage goes, Any port in a storm.

Not to say that Covey had any intention of letting him finish. "School stuff?" he complained.

"Actually, extracurricular," Artemis assured him. "I believe I can get a bunch of people to believe that da Vinci's l…"

"Okay, that does it," Covey insisted, grabbing Artemis by the arm, dragging him to their room and closing the door. In yet another gross display of a lack of any sense of boundries, he dug into Artemis' closet and produced the outfit which he'd always liked least – a green shirt with a cartoon animal of some sort prominently displayed on it and a pair of blue jeans. He only owned the clothes as a contingency plan, in case he ever had to do any criminal work that required him to blend in with typical European teenagers. Thus far, he'd never lowered himself to entertaining any schemes that petty.

"That's it, Fowl – you're going to the rock," Covey demanded.

Artemis once again found himself wishing that Butler were allowed into his dorm. "And why am I doing that, Covey?" the prodigy asked. "Have I suddenly developed an interest in adolescent social activity? How unlike me."

"No," Covey declared, "You've developed an interest in not having me sing 'Valderi' all night."

Artemis stared at his roommate, aghast. "You wouldn't," he insisted, trying to recall every article ever written by the Geneva Convention about the rules of civilized warfare. Surely 'nation-states' could include autonomous preteens, could they not? Any technicality would be better than having to decide which was worse – an evening spent with schoolmates or a round of late night off-key singing.

"I love to go a-wandering…" Covey started, in that awful sing-song voice of his, and Artemis could stand the choice no longer.

"Very well!" the criminal mastermind replied. "I concede, I'll go, I'll go." As he got dressed, his tossed more than one dirty look Covey's way. There had to be a way past the boy's deadly singing-weapon. Simple earplugs were insufficient, as Covey was not above simply wrestling him until he got them off. Such times made him appreciate Butler as a resource.

After both boys were dressed, Covey led his roommate/captive out into the quad, and beyond that, into the world of juvenile social interaction. A place that, to Artemis, closed lined in with his visions of Hell.