Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files
By Caspian Nyghtvision
Chapter Two: Tension Builds (The Great Ker-Sqlapt)
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and if I didn't get to email you in return, please don't feel left out. I do try very very hard to personally respond to everyone, but it gets difficult, since I'm can't be online much. Instead I gave a 'special thanks' at the end of this chapter. Sorry to be so impersonal, I have an Internet time limit. -.-;; Bob and I thank you very much, and wish you a happy chapter.
Disclaimer: I own very, very little. (To prove her point, Caspian turns out her pockets and a little moth flutters out. She squishes the moth and continues.) Artemis Fowl, et al, is the sole creation and property of an ex-schoolteacher in Ireland who doesn't even know I exist. Thus I have the advantage over him. Mwah. All my characters and concepts are quite obviously mine, and if you use them without asking, you will be quite obviously be eaten by Nyghtvision flamingos. If you want to use anything of mine, just ask me first, and chances are good I'll say yes, and frolic around in a state of warm fuzziness. If you sue me for some bizarre reason, you won't get anything, except maybe the squished carcass of this here squished dead moth. Mwah, again. So sit back, relax and enjoy the... trip.
I wanted to be the greatest at everything
But I can't be
And I wanted to be exempt from temptation
But I can't be
--- "I've Changed" by the Josh Jopplin Group
""What I could do with ten like him," Artemis breathed. "Fort Knox would be a pushover."" --- Artemis Fowl, The Arctic Incident
________________________
National Bank of Ireland
Friday night
________________________
Deep blue eyes watched the magnificent old building in utter, evil satisfaction. A truly inspiring piece of architecture; a walnut waiting to be cracked. Built in the 1800's, of course, stolid red brick, with its tall fluted pillars containing some semblance of Corinthian influence. Inspiring, ah yes, so very inspiring.
A weary sigh rushed, a roar of static, through the small speakers of the radio headset set into his modified LEP helmet. "Artemis... quit drooling over it and get your skinny little butt over here."
The fourteen-year-old sighed long-sufferingly. He swung his 'skinny little butt' out of the air-conditioned haven of the Bentley and into the slightly humid summer night, pressing a switch inside his helmet as he did so.
The nightvision filter switched on, making his view of the world as bright as day, only washed over by a neon green color. Like seeing the world through a pan of lime Jell-O. Nightvision, he thought. One of the most useful inventions ever patented by man or fairy. It relegated the lucky user from blind intruder to the status of nocturnal predator.
Walking quickly, keeping his head down, Artemis dodged behind a row of shrubbery located several hundred yards away from the bank. The stakeout point. Wincing as leaves brushed against his clothing, he slipped through a boxwood hedge, which had been subtly pruned back to allow access.
Perched crosslegged on the ground, noisily chomping a granola bar, sat Mulch Diggums.
"What are you doing?" Artemis hissed.
Mulch looked down, examined himself carefully, then looked back up at his employer. "Sitting crosslegged on the ground," he whispered back, "Eating a granola bar. Why?"
Artemis would have argued, but he knew from experience that that way, madness lay. Madness and a potential migraine. So instead he made a faint groaning noise, took off his helmet, and began to massage his temples. "Why did you call me? We agreed we would meet up only when absolutely necessary."
"Haven't seen Butler in over twenty minutes," Mulch shrugged, dropping the wrapper on the ground and pulling out a Tootsie Roll. "Thought you might want to know. Excuse me for breathing." He began to scarf down the sticky chocolate like it was the last meal he would ever eat.
Conscientiously, Artemis picked up the fallen wrapper between his fingertips, pocketing it with a grimace. "And you've tried contacting him on the radio."
"He said he was going radio silent," the dwarf shrugged again, dropping the now-empty wrapper on the ground and pulling out yet another piece of junk food. This time it was a bag of Nachos. Briefly Artemis wondered where he got all this stuff... then remembered not to think about it... no, he must retain his sanity at all costs... just pick up the bloody wrapper and refrain from strangling the bloody dwarf... think of nice calming things. Go to the happy place. Go to the happy place. Go to the bloody happy place...
"Hey, you all right?" Mulch wondered. "You look a little..."
"This is the sixth time this has happened tonight," Artemis gritted. "I'm going back to the car," Artemis ground out. "Keep an eye out for Butler." Artemis growled. "If he's not back within five minutes, go looking for him." He pulled himself out of the bush -- ick, damp leaves... go to the *#%!!! happy place...
"Hooo-kay." Mulch balled up the empty bag of Nachos and tossed it away, pulling out a can of soda and popping the lid. He really shouldn't be drinking on the job, but this was just stakeout, and he probably wasn't going to be suction-climbing any walls. No need to keep the ol' pores thirstier than they had to be. Crumpling the now-empty can with his stubby fingers, he tossed that aside and pulled out a package of Hostess Twinkies.
Back in the car, Artemis took off his helmet, ran his fingers through his dark hair and began to bang his head against the front seat. The life of a criminal mastermind was NOT supposed to be like this. Moriarty didn't have to deal with these kinds of things, did he? No, the evil professor comfortably taught mathematics in a respectable high school while Sherlock Holmes did all the undignified running around and getting beat up. Of course, Moriarty wasn't a real person, and he DID end up dying in the end, but at least he didn't have to put up with kleptomaniac dwarves and their odd little... obsessions.
Had it been a good idea to hire Mulch? In financial terms, yes. As a team, they had already broken into several banks and put aside quite a bit of money in discreet Swiss bank accounts. But on other terms...
At least the elder Fowls didn't know about their son's employee, which was a very good thing. Living in an abandoned wine cellar under the manor, filling it with dirt, clay, boulders and rocks ("You humans have no sense of decor") filling it with gas for god's sake -- everyone thought the sewer had exploded -- and the sad, sad fate of Juliet's Persian cat ("Hey, I was peckish") -- now THAT was sick beyond all belief -- these traits were not preferable in a houseguest. Artemis shuddered; he'd promised himself he wouldn't think about the cat incident, it made his stomach turn over. He'd never liked Mr. Snuggles, but that was not a fate any animal should face...
Artemis began to bang his head against the seat with a new fervor in an effort to move his thoughts into less sadistic waters. It didn't work. Poor Mr. Snuggles. Juliet had been so heartbroken. Once they'd unlocked her fingers from around Mulch's throat and forced her to hand over the ice pick, she'd retreated to her bedroom to cry for days. Butler had been absolutely furious. Artemis... well, Artemis wasn't proud of what he'd done. He'd been the one to discover the 'incident,' and had quietly thrown up in a corner and spent the rest of the day in the bathroom with the door locked, trying to regain some semblance of dignity and sanity. By mutual agreement, nobody mentioned the cat incident anymore.
Artemis sighed once more. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Now that he was fourteen, it seemed even more weight had settled on his narrow shoulders. The crow's-feet around his dark blue eyes were deeper, and although he had grown a bit, he still had that almost transparent unhealthy look to him. He was so tired these days; by day the obedient son, by night the scheming criminal. At least school was out for summer vacation, so he had a little more time to himself.
Leaning back on the plush leather seats, casually opening a bottle of Irish spring water, he found himself wondering (quite randomly, of course) how Holly Short was doing.
As it turned out, she was not doing well at all.
______________________________
Meanwhile, in Police Plaza
Downtown Haven
_____________________________
"Now Julius, don't be offended, but you could have made a mistake..."
"D'Arvit all to hell, Scrimshaw! I don't make mistakes!" The commander's bellow could have felled a redwood at ten paces. Retired Admiral Walter Kelp Hamlet Scrimshaw, the Atlantean Ambassador and very distant relative of the young Kelps in the LEP, only swayed slightly in reaction. He was a balding, dour old crust and had never quite forgiven Root for swiping his shuttle during that insane 'Arctic Incident.' The luxury shuttle, his pride and joy, had been returned to him in awful condition - the communications array ripped off, the leather seats muddied and trampled, the fridge raided, and several nasty scratches on the wings. Besides, the Admiral was about a dozen decades older than Root, and although he was retired, he still liked to pull authority.
"What you are suggesting," Scrimshaw continued, his voice drier than a week-old donut, "Could cause widespread panic, rioting, possibly even war. Now Julius, I feel that an officer of your age would have a little more ---"
Root's face began to flush alarmingly, a fascinating change through several shades of red and magenta to a truly astonishing violet, like a male bogglefish during courtship. The Ambassador was prudent enough to read the warning signals. He moved with a speed unusual for one his years, ducking outside the office doorway. Just in time. An enormous, hideous, disgustingly ugly, heavy clay ashtray -- the kind little kids make for their parents in art class, even if they don't smoke -- flew through the air like an extraordinary ugly, heavy, ash-encrusted goblin shuttle. Zooming past the empty air where the Ambassador's ears had been, it thocked into the opposite wall with a sound like... well, to blatantly steal an original line, "like a dwarf's underpants hitting a wall." The ashtray was unharmed by its sudden flight. The wall now sported a large dent.
The Ambassador straightened his jacket with a huff. He turned to re-enter the office, but a strangle whistling noise through the air caused him to duck back again. A Commemorative Limited Collector's Edition Cast Pewter Figurine of The Grinch, which also doubled as a cigar holder, sailed through the air, its flight patterns comparable to nothing on or under this earth, finally colliding with the floor outside the office with a terrible "KER-SQLAPT."
(Old professor-looking guy wearing a suit, ripped off a Monty Python skit: "And so was born what was later known as 'The Ker-Sqlapt Heard 'Round the World.'")
(Somewhere, on a frigid cold continent, in an infamous country, in a relatively small and inconspicuous state, in an even smaller town that wasn't even on the map unless you got a microscope and looked for it, in a small bedroom of a small old house, sat a teenage girl, trying to write a fanfiction. Suddenly the whole Western Hemisphere quivered slightly with the sound of an infuriated elf throwing a Commemorative Limited Collector's Edition Cast Pewter Figurine of The Grinch at another elf's ears. There was a very, very faint sound of something going "Ker-sqlapt." The teenage girl heard this, and thought about it. "Ker-sqlapt," she said, and nodded. Inspired, she began to type with a new fervor.)
(Somewhere, in a high-security institution in the Lower Elements, Opal Koboi blinked. "Did something just go Ker-sqlapt?" she wondered aloud. The gremlin sitting across from her growled in frustration. "Quit trying to distract me! Do ya got any threes?" Annoyed, Opal scowled savagely at him. "Go fish." )
(Speaking of fish, in Holly's apartment, not that far away from the source of the KER-SQLAPT, Bob the Bogglefish heard the awful sound. He was surprised no end, and expressed his surprise by blowing an air bubble, which floated to the surface and popped. This astonished like nothing had ever astonished him before, mind-bogglingly surprising that the bubble should, of all things, POP, and he spent the rest of the day hiding in a corner of his tank, quivering in reverent awe.)
Also at that moment, Holly and Trouble arrived, breathless, in Root's office, having run all the way from the Netherworld Flamingo. As usual, the office was filled with foul smoke from those awful fungal cigars he always seemed to have on his person. Right now, Root's arm was poised for a throw, his rough fingers clenched around a pickle-shaped duct tape dispenser, his face a shade of blazing purple only seen on rare species of Amazonian tree frogs. Trouble, who was in the lead, wisely stopped short and flung himself to the floor, pulling Holly down with him. They tumbled to the ground in a completely undignified heap and thrashed around, humorously entangled in a jumble of arms and legs and ears.
The pickle-shaped duct tape dispenser roared out the office door like a nuclear warhead, raring to smash into anyone that dared to come in contact with it. Two seconds later, a lowly computer technician went "Erk" and fell off her workstation, clutching her blatantly-pointed pickle-shaped-duct-tape-dispenser-smitten ear. His anger somewhat eased, Root stared outright at the flailing figures of two of his best and brightest officers on the floor. "What... the hell... do you two think you're doing?"
Trouble didn't say anything for a good few seconds as he attempted to extract his legs from... Holly's legs. Mind out of the gutter. Mind out of the gutter. Mind out of the gutter. Mind out of the-- oops, ouch, too late. "Um... I followed her?" he hazarded, pointing to the furiously blushing female on the floor. Sparks flew from her eyes and her ferociously grinding teeth. She was apparently too furious and embarrassed to talk at the moment. Well, that was good. For now. Taking a deep breath, straightening his shirt -- mind out of the gutter, d'Arvit -- and assuming what he hoped was a confident, commanding pose, Captain Kelp began, "Sir, we recieved your messa-- ough--"
The "ough" was not intentional. Holly, annoyed, had whumped him in the back as she stood up behind him. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"
"Saving you from a pickle-shaped duct tape dispenser," Trouble shot back.
"I do not need to be saved by you or anyone! Especially not from pickle-shaped--"
"Excuse me, sir?" A lowly technician asked shyly, clutching one of her ears. She was holding the duct tape dispenser.
"DO NOT DISTURB!" Root bellowed.
"Yes, sir." The technician vanished.
"Julius," Holly said sharply, assertively seating herself in the chair across from his. This left Trouble standing, awkward and vaguely annoyed, by the doorway, next to the dent and the fallen ashtray. Root scowled even harder, although it had seemed impossible; why did everyone have this need to call him by his first name in times of crisis? What a pity his parents had been so uptight - they hadn't allowed him to change it at graduation to something less... girly.
"Is it true?" Holly said, leaning forward, her voice lowered. "That... someone's got their hands on..." She didn't want to finish the sentence. It was too barbaric. They were the People, advanced beyond compare. This couldn't be happening. Artemis Fowl she could handle; the greed of her own kind she could not...
Not saying anything aloud, he stood up, stubbing out what was left of the cigar. "They've got the specimen down at the lab, and they're running scans on it right now. This is the last thing we need right now, a terrorism scare."
"Terrorism?" she asked blankly. The thought hadn't even occured to her. Behind her, she could sense Trouble stiffen, could practically see those bright eyes of his widen in shock.
Root smushed the last ashes across his desk with the pad of his thumb. "No, Captain Short," he said with unusual sarcasm. "They're collecting human ivory to feed starving children."
______________________________
Meanwhile, aboveground...
_____________________________
Sunways International Airport Terminal
Dublin, Ireland
_____________________________
The lone figure of a teenage-looking young man slipped in between the throngs of exhausted travelers, scrubbing at his strange, narrow yellow eyes with the back of one hand. A beat-up leather bomber jacket hung on one shoulder, an equally battered Army pack on the other. Jagged strands of blood-crimson hair hung carelessly to his jaw and covered his forehead, one particularly long piece falling across his pointed nose.
Note to self, he thought. Never ever ever take another red-eye from Nippon to Eire again. Not even for a good cause. Never ever ever ---
"HellosirrmayIseey'rrpassporrtplease?"
"... Eh?"
Blinking tiredly, he forced his eyes to focus on the waaaaay-too-cheery... woman... who had accosted him. She had a cloud of orange hair, sparkly green eyes, freckles, and a thick Irish brogue. Entirely too cheerful, she beamed and repeated, more slowly, "Hello, sirr, may I see y're passport please?"
English had never been one of his favorite languages. It was too.... too... ermh... there was a word for what he was thinking, he knew there was a word for it, but he was just too damn tired to think of it. His eyes slammed shut of their own accord and he stumbled backwards a step, catching himself just in time before falling asleep on the terminal floor. English. Let's see, what did he know...
"Fire!" he yelled suddenly, pointing to a nearby sign that said "Baggage Check." The burst of concentration needed to actually provide the fire almost knocked him out, but he managed it -- the plastic sign improbably burst into flame, dripping and melting to the tiled floor, and as the Irish woman turned in shock, green eyes wide as a bogglefish's, he slipped away into the surprised crowd. Okay... no more stunts like that today... what he needed now was a bed... how do you say that in English...?
Thankfully, he could mimic a decent Irish accent, which was surprisingly close to his native one. The rhythm of Ireland's speech -- heavily burred "R's" and a certain lilt -- was somehow similar enough to Japanese that he could manage it. Welsh, now, that was impossible. Too many "L's" -- a Japanese speaker couldn't pronounce "L's," instead turning them into firmly burred "R's," who even needed the letter "L" anyway? Ignorant Westerners and their stupid languages. Stupid airports too, with stupid personnel. Stupid... stupid... what was that word? Ow. His random thoughts buzzed in his head like vengeful bees; he was starting to get a nasty headache.
Fifteen minutes later, after dodging security, vendors and religious fanatics, he was out on the streets of Dublin, lost, foreign, out of his element, and unspeakably tired. It was dark out. He didn't know what time it was exactly, all this screwing around with time zones had left him clueless. There were stars in the slightly clouded sky, but they looked a little different. Maybe it was because he was on the other side of the planet. Maybe it was because his blurred, sleepy mind seemed to be a-frolicking randomly about like an adventurous but sadly drunken squirrel.
He swept his bloodred hair out of his face with a quick and well-placed breath that ended in a loud yawn. Feline eyes narrowed, he stared intensely at a road sign, willing the English scribbles to turn into Japanese kanji, but they didn't. Lost, completely lost.
He wasn't in any condition right now to go up against the LEP, especially since they had such an amusing wariness of his kind. He didn't have any money, or any belongings except for what was in his Army satchel. Even that wasn't much.
Settling down on a convenient park bench, the traveler tilted back his head, letting a faint stir of warm, summer-night breeze wash over his tired eyelids. He couldn't fall asleep here; too dangerous. He needed shelter, and a long nap to recover from all this jet lag. Then he could face up to Root-san and the LEP, and tell them about the shielded yosei he had seen that night in Tokyo. He got up, forcing aside his overwhelming tiredness, and began to walk. As he walked, eyes constantly scanning the environment for possible refuges, he thought about what he was doing.
He knew that it was a matter of great importance, that the folk of Haven certainly deserved to know -- but he still felt an odd resentment. What had the People of Eire ever done for our kind? he thought. For all they know, we're extinct, and they could care less. Still, he argued with himself, we are all in this together... we are all pushed aside as the human cities grow larger and more intrusive. Perhaps one day we will all be pushed together into one last Haven; besides, it is honorable to tell them. I could never live with myself if I had commited dishonor. And haven't I always wanted to travel, beyond the little islands of Japan?
His natural stamina was already giving him something of a second wind, and if he tried hard he could work up enough English to get by. After all, all languages are supposedly derived from an ancient master language, known by all People worldwide.
"Ah, Ireland," he said aloud in English, Japanese accent seriously messing up the "L," but no matter. "Here I am."
___________________________
Soapbox -- Sorry this last section wasn't as funny. I guess it's the Action/ Adventure part. Well, is anyone dying of suspense yet? Anyway, here's a list of foreign words I sprung at you, and a special thanks to everyone. Just so you know you're appreciated. ^_^
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Foreign Words I used. Sorry to confuse.... -.-;;
{Gaelic}
Eire -- ancient (poetic) name for Ireland
{Japanese}
Nippon -- ancient (poetic) name for Japan
Kanji -- one of Japan's more commonly used writing systems (they have 4 systems to memorize, that's like learning about 6 alphabets!)
Yosei -- Japanese for sprite, fairy, pixie, spirit, that sort of thing
-san -- Japanese suffix after a name indicating respect. Root-san = roughly 'Mr. Root' but more respectful
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Special Thanks to:
Artemis Fowl the Second -- Thanks for being a good sport, a good writer and a very funny person. ;)
CrazyGirly007 -- Thanks for everything! I wish you the best of luck with your enigmatic fic!
queenstheif -- whoa.... don't poision yourself my friend... O.O
VenusDeOmnipotent -- Oh wow, Bob, you're a celebrity! Sure, anyone who wants Bob can borrow him... ^_^
becca -- Just wait. Mwah hah hah.
Eleida -- Why thank you! I finally figured out formatting. Now we can all be happy.
Kelti -- Don't hurt yourself. Breathe! Breathe! Yeah, fish are great. Not outstandingly smart, but great.
spider-elf -- Thanks so much. I feel appreciated. *randomly* Sydney has bogglefish lips!
slime frog -- See you in Laa Laa Land.
Ivycreeper -- Thank you very much! I appreciate it. Keep up your good work too. **bows**
Mage Kitty -- I know the feeling... @_@
Lli -- Yay! Flamingo-pink!
Sashka -- Once again, thanks for helping me out.
Tie Kerl -- Swamp water? Sounds good! Whipped cream is good for everything, especially the new chocolate kind.
Bob: O_O (boggles cluelessly at his fans)
Caspian Nyghtvision: (pokes him)
Bob: o_O!
Caspian: (sighs and hangs a sign around his neck... wait, fishes don't have necks...)
The Sign: Anyone who wants to put Bob the Bogglefish in their fic, or anything else of mine, is welcome provided they ask first.
Cheers!
By Caspian Nyghtvision
Chapter Two: Tension Builds (The Great Ker-Sqlapt)
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and if I didn't get to email you in return, please don't feel left out. I do try very very hard to personally respond to everyone, but it gets difficult, since I'm can't be online much. Instead I gave a 'special thanks' at the end of this chapter. Sorry to be so impersonal, I have an Internet time limit. -.-;; Bob and I thank you very much, and wish you a happy chapter.
Disclaimer: I own very, very little. (To prove her point, Caspian turns out her pockets and a little moth flutters out. She squishes the moth and continues.) Artemis Fowl, et al, is the sole creation and property of an ex-schoolteacher in Ireland who doesn't even know I exist. Thus I have the advantage over him. Mwah. All my characters and concepts are quite obviously mine, and if you use them without asking, you will be quite obviously be eaten by Nyghtvision flamingos. If you want to use anything of mine, just ask me first, and chances are good I'll say yes, and frolic around in a state of warm fuzziness. If you sue me for some bizarre reason, you won't get anything, except maybe the squished carcass of this here squished dead moth. Mwah, again. So sit back, relax and enjoy the... trip.
I wanted to be the greatest at everything
But I can't be
And I wanted to be exempt from temptation
But I can't be
--- "I've Changed" by the Josh Jopplin Group
""What I could do with ten like him," Artemis breathed. "Fort Knox would be a pushover."" --- Artemis Fowl, The Arctic Incident
________________________
National Bank of Ireland
Friday night
________________________
Deep blue eyes watched the magnificent old building in utter, evil satisfaction. A truly inspiring piece of architecture; a walnut waiting to be cracked. Built in the 1800's, of course, stolid red brick, with its tall fluted pillars containing some semblance of Corinthian influence. Inspiring, ah yes, so very inspiring.
A weary sigh rushed, a roar of static, through the small speakers of the radio headset set into his modified LEP helmet. "Artemis... quit drooling over it and get your skinny little butt over here."
The fourteen-year-old sighed long-sufferingly. He swung his 'skinny little butt' out of the air-conditioned haven of the Bentley and into the slightly humid summer night, pressing a switch inside his helmet as he did so.
The nightvision filter switched on, making his view of the world as bright as day, only washed over by a neon green color. Like seeing the world through a pan of lime Jell-O. Nightvision, he thought. One of the most useful inventions ever patented by man or fairy. It relegated the lucky user from blind intruder to the status of nocturnal predator.
Walking quickly, keeping his head down, Artemis dodged behind a row of shrubbery located several hundred yards away from the bank. The stakeout point. Wincing as leaves brushed against his clothing, he slipped through a boxwood hedge, which had been subtly pruned back to allow access.
Perched crosslegged on the ground, noisily chomping a granola bar, sat Mulch Diggums.
"What are you doing?" Artemis hissed.
Mulch looked down, examined himself carefully, then looked back up at his employer. "Sitting crosslegged on the ground," he whispered back, "Eating a granola bar. Why?"
Artemis would have argued, but he knew from experience that that way, madness lay. Madness and a potential migraine. So instead he made a faint groaning noise, took off his helmet, and began to massage his temples. "Why did you call me? We agreed we would meet up only when absolutely necessary."
"Haven't seen Butler in over twenty minutes," Mulch shrugged, dropping the wrapper on the ground and pulling out a Tootsie Roll. "Thought you might want to know. Excuse me for breathing." He began to scarf down the sticky chocolate like it was the last meal he would ever eat.
Conscientiously, Artemis picked up the fallen wrapper between his fingertips, pocketing it with a grimace. "And you've tried contacting him on the radio."
"He said he was going radio silent," the dwarf shrugged again, dropping the now-empty wrapper on the ground and pulling out yet another piece of junk food. This time it was a bag of Nachos. Briefly Artemis wondered where he got all this stuff... then remembered not to think about it... no, he must retain his sanity at all costs... just pick up the bloody wrapper and refrain from strangling the bloody dwarf... think of nice calming things. Go to the happy place. Go to the happy place. Go to the bloody happy place...
"Hey, you all right?" Mulch wondered. "You look a little..."
"This is the sixth time this has happened tonight," Artemis gritted. "I'm going back to the car," Artemis ground out. "Keep an eye out for Butler." Artemis growled. "If he's not back within five minutes, go looking for him." He pulled himself out of the bush -- ick, damp leaves... go to the *#%!!! happy place...
"Hooo-kay." Mulch balled up the empty bag of Nachos and tossed it away, pulling out a can of soda and popping the lid. He really shouldn't be drinking on the job, but this was just stakeout, and he probably wasn't going to be suction-climbing any walls. No need to keep the ol' pores thirstier than they had to be. Crumpling the now-empty can with his stubby fingers, he tossed that aside and pulled out a package of Hostess Twinkies.
Back in the car, Artemis took off his helmet, ran his fingers through his dark hair and began to bang his head against the front seat. The life of a criminal mastermind was NOT supposed to be like this. Moriarty didn't have to deal with these kinds of things, did he? No, the evil professor comfortably taught mathematics in a respectable high school while Sherlock Holmes did all the undignified running around and getting beat up. Of course, Moriarty wasn't a real person, and he DID end up dying in the end, but at least he didn't have to put up with kleptomaniac dwarves and their odd little... obsessions.
Had it been a good idea to hire Mulch? In financial terms, yes. As a team, they had already broken into several banks and put aside quite a bit of money in discreet Swiss bank accounts. But on other terms...
At least the elder Fowls didn't know about their son's employee, which was a very good thing. Living in an abandoned wine cellar under the manor, filling it with dirt, clay, boulders and rocks ("You humans have no sense of decor") filling it with gas for god's sake -- everyone thought the sewer had exploded -- and the sad, sad fate of Juliet's Persian cat ("Hey, I was peckish") -- now THAT was sick beyond all belief -- these traits were not preferable in a houseguest. Artemis shuddered; he'd promised himself he wouldn't think about the cat incident, it made his stomach turn over. He'd never liked Mr. Snuggles, but that was not a fate any animal should face...
Artemis began to bang his head against the seat with a new fervor in an effort to move his thoughts into less sadistic waters. It didn't work. Poor Mr. Snuggles. Juliet had been so heartbroken. Once they'd unlocked her fingers from around Mulch's throat and forced her to hand over the ice pick, she'd retreated to her bedroom to cry for days. Butler had been absolutely furious. Artemis... well, Artemis wasn't proud of what he'd done. He'd been the one to discover the 'incident,' and had quietly thrown up in a corner and spent the rest of the day in the bathroom with the door locked, trying to regain some semblance of dignity and sanity. By mutual agreement, nobody mentioned the cat incident anymore.
Artemis sighed once more. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Now that he was fourteen, it seemed even more weight had settled on his narrow shoulders. The crow's-feet around his dark blue eyes were deeper, and although he had grown a bit, he still had that almost transparent unhealthy look to him. He was so tired these days; by day the obedient son, by night the scheming criminal. At least school was out for summer vacation, so he had a little more time to himself.
Leaning back on the plush leather seats, casually opening a bottle of Irish spring water, he found himself wondering (quite randomly, of course) how Holly Short was doing.
As it turned out, she was not doing well at all.
______________________________
Meanwhile, in Police Plaza
Downtown Haven
_____________________________
"Now Julius, don't be offended, but you could have made a mistake..."
"D'Arvit all to hell, Scrimshaw! I don't make mistakes!" The commander's bellow could have felled a redwood at ten paces. Retired Admiral Walter Kelp Hamlet Scrimshaw, the Atlantean Ambassador and very distant relative of the young Kelps in the LEP, only swayed slightly in reaction. He was a balding, dour old crust and had never quite forgiven Root for swiping his shuttle during that insane 'Arctic Incident.' The luxury shuttle, his pride and joy, had been returned to him in awful condition - the communications array ripped off, the leather seats muddied and trampled, the fridge raided, and several nasty scratches on the wings. Besides, the Admiral was about a dozen decades older than Root, and although he was retired, he still liked to pull authority.
"What you are suggesting," Scrimshaw continued, his voice drier than a week-old donut, "Could cause widespread panic, rioting, possibly even war. Now Julius, I feel that an officer of your age would have a little more ---"
Root's face began to flush alarmingly, a fascinating change through several shades of red and magenta to a truly astonishing violet, like a male bogglefish during courtship. The Ambassador was prudent enough to read the warning signals. He moved with a speed unusual for one his years, ducking outside the office doorway. Just in time. An enormous, hideous, disgustingly ugly, heavy clay ashtray -- the kind little kids make for their parents in art class, even if they don't smoke -- flew through the air like an extraordinary ugly, heavy, ash-encrusted goblin shuttle. Zooming past the empty air where the Ambassador's ears had been, it thocked into the opposite wall with a sound like... well, to blatantly steal an original line, "like a dwarf's underpants hitting a wall." The ashtray was unharmed by its sudden flight. The wall now sported a large dent.
The Ambassador straightened his jacket with a huff. He turned to re-enter the office, but a strangle whistling noise through the air caused him to duck back again. A Commemorative Limited Collector's Edition Cast Pewter Figurine of The Grinch, which also doubled as a cigar holder, sailed through the air, its flight patterns comparable to nothing on or under this earth, finally colliding with the floor outside the office with a terrible "KER-SQLAPT."
(Old professor-looking guy wearing a suit, ripped off a Monty Python skit: "And so was born what was later known as 'The Ker-Sqlapt Heard 'Round the World.'")
(Somewhere, on a frigid cold continent, in an infamous country, in a relatively small and inconspicuous state, in an even smaller town that wasn't even on the map unless you got a microscope and looked for it, in a small bedroom of a small old house, sat a teenage girl, trying to write a fanfiction. Suddenly the whole Western Hemisphere quivered slightly with the sound of an infuriated elf throwing a Commemorative Limited Collector's Edition Cast Pewter Figurine of The Grinch at another elf's ears. There was a very, very faint sound of something going "Ker-sqlapt." The teenage girl heard this, and thought about it. "Ker-sqlapt," she said, and nodded. Inspired, she began to type with a new fervor.)
(Somewhere, in a high-security institution in the Lower Elements, Opal Koboi blinked. "Did something just go Ker-sqlapt?" she wondered aloud. The gremlin sitting across from her growled in frustration. "Quit trying to distract me! Do ya got any threes?" Annoyed, Opal scowled savagely at him. "Go fish." )
(Speaking of fish, in Holly's apartment, not that far away from the source of the KER-SQLAPT, Bob the Bogglefish heard the awful sound. He was surprised no end, and expressed his surprise by blowing an air bubble, which floated to the surface and popped. This astonished like nothing had ever astonished him before, mind-bogglingly surprising that the bubble should, of all things, POP, and he spent the rest of the day hiding in a corner of his tank, quivering in reverent awe.)
Also at that moment, Holly and Trouble arrived, breathless, in Root's office, having run all the way from the Netherworld Flamingo. As usual, the office was filled with foul smoke from those awful fungal cigars he always seemed to have on his person. Right now, Root's arm was poised for a throw, his rough fingers clenched around a pickle-shaped duct tape dispenser, his face a shade of blazing purple only seen on rare species of Amazonian tree frogs. Trouble, who was in the lead, wisely stopped short and flung himself to the floor, pulling Holly down with him. They tumbled to the ground in a completely undignified heap and thrashed around, humorously entangled in a jumble of arms and legs and ears.
The pickle-shaped duct tape dispenser roared out the office door like a nuclear warhead, raring to smash into anyone that dared to come in contact with it. Two seconds later, a lowly computer technician went "Erk" and fell off her workstation, clutching her blatantly-pointed pickle-shaped-duct-tape-dispenser-smitten ear. His anger somewhat eased, Root stared outright at the flailing figures of two of his best and brightest officers on the floor. "What... the hell... do you two think you're doing?"
Trouble didn't say anything for a good few seconds as he attempted to extract his legs from... Holly's legs. Mind out of the gutter. Mind out of the gutter. Mind out of the gutter. Mind out of the-- oops, ouch, too late. "Um... I followed her?" he hazarded, pointing to the furiously blushing female on the floor. Sparks flew from her eyes and her ferociously grinding teeth. She was apparently too furious and embarrassed to talk at the moment. Well, that was good. For now. Taking a deep breath, straightening his shirt -- mind out of the gutter, d'Arvit -- and assuming what he hoped was a confident, commanding pose, Captain Kelp began, "Sir, we recieved your messa-- ough--"
The "ough" was not intentional. Holly, annoyed, had whumped him in the back as she stood up behind him. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"
"Saving you from a pickle-shaped duct tape dispenser," Trouble shot back.
"I do not need to be saved by you or anyone! Especially not from pickle-shaped--"
"Excuse me, sir?" A lowly technician asked shyly, clutching one of her ears. She was holding the duct tape dispenser.
"DO NOT DISTURB!" Root bellowed.
"Yes, sir." The technician vanished.
"Julius," Holly said sharply, assertively seating herself in the chair across from his. This left Trouble standing, awkward and vaguely annoyed, by the doorway, next to the dent and the fallen ashtray. Root scowled even harder, although it had seemed impossible; why did everyone have this need to call him by his first name in times of crisis? What a pity his parents had been so uptight - they hadn't allowed him to change it at graduation to something less... girly.
"Is it true?" Holly said, leaning forward, her voice lowered. "That... someone's got their hands on..." She didn't want to finish the sentence. It was too barbaric. They were the People, advanced beyond compare. This couldn't be happening. Artemis Fowl she could handle; the greed of her own kind she could not...
Not saying anything aloud, he stood up, stubbing out what was left of the cigar. "They've got the specimen down at the lab, and they're running scans on it right now. This is the last thing we need right now, a terrorism scare."
"Terrorism?" she asked blankly. The thought hadn't even occured to her. Behind her, she could sense Trouble stiffen, could practically see those bright eyes of his widen in shock.
Root smushed the last ashes across his desk with the pad of his thumb. "No, Captain Short," he said with unusual sarcasm. "They're collecting human ivory to feed starving children."
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Meanwhile, aboveground...
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Sunways International Airport Terminal
Dublin, Ireland
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The lone figure of a teenage-looking young man slipped in between the throngs of exhausted travelers, scrubbing at his strange, narrow yellow eyes with the back of one hand. A beat-up leather bomber jacket hung on one shoulder, an equally battered Army pack on the other. Jagged strands of blood-crimson hair hung carelessly to his jaw and covered his forehead, one particularly long piece falling across his pointed nose.
Note to self, he thought. Never ever ever take another red-eye from Nippon to Eire again. Not even for a good cause. Never ever ever ---
"HellosirrmayIseey'rrpassporrtplease?"
"... Eh?"
Blinking tiredly, he forced his eyes to focus on the waaaaay-too-cheery... woman... who had accosted him. She had a cloud of orange hair, sparkly green eyes, freckles, and a thick Irish brogue. Entirely too cheerful, she beamed and repeated, more slowly, "Hello, sirr, may I see y're passport please?"
English had never been one of his favorite languages. It was too.... too... ermh... there was a word for what he was thinking, he knew there was a word for it, but he was just too damn tired to think of it. His eyes slammed shut of their own accord and he stumbled backwards a step, catching himself just in time before falling asleep on the terminal floor. English. Let's see, what did he know...
"Fire!" he yelled suddenly, pointing to a nearby sign that said "Baggage Check." The burst of concentration needed to actually provide the fire almost knocked him out, but he managed it -- the plastic sign improbably burst into flame, dripping and melting to the tiled floor, and as the Irish woman turned in shock, green eyes wide as a bogglefish's, he slipped away into the surprised crowd. Okay... no more stunts like that today... what he needed now was a bed... how do you say that in English...?
Thankfully, he could mimic a decent Irish accent, which was surprisingly close to his native one. The rhythm of Ireland's speech -- heavily burred "R's" and a certain lilt -- was somehow similar enough to Japanese that he could manage it. Welsh, now, that was impossible. Too many "L's" -- a Japanese speaker couldn't pronounce "L's," instead turning them into firmly burred "R's," who even needed the letter "L" anyway? Ignorant Westerners and their stupid languages. Stupid airports too, with stupid personnel. Stupid... stupid... what was that word? Ow. His random thoughts buzzed in his head like vengeful bees; he was starting to get a nasty headache.
Fifteen minutes later, after dodging security, vendors and religious fanatics, he was out on the streets of Dublin, lost, foreign, out of his element, and unspeakably tired. It was dark out. He didn't know what time it was exactly, all this screwing around with time zones had left him clueless. There were stars in the slightly clouded sky, but they looked a little different. Maybe it was because he was on the other side of the planet. Maybe it was because his blurred, sleepy mind seemed to be a-frolicking randomly about like an adventurous but sadly drunken squirrel.
He swept his bloodred hair out of his face with a quick and well-placed breath that ended in a loud yawn. Feline eyes narrowed, he stared intensely at a road sign, willing the English scribbles to turn into Japanese kanji, but they didn't. Lost, completely lost.
He wasn't in any condition right now to go up against the LEP, especially since they had such an amusing wariness of his kind. He didn't have any money, or any belongings except for what was in his Army satchel. Even that wasn't much.
Settling down on a convenient park bench, the traveler tilted back his head, letting a faint stir of warm, summer-night breeze wash over his tired eyelids. He couldn't fall asleep here; too dangerous. He needed shelter, and a long nap to recover from all this jet lag. Then he could face up to Root-san and the LEP, and tell them about the shielded yosei he had seen that night in Tokyo. He got up, forcing aside his overwhelming tiredness, and began to walk. As he walked, eyes constantly scanning the environment for possible refuges, he thought about what he was doing.
He knew that it was a matter of great importance, that the folk of Haven certainly deserved to know -- but he still felt an odd resentment. What had the People of Eire ever done for our kind? he thought. For all they know, we're extinct, and they could care less. Still, he argued with himself, we are all in this together... we are all pushed aside as the human cities grow larger and more intrusive. Perhaps one day we will all be pushed together into one last Haven; besides, it is honorable to tell them. I could never live with myself if I had commited dishonor. And haven't I always wanted to travel, beyond the little islands of Japan?
His natural stamina was already giving him something of a second wind, and if he tried hard he could work up enough English to get by. After all, all languages are supposedly derived from an ancient master language, known by all People worldwide.
"Ah, Ireland," he said aloud in English, Japanese accent seriously messing up the "L," but no matter. "Here I am."
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Soapbox -- Sorry this last section wasn't as funny. I guess it's the Action/ Adventure part. Well, is anyone dying of suspense yet? Anyway, here's a list of foreign words I sprung at you, and a special thanks to everyone. Just so you know you're appreciated. ^_^
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Foreign Words I used. Sorry to confuse.... -.-;;
{Gaelic}
Eire -- ancient (poetic) name for Ireland
{Japanese}
Nippon -- ancient (poetic) name for Japan
Kanji -- one of Japan's more commonly used writing systems (they have 4 systems to memorize, that's like learning about 6 alphabets!)
Yosei -- Japanese for sprite, fairy, pixie, spirit, that sort of thing
-san -- Japanese suffix after a name indicating respect. Root-san = roughly 'Mr. Root' but more respectful
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Special Thanks to:
Artemis Fowl the Second -- Thanks for being a good sport, a good writer and a very funny person. ;)
CrazyGirly007 -- Thanks for everything! I wish you the best of luck with your enigmatic fic!
queenstheif -- whoa.... don't poision yourself my friend... O.O
VenusDeOmnipotent -- Oh wow, Bob, you're a celebrity! Sure, anyone who wants Bob can borrow him... ^_^
becca -- Just wait. Mwah hah hah.
Eleida -- Why thank you! I finally figured out formatting. Now we can all be happy.
Kelti -- Don't hurt yourself. Breathe! Breathe! Yeah, fish are great. Not outstandingly smart, but great.
spider-elf -- Thanks so much. I feel appreciated. *randomly* Sydney has bogglefish lips!
slime frog -- See you in Laa Laa Land.
Ivycreeper -- Thank you very much! I appreciate it. Keep up your good work too. **bows**
Mage Kitty -- I know the feeling... @_@
Lli -- Yay! Flamingo-pink!
Sashka -- Once again, thanks for helping me out.
Tie Kerl -- Swamp water? Sounds good! Whipped cream is good for everything, especially the new chocolate kind.
Bob: O_O (boggles cluelessly at his fans)
Caspian Nyghtvision: (pokes him)
Bob: o_O!
Caspian: (sighs and hangs a sign around his neck... wait, fishes don't have necks...)
The Sign: Anyone who wants to put Bob the Bogglefish in their fic, or anything else of mine, is welcome provided they ask first.
Cheers!