Artemis Fowl: The Ivory Files
By Caspian Nyghtvision
Chapter Seven: This is My Shelter
Disclaimer: Ha. Ha. Ha...
(I've decided to ditch adding the times... got confusing... they'll show up when it's important, but it'll just be locations for the scene changes...)
"You fight about money, bout me and my brother
And this I come home to, this is my shelter
It ain't easy growin up in World War III
Never knowin what love could be, you'll see
I don't want love to destroy me like it has done
my family..."
"Family Portrait," -- Pink
--------------------------
Ma Kelp's Doman
Half an Hour after We Last Left Off
Saturday
-------------------------
"You call THAT looking after your brother?!"
Trouble winced. "Ma, I--"
"Don't MA me! You left my little boy OUT on the street, in the COLD--"
"Mom, it's the middle of summer..."
THWAP. Trouble didn't even waste time dodging, just stood there, loose-shouldered with a slightly hangdog look, as he got his ears cuffed by an irate Ma Kelp. "Don't interrupt me, you insolent little! Now sit down and eat this, I'm not done talking with you yet!" Ma Kelp slammed a piece of pie down on the table so hard that the dishes in the cabinets rattled. Then she threw a tin spoon at him, apparently to eat the pie with, but it was thrown hard enough to kill a small troll.
"Mom, I don't want pie. I have to go to back to work," Trouble said patiently, catching the spoon inches away from embedding itself in his skull.
"No back talk, growing boys need their pie! Just look at you, ever since you went to that old Academy, you've been nothing but muscle and bone. You know as well as I do, girls don't look twice at a scrawny -- GRUB, GET DOWN HERE -- go on, don't let it get cold -- I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU BOYS YET--"
With a strangled noise that could almost have been a sob, Trouble let his head fall to the table. Unfortunately, it fell onto the pie. So much for being a grownup. How dignified does a captain look with pie up his nose?
He wondered if it was possible to kill oneself with a tin spoon.
________________________
Fowl Manor
________________________
Artemis Fowl Senior stumped heavily downstairs. "Angeline?" he called wearily. "Angeline, can I talk to you?"
She glided in from the living room and slipped her hands into his. "What's going on, dear? Is it about the baby?"
"No. It... it's about my job."
Her eyes narrowed, Angeline gave him a look. "You don't really have a job, Artemis."
"That's it, Angeline... I've just recieved an offer. I think it would be worthwhile to look into it."
Angeline stared for a minute into his eyes, which I do not have to remind you are the same very deep blue as his son's. She pulled away. "It's illegal, isn't it?"
"Well..."
"Don't 'well' me, Artemis, I know you! You had that same look in your eyes that day eighteen years ago, when you were telling me that the Interpol conspiracy was just a-- Arty, dear," she said, her voice suddenly dropping to a false cheerfulness, "Could you give your father and I a minute?"
Artemis the Second -- it got so hard to keep them straight sometimes -- had just entered the huge landing, looking paler than ever. He slowly raised just one eyebrow and took his own sweet time leaving the room again. The large, ornately carved door shut behind him with a sort of muffled thud -- showing that he was affronted and resentful, but was not going to go around banging perfectly good doors like some high-schooler raised in a barn, when the cold shoulder was more suited to his dignity. It took a lot of practice to read such a statement into a simple thud of a door, but Angeline was his mother, after all.
"We need the money," Artemis the First stated as soon as their son was definitely out of earshot.
"No, we don't," Artemis the Second said from his office, watching them from the video monitor. His parents weren't the only ones who put button cameras where they didn't belong.
"It's what's best for the family."
Artemis II snorted. "And who was in charge when you were gone?" he asked the screen. "The family's in perfectly good hands. Go retire."
"I want to retire, Angeline. This could be it. The big chance."
"You're always talking about big chances! The Fowl Star was a big chance! I let you do that, and look what happened!"
Artemis switched the sound off and settled into his Thinking Pose, like Count Dracula contemplating a kidnapping. Despite himself, he wondered what his father was planning. Thinking about it brought his mind away from things that were currently giving him several separate headaches.
Like the baby that would appear in the house in six months, or that he really needed to pay Mulch, or the fact that the walls of his room had been painted a disgusting shade of beige, or that the LEP was completely ignoring him. That last bit had nothing to do with anything, but it just popped into his mind. Would it kill them to send him an e-mail? What would it take, two minutes of their precious fairy time?
Enough of that. He needed a plan to discover his father's plan.
Artemis Senior kept all of his files on his laptop, despite Angeline's protests that it was unsafe. The elder Artemis shrugged it off. His computer was safer than an Atlantean Mummer Clam in its shell, although he had no idea that the creature existed. The tiny, vulnerable body of the Atlantean Mummer Clam lurks within granite-strong walls of its incredibly tough shell, locked together by muscles stronger than iron.
The easiest way to find out what the senior Fowl was up to was to open up that laptop. Not that it was an easy task. Like the Mummer Clam in its smug fortress, a Fowl computer simply oozed self-satisfied security from every microchip. No person on Earth could hack their way past its first series of firewalls, no matter how sophisticated their equipment. In the same way, a Mummer Clam's shell will not break under chisels, hydraulic presses or dynamite. Force means nothing to the computer or the clam.
However, Artemis the Second was never one for force. In his quest for knowledge of the People, he had also studied the creatures that lurked underground and undersea with them, undiscovered by human eyes. For millenia, the People of Atlantis had eaten the body of the Mummer Clam, without once breaking its shell. Their method was incredibly simple.
Simply drop a clam -- any clam -- in hot water, and within a few minutes it will open up like a flower blossoming. Their hard shells do them no good when the heat relaxes their muscles and eases them open.
So instead of wasting his time with tedious hours of fruitless hacking, or simply smashing the computer with a sledgehammer like a more healthy teen would have done, Artemis realized that opening it up required a subtle touch.
Not hot water, of course.
That would have just been silly.
----------------------------
Medical Ward
Haven
----------------------------
Kitsune sighed and looked around the bleak room with calculating eyes. He'd been lying there, healing, for long enough. He felt better than ever, and tried to tell this to the harried-looking warlock who kept dashing in, peering at his chart, and slapping a few blue sparks here and there like a carpenter Spackling a sheet of plywood. "Could you please let me go, Sensei? I'm fine, I swear, I'm perfectly healed."
The warlock paused and gave him a condescending sneer. "Are you a doctor?"
"No, but--"
"Do you have medical qualifications?"
"Well--"
"Are you trained in any of the basics of first aid?"
"Not exactly, no--"
"Do you have any idea what this is?" The warlock held up an indescribable object.
Kitsune raised his eyebrows. "A... baboon wrench ?" he tried.
Without warning, the warlock cracked him on the kneecap with the hefty piece of metal. For a short person, he packed a hell of a punch.
"Graah!" Kitsune bolted forward, one hand protectively over his knee. In one fluid, graceful movement, he snatched the object from the warlock's small hand, threw it as hard as he could, and accidentally collapsed the bed.
"Aaahh... itai... pain..." A strained voice said several creative, exotic phrases in a foreign language from within the collapsed pile of steel rods, thin sheets and blankets. They died away into a suffering moan.
The warlock looked on impassively. He produced Kitsune's chart and wrote on it, reading aloud as he went. "Reflexes -- good. Health -- improving. Patient experiencing discomfort. Not yet due for release."
"I was fine until you came in here, you --" Kitsune spat several curses before groaning again.
"Indeed." The medic added a few more words to the clipboard. "Patient experiencing delusions. Medications reccomended. Strong medications."
A few metal rods clanged to the floor as Kitsune tossed them aside. He growled as he struggled upright. "Omae wa korosu."
"I don't think you'll be killing anybody, with these vital signs!" the medic bellowed, twisting some dials. "You're going on a triple dosage of morphine!"
"I am not going on anything!" Kitsune bolted for the door, but remembered he was wearing hospital-issue clothes. Mainly, a small piece of thin tissue paper. He shot back to the ruins of the bed, but the warlock cornered him with a huge syringe. Kitsune's yellow eyes widened. Desperate means call for desperate measures...
----------------------------
Library of Archives, LEP Headquarters
Conference Room.
----------------------------
A flurry of papers whirled and fluttered about the room like enormous snowflakes, or white birds trying to land.
Holly sustained herself with some grapes she had grabbed from the cafeteria. She watched with a jaundiced eye as Foaly flipped frantically through a stack of printouts, scattering the ones he didn't want to the four winds. Which didn't exist, Haven being underground. The only real wind that circulated was the hot air blown around by self-important officials and certain technicians.
"I told him! I told him the database was more efficient than this --" Foaly held up a piece of paper with great disgust -- "Primitive filing system."
"You never said that," Root said with remarkable placidness. Namely, his face was only slightly less red than your average fire hydrant, and he hadn't actually bitten anyone's head off. Yet.
"Well, I inferred it." Foaly flung a chunk of papers and it hit Holly in the face. With remarkable placidness, Holly refrained from shooting him. She popped another grape into her mouth and began flicking through the papers she had caught.
"Poking around some dusty old archives like a librarian. Hah! Found it." Foaly stuck his knuckle into his mouth. "Another paper cut. Does that count as worker's comp?"
"The only compensation you're getting is continued employment."
"Julius, that's hardly fair. Nobody else can do what I do. I've made sure of that." Foaly gazed at the file in his hands like it was a horribly repulsive insect. "Here."
Root squinted at it. "Five Hundred Easy Recipes For Bologna?"
"Er... I meant this one."
"You read it, Holly." Root held out the file.
She looked up from what she was reading with a glazed look. Shaking her head briskly, she refocused her eyes and dropped her papers on the floor. "Uh... okay."
Holly opened the folder to reveal several sheets of yellowed paper preserved in clear plastic. "These haven't been updated in decades," she said, scandalized.
"Bureaucrats didn't think it was important," Foaly shrugged expressively, an interesting sight in a centaur.
Holly read aloud. "Summary of the Atlantis Convention.
"It has come to our attention as a Council that all faeries are created equal, yet many continue to have an unfair advantage over each other. To this end, we hereby ban and condemn all weaponry, substances and chemicals that give one faerie an unnatural or unfair advantage over an equal creature. Hereinafter, the possession, trade and use of all of the following substances are morally and legally wrong, and the perpetrator will become a criminal in the eyes of the Council, punishable as we see fit.
Softnose lasers; these weapons being cruel, crude and generally inhumane;
Truth serums and drugs; these substances being dishonorable for obvious reasons; henceforth approved only for use among certain governmental officials;
Mind-altering drugs and substances; these drugs put the user and abuser at risk, a danger to themselves and others;
Likewise, alcohol; not only does it drain the Gift, but drunkenness puts others in danger;
Pop-up ads; for being frustrating, evil and just plain annoying;
Human ivory; the methods for obtaining it from humans are dishonorable and unfair; the uses of it even more so. It being worse than alcohol, for deliberately impairing the abilities of others."
Holly looked up and scowled. "This doesn't tell us anything we don't already know."
"I liked the bit about the pop-up ads, though," Foaly said, leaning over her shoulder.
"Yes, but it's useless." Holly grabbed at a piece of paper. "Hmn, here's that thing about that sprite that got bit, and died."
Foaly peered over her shoulder. "Oh, look, he was related to Chix! Well, no great loss, right?" He whinnied.
"Chix isn't that bad." Holly felt she should point this out, in the name of honor.
Root almost choked on his unlit cigar. (He wasn't allowed to smoke in the archives, so he just chewed on them raw.) "He isn't?"
"Okay, okay...he is..."
"So what happened to his relative?"
"Savage toddler, doomed sprite. Before the Atlantis Convention, the Tooth Fairy myth was greatly supported by both us and the Mud People," Foaly said long-sufferingly. "This poor flyboy figured he'd pick up some teeth cheap. Unfortunately, the kid wasn't the right age, and he ended up getting nipped in the wing. Apparently something in the kid's milk teeth knocked out his Gift, so he ended up dying there. Took some covering up, I can assure you. Freak accident. Won't happen again."
Root gave him a long look.
"Question." Holly almost raised her hand before remembering that she wasn't in the Academy anymore. "If we go up against whoever this is, how do we prevent it from happening to us? How do the healers help our wounded if ivory works on us like alcohol?"
Foaly held up a piece of paper. "I think I have an idea..."
"D'Arvit," Root said dryly.
"What?!"
"Nothing. It's just that your last brilliant idea put Haven through a blackout for five and a half hours."
"Look, do you want to hear it or not?"
"Fine, fine... tell us."
----------------------------
Netherworld Flamingo
----------------------------
Caspian of the Netherworld Flamingo sighed happily as she polished a glass to squeaky-clean perfection. She grabbed a spray bottle from under the bar and squirted it around randomly, then rubbed most of the surfaces dry. Early evening business was slow, so she liked to clean up while waiting for the after-work rush and enjoy the conversations.
Satisfied that the bar was spotless enough to eat off of (she'd actually done it a few times, for the sheer heck of it) Caspian turned back to the patrons. Like her, they were all young students who enjoyed getting together for long chats of randomness.
One elf was carrying on an animated conversation with an Atlantean Bogglefish, who boggled back from its spacious tank. "Tell me, what do you think of the Deepwater scandal? Should Scrimshaw run for office again?"
Boggle, bob, blink, bubble.
"I think so, too. Caspian! Your fish should be in politics!"
A parrot shrilled by, scattering green and pink feathers like hayseed. "My karma ran over your dogma! My karma ran over your--" With a splat, it flew into a wheel of cheese suspended from the rafters.
Despite the parrot, a few diehard anime buffs were vividly discussing the "dubs vs. subs" argument, with curses in three different languages (Gnommish, Fan-Mutilated Japanese and Internet Slang) and throwing of mugs and silverware added for colorful effect. "The English adaptation of Sailor Moon is a classic example of Western Ethnocentrism thoughtlessly imposed on pure, nonlinear art!"
"Give it a rest, bakatari kinpatsu!" ("Is that right?" one asked. A sprite pulled out a dictionary, and a splinter argument broke out.) "IMHO, Sailor Moon gained from the dub, because it spread to a wider audience!"
"Sailor Moon is mainstream. Let's talk about Fruits Basket, or Samurai X, or Superman Locke," a lone pixie shouted, but was drowned out by the Great Gundam Wing Argument, which started when the show began and will never be resolved.
Caspian considered jumping in, screaming that Ronin Warriors was the best ("Dark Warlords rule!") but knew that nobody would understand her; the anime that had gotten her into fanfiction was far too obscure for the mainstream people, yet too mainstream for the purists. Besides, never meddle in the affairs of anime fans. They are truly dangerous, especially when arguing.
The karaoke was closed until the after-work rush hour, but there was always a dart board to entertain the patrons. There was another huge argument as several young People attempted to storm the dart board and paste over it with pictures of people they hated. Characters from human books, movies and TV shows appeared, as well as the adorable blonde face of Lili Frond (from the non-mainstream pixie) and a horrible picture of Vice Corporal Fallacy. Then, with cackles of unholy glee, the students grabbed darts, knives, forks, chopsticks, swords, plastic sporks, spears, pikes, porcupine quills, toothpicks and Really Sharp Pencils. The air was thick with sharp pointy objects as the dartboard was skewered from all directions. With an anguished cry, a young elf leapt forward to save the photograph of a beloved actor, but was pushed back by a wall of participants.
Off to the side and away from it all, a burnt-out-looking warlock was fiddling listlessly with a glass of ice water, her pale green eyes rimmed with dark shadows. She looked so exhausted that if Artemis Fowl himself had suddenly appeared in front of her and stripped to "Dirrty Dwarf," she probably wouldn't have even looked up.
"Hey, Silver," Caspian called out. "What's wrong?"
The intern raised her head wearily. "Burned out," she rasped, rubbing her forehead, where a killer migraine was waiting in the wings. "Anyone know when the next full moon is?"
Flipping her dishrag over her shoulder with a jaunty snap, Caspian sauntered over to Janisha's spot. "You don't really need a full moon, just plant an acorn and you'll be fine," the bartender reminded her, grabbing the now-empty glass and refilling it with water. "You medic types are such martyrs."
Janisha scoffed faintly. "I like to stick with tradition. Mess around with the Book and you'll end up sorry."
Caspian dropped an ice cube in Janisha's glass. "The next full moon is tomorrow night, as luck would have it. Sunday." She spun away to attend to the rest of the bar. Halfway to the other side of the bar, she tripped, grabbed at the glass rack overhead, and accidentally pulled some of the glasses down. They fell to the floor with her, shattering on impact.
"D'Arvit. I just cleaned all those," Caspian griped from her ungraceful position on the floor.
----------------------------------
Fowl Manor
----------------------------------
Artemis was doing something unusual for him. He was debating moral ethics.
He stared thoughtfully at the small plastic sheet in his hand. It looked like a sheet of thick, clear stickers.
Was he really curious enough to put a sticker camera in his parent's bedroom?
Of course, its attention would be focused on the keyboard of his father's computer. He wouldn't technically be invading anyone's privacy -- only the computer's. Still, it just didn't seem right. He put the sticker cameras back in his safe and thought for a while.
Butler appeared in the doorway. "Everything all right?"
"Fine, yes. Butler, go see what Mother's doing, will you?"
"She's reading in the library." The manservant's eyes narrowed.
"Where's Father?"
"In his room, working."
Artemis reached into the safe for a small black case in the back of it. "And Juliet?"
"Starting lunch in the kitchen."
Artemis pulled a rolled-up poster out of the safe and held it between his fingers like it was a long-dead squirrel. "Give this to her, will you?"
Butler gave him a long, deeply suspicious look, but took the poster and left the room.
In the spacious, expensively furnished kitchen, Juliet was setting a pot of water on the stove. Butler handed her the poster. She took it, puzzled, and unrolled it. She staggered backwards against the cabinet, smashing several pieces of priceless china, and began to keen loudly and shrilly with a glazed look in her eyes as she clutched it with both hands.
"Julie?" Butler, nervous, shook her shoulder. She blinked, dazed, tearing her gaze away from the poster. "Where did you get this?" she asked in a reverent monotone. Without waiting for an answer, she went on to explain the incredible rarity of a WrestleMania 2000 group poster and et cetera et cetera et cetera, in one high-pitched squealing breath.
The two older Fowls rushed downstairs to investigate Juliet's screams. Artemis Senior carried a handgun, Angeline carried a small pewter statue of a stalking weasel. Just behind their backs, Artemis Junior slipped into their bedroom with a small device clasped firmly into his hand. He slid the black-market piece of fairy technology into his father's floppy-disk drive, then went downstairs to act suprised at Juliet's fit.
-------------------------------------
Rant and Very Important Message
------------------------------------
I hope to the Patron Saint of Fanfiction that I'm not making Foaly sound gay... Well, Eoin Colfer started it, with all the whinnying. Actually, a gay Foaly might add to the general insanity of the story... nah... it'll be too much like daytime television... parody material? No, too much on my hands. (rambles on semi-coherently)
Now look what you've done to me. Anyway, the whole point of this Rant was this Message:
Author Note: This is a very important sentence.
THERE WILL BE NO PAIR-OFFS.
No Holly-Artemis. No Holly-Trouble. No Artemis-Juliet. No Root-Holly.
No Artemis-Trouble, Holly-Grub, Juliet-Root, Artemis-Butler, Holly-Juliet, Juliet-Trouble, Trouble-Root, Artemis-Mulch. No Artemis-Holly-Butler, no Mulch-Artemis-Juliet-Root. And my original characters aren't going to be pairing off either. Not in this fic, anyway.
There is plenty of perfectly good romance out there for you to read, I leave that to the estimated 3249 gazillion romance writers in the fanfiction universe, who even as you read are hard at work. They come up with plenty of unique combinations which I am sure you will enjoy.
Oh, yes... (runs back)Nyghtvision, Lady of Infinite Flamingos, has drawn again. The latest pic is of Grub Kelp. Interested? I'll pass it on if you want to see. 29 kbs. And while we're shamelessly self-advertising, I posted part one of my Gundam Wing fic and "Why did the Chicken Cross the Road? Tamora Pierce Style." Yay? Nay? Pfay? You tell me.
PS Sorry to not cover everybody in each chapter. (i.e. Bob, Takaban) It's hard when I have at least six fronts to cover and all these little plotlines to tie... bear with me?
By Caspian Nyghtvision
Chapter Seven: This is My Shelter
Disclaimer: Ha. Ha. Ha...
(I've decided to ditch adding the times... got confusing... they'll show up when it's important, but it'll just be locations for the scene changes...)
"You fight about money, bout me and my brother
And this I come home to, this is my shelter
It ain't easy growin up in World War III
Never knowin what love could be, you'll see
I don't want love to destroy me like it has done
my family..."
"Family Portrait," -- Pink
--------------------------
Ma Kelp's Doman
Half an Hour after We Last Left Off
Saturday
-------------------------
"You call THAT looking after your brother?!"
Trouble winced. "Ma, I--"
"Don't MA me! You left my little boy OUT on the street, in the COLD--"
"Mom, it's the middle of summer..."
THWAP. Trouble didn't even waste time dodging, just stood there, loose-shouldered with a slightly hangdog look, as he got his ears cuffed by an irate Ma Kelp. "Don't interrupt me, you insolent little! Now sit down and eat this, I'm not done talking with you yet!" Ma Kelp slammed a piece of pie down on the table so hard that the dishes in the cabinets rattled. Then she threw a tin spoon at him, apparently to eat the pie with, but it was thrown hard enough to kill a small troll.
"Mom, I don't want pie. I have to go to back to work," Trouble said patiently, catching the spoon inches away from embedding itself in his skull.
"No back talk, growing boys need their pie! Just look at you, ever since you went to that old Academy, you've been nothing but muscle and bone. You know as well as I do, girls don't look twice at a scrawny -- GRUB, GET DOWN HERE -- go on, don't let it get cold -- I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU BOYS YET--"
With a strangled noise that could almost have been a sob, Trouble let his head fall to the table. Unfortunately, it fell onto the pie. So much for being a grownup. How dignified does a captain look with pie up his nose?
He wondered if it was possible to kill oneself with a tin spoon.
________________________
Fowl Manor
________________________
Artemis Fowl Senior stumped heavily downstairs. "Angeline?" he called wearily. "Angeline, can I talk to you?"
She glided in from the living room and slipped her hands into his. "What's going on, dear? Is it about the baby?"
"No. It... it's about my job."
Her eyes narrowed, Angeline gave him a look. "You don't really have a job, Artemis."
"That's it, Angeline... I've just recieved an offer. I think it would be worthwhile to look into it."
Angeline stared for a minute into his eyes, which I do not have to remind you are the same very deep blue as his son's. She pulled away. "It's illegal, isn't it?"
"Well..."
"Don't 'well' me, Artemis, I know you! You had that same look in your eyes that day eighteen years ago, when you were telling me that the Interpol conspiracy was just a-- Arty, dear," she said, her voice suddenly dropping to a false cheerfulness, "Could you give your father and I a minute?"
Artemis the Second -- it got so hard to keep them straight sometimes -- had just entered the huge landing, looking paler than ever. He slowly raised just one eyebrow and took his own sweet time leaving the room again. The large, ornately carved door shut behind him with a sort of muffled thud -- showing that he was affronted and resentful, but was not going to go around banging perfectly good doors like some high-schooler raised in a barn, when the cold shoulder was more suited to his dignity. It took a lot of practice to read such a statement into a simple thud of a door, but Angeline was his mother, after all.
"We need the money," Artemis the First stated as soon as their son was definitely out of earshot.
"No, we don't," Artemis the Second said from his office, watching them from the video monitor. His parents weren't the only ones who put button cameras where they didn't belong.
"It's what's best for the family."
Artemis II snorted. "And who was in charge when you were gone?" he asked the screen. "The family's in perfectly good hands. Go retire."
"I want to retire, Angeline. This could be it. The big chance."
"You're always talking about big chances! The Fowl Star was a big chance! I let you do that, and look what happened!"
Artemis switched the sound off and settled into his Thinking Pose, like Count Dracula contemplating a kidnapping. Despite himself, he wondered what his father was planning. Thinking about it brought his mind away from things that were currently giving him several separate headaches.
Like the baby that would appear in the house in six months, or that he really needed to pay Mulch, or the fact that the walls of his room had been painted a disgusting shade of beige, or that the LEP was completely ignoring him. That last bit had nothing to do with anything, but it just popped into his mind. Would it kill them to send him an e-mail? What would it take, two minutes of their precious fairy time?
Enough of that. He needed a plan to discover his father's plan.
Artemis Senior kept all of his files on his laptop, despite Angeline's protests that it was unsafe. The elder Artemis shrugged it off. His computer was safer than an Atlantean Mummer Clam in its shell, although he had no idea that the creature existed. The tiny, vulnerable body of the Atlantean Mummer Clam lurks within granite-strong walls of its incredibly tough shell, locked together by muscles stronger than iron.
The easiest way to find out what the senior Fowl was up to was to open up that laptop. Not that it was an easy task. Like the Mummer Clam in its smug fortress, a Fowl computer simply oozed self-satisfied security from every microchip. No person on Earth could hack their way past its first series of firewalls, no matter how sophisticated their equipment. In the same way, a Mummer Clam's shell will not break under chisels, hydraulic presses or dynamite. Force means nothing to the computer or the clam.
However, Artemis the Second was never one for force. In his quest for knowledge of the People, he had also studied the creatures that lurked underground and undersea with them, undiscovered by human eyes. For millenia, the People of Atlantis had eaten the body of the Mummer Clam, without once breaking its shell. Their method was incredibly simple.
Simply drop a clam -- any clam -- in hot water, and within a few minutes it will open up like a flower blossoming. Their hard shells do them no good when the heat relaxes their muscles and eases them open.
So instead of wasting his time with tedious hours of fruitless hacking, or simply smashing the computer with a sledgehammer like a more healthy teen would have done, Artemis realized that opening it up required a subtle touch.
Not hot water, of course.
That would have just been silly.
----------------------------
Medical Ward
Haven
----------------------------
Kitsune sighed and looked around the bleak room with calculating eyes. He'd been lying there, healing, for long enough. He felt better than ever, and tried to tell this to the harried-looking warlock who kept dashing in, peering at his chart, and slapping a few blue sparks here and there like a carpenter Spackling a sheet of plywood. "Could you please let me go, Sensei? I'm fine, I swear, I'm perfectly healed."
The warlock paused and gave him a condescending sneer. "Are you a doctor?"
"No, but--"
"Do you have medical qualifications?"
"Well--"
"Are you trained in any of the basics of first aid?"
"Not exactly, no--"
"Do you have any idea what this is?" The warlock held up an indescribable object.
Kitsune raised his eyebrows. "A... baboon wrench ?" he tried.
Without warning, the warlock cracked him on the kneecap with the hefty piece of metal. For a short person, he packed a hell of a punch.
"Graah!" Kitsune bolted forward, one hand protectively over his knee. In one fluid, graceful movement, he snatched the object from the warlock's small hand, threw it as hard as he could, and accidentally collapsed the bed.
"Aaahh... itai... pain..." A strained voice said several creative, exotic phrases in a foreign language from within the collapsed pile of steel rods, thin sheets and blankets. They died away into a suffering moan.
The warlock looked on impassively. He produced Kitsune's chart and wrote on it, reading aloud as he went. "Reflexes -- good. Health -- improving. Patient experiencing discomfort. Not yet due for release."
"I was fine until you came in here, you --" Kitsune spat several curses before groaning again.
"Indeed." The medic added a few more words to the clipboard. "Patient experiencing delusions. Medications reccomended. Strong medications."
A few metal rods clanged to the floor as Kitsune tossed them aside. He growled as he struggled upright. "Omae wa korosu."
"I don't think you'll be killing anybody, with these vital signs!" the medic bellowed, twisting some dials. "You're going on a triple dosage of morphine!"
"I am not going on anything!" Kitsune bolted for the door, but remembered he was wearing hospital-issue clothes. Mainly, a small piece of thin tissue paper. He shot back to the ruins of the bed, but the warlock cornered him with a huge syringe. Kitsune's yellow eyes widened. Desperate means call for desperate measures...
----------------------------
Library of Archives, LEP Headquarters
Conference Room.
----------------------------
A flurry of papers whirled and fluttered about the room like enormous snowflakes, or white birds trying to land.
Holly sustained herself with some grapes she had grabbed from the cafeteria. She watched with a jaundiced eye as Foaly flipped frantically through a stack of printouts, scattering the ones he didn't want to the four winds. Which didn't exist, Haven being underground. The only real wind that circulated was the hot air blown around by self-important officials and certain technicians.
"I told him! I told him the database was more efficient than this --" Foaly held up a piece of paper with great disgust -- "Primitive filing system."
"You never said that," Root said with remarkable placidness. Namely, his face was only slightly less red than your average fire hydrant, and he hadn't actually bitten anyone's head off. Yet.
"Well, I inferred it." Foaly flung a chunk of papers and it hit Holly in the face. With remarkable placidness, Holly refrained from shooting him. She popped another grape into her mouth and began flicking through the papers she had caught.
"Poking around some dusty old archives like a librarian. Hah! Found it." Foaly stuck his knuckle into his mouth. "Another paper cut. Does that count as worker's comp?"
"The only compensation you're getting is continued employment."
"Julius, that's hardly fair. Nobody else can do what I do. I've made sure of that." Foaly gazed at the file in his hands like it was a horribly repulsive insect. "Here."
Root squinted at it. "Five Hundred Easy Recipes For Bologna?"
"Er... I meant this one."
"You read it, Holly." Root held out the file.
She looked up from what she was reading with a glazed look. Shaking her head briskly, she refocused her eyes and dropped her papers on the floor. "Uh... okay."
Holly opened the folder to reveal several sheets of yellowed paper preserved in clear plastic. "These haven't been updated in decades," she said, scandalized.
"Bureaucrats didn't think it was important," Foaly shrugged expressively, an interesting sight in a centaur.
Holly read aloud. "Summary of the Atlantis Convention.
"It has come to our attention as a Council that all faeries are created equal, yet many continue to have an unfair advantage over each other. To this end, we hereby ban and condemn all weaponry, substances and chemicals that give one faerie an unnatural or unfair advantage over an equal creature. Hereinafter, the possession, trade and use of all of the following substances are morally and legally wrong, and the perpetrator will become a criminal in the eyes of the Council, punishable as we see fit.
Softnose lasers; these weapons being cruel, crude and generally inhumane;
Truth serums and drugs; these substances being dishonorable for obvious reasons; henceforth approved only for use among certain governmental officials;
Mind-altering drugs and substances; these drugs put the user and abuser at risk, a danger to themselves and others;
Likewise, alcohol; not only does it drain the Gift, but drunkenness puts others in danger;
Pop-up ads; for being frustrating, evil and just plain annoying;
Human ivory; the methods for obtaining it from humans are dishonorable and unfair; the uses of it even more so. It being worse than alcohol, for deliberately impairing the abilities of others."
Holly looked up and scowled. "This doesn't tell us anything we don't already know."
"I liked the bit about the pop-up ads, though," Foaly said, leaning over her shoulder.
"Yes, but it's useless." Holly grabbed at a piece of paper. "Hmn, here's that thing about that sprite that got bit, and died."
Foaly peered over her shoulder. "Oh, look, he was related to Chix! Well, no great loss, right?" He whinnied.
"Chix isn't that bad." Holly felt she should point this out, in the name of honor.
Root almost choked on his unlit cigar. (He wasn't allowed to smoke in the archives, so he just chewed on them raw.) "He isn't?"
"Okay, okay...he is..."
"So what happened to his relative?"
"Savage toddler, doomed sprite. Before the Atlantis Convention, the Tooth Fairy myth was greatly supported by both us and the Mud People," Foaly said long-sufferingly. "This poor flyboy figured he'd pick up some teeth cheap. Unfortunately, the kid wasn't the right age, and he ended up getting nipped in the wing. Apparently something in the kid's milk teeth knocked out his Gift, so he ended up dying there. Took some covering up, I can assure you. Freak accident. Won't happen again."
Root gave him a long look.
"Question." Holly almost raised her hand before remembering that she wasn't in the Academy anymore. "If we go up against whoever this is, how do we prevent it from happening to us? How do the healers help our wounded if ivory works on us like alcohol?"
Foaly held up a piece of paper. "I think I have an idea..."
"D'Arvit," Root said dryly.
"What?!"
"Nothing. It's just that your last brilliant idea put Haven through a blackout for five and a half hours."
"Look, do you want to hear it or not?"
"Fine, fine... tell us."
----------------------------
Netherworld Flamingo
----------------------------
Caspian of the Netherworld Flamingo sighed happily as she polished a glass to squeaky-clean perfection. She grabbed a spray bottle from under the bar and squirted it around randomly, then rubbed most of the surfaces dry. Early evening business was slow, so she liked to clean up while waiting for the after-work rush and enjoy the conversations.
Satisfied that the bar was spotless enough to eat off of (she'd actually done it a few times, for the sheer heck of it) Caspian turned back to the patrons. Like her, they were all young students who enjoyed getting together for long chats of randomness.
One elf was carrying on an animated conversation with an Atlantean Bogglefish, who boggled back from its spacious tank. "Tell me, what do you think of the Deepwater scandal? Should Scrimshaw run for office again?"
Boggle, bob, blink, bubble.
"I think so, too. Caspian! Your fish should be in politics!"
A parrot shrilled by, scattering green and pink feathers like hayseed. "My karma ran over your dogma! My karma ran over your--" With a splat, it flew into a wheel of cheese suspended from the rafters.
Despite the parrot, a few diehard anime buffs were vividly discussing the "dubs vs. subs" argument, with curses in three different languages (Gnommish, Fan-Mutilated Japanese and Internet Slang) and throwing of mugs and silverware added for colorful effect. "The English adaptation of Sailor Moon is a classic example of Western Ethnocentrism thoughtlessly imposed on pure, nonlinear art!"
"Give it a rest, bakatari kinpatsu!" ("Is that right?" one asked. A sprite pulled out a dictionary, and a splinter argument broke out.) "IMHO, Sailor Moon gained from the dub, because it spread to a wider audience!"
"Sailor Moon is mainstream. Let's talk about Fruits Basket, or Samurai X, or Superman Locke," a lone pixie shouted, but was drowned out by the Great Gundam Wing Argument, which started when the show began and will never be resolved.
Caspian considered jumping in, screaming that Ronin Warriors was the best ("Dark Warlords rule!") but knew that nobody would understand her; the anime that had gotten her into fanfiction was far too obscure for the mainstream people, yet too mainstream for the purists. Besides, never meddle in the affairs of anime fans. They are truly dangerous, especially when arguing.
The karaoke was closed until the after-work rush hour, but there was always a dart board to entertain the patrons. There was another huge argument as several young People attempted to storm the dart board and paste over it with pictures of people they hated. Characters from human books, movies and TV shows appeared, as well as the adorable blonde face of Lili Frond (from the non-mainstream pixie) and a horrible picture of Vice Corporal Fallacy. Then, with cackles of unholy glee, the students grabbed darts, knives, forks, chopsticks, swords, plastic sporks, spears, pikes, porcupine quills, toothpicks and Really Sharp Pencils. The air was thick with sharp pointy objects as the dartboard was skewered from all directions. With an anguished cry, a young elf leapt forward to save the photograph of a beloved actor, but was pushed back by a wall of participants.
Off to the side and away from it all, a burnt-out-looking warlock was fiddling listlessly with a glass of ice water, her pale green eyes rimmed with dark shadows. She looked so exhausted that if Artemis Fowl himself had suddenly appeared in front of her and stripped to "Dirrty Dwarf," she probably wouldn't have even looked up.
"Hey, Silver," Caspian called out. "What's wrong?"
The intern raised her head wearily. "Burned out," she rasped, rubbing her forehead, where a killer migraine was waiting in the wings. "Anyone know when the next full moon is?"
Flipping her dishrag over her shoulder with a jaunty snap, Caspian sauntered over to Janisha's spot. "You don't really need a full moon, just plant an acorn and you'll be fine," the bartender reminded her, grabbing the now-empty glass and refilling it with water. "You medic types are such martyrs."
Janisha scoffed faintly. "I like to stick with tradition. Mess around with the Book and you'll end up sorry."
Caspian dropped an ice cube in Janisha's glass. "The next full moon is tomorrow night, as luck would have it. Sunday." She spun away to attend to the rest of the bar. Halfway to the other side of the bar, she tripped, grabbed at the glass rack overhead, and accidentally pulled some of the glasses down. They fell to the floor with her, shattering on impact.
"D'Arvit. I just cleaned all those," Caspian griped from her ungraceful position on the floor.
----------------------------------
Fowl Manor
----------------------------------
Artemis was doing something unusual for him. He was debating moral ethics.
He stared thoughtfully at the small plastic sheet in his hand. It looked like a sheet of thick, clear stickers.
Was he really curious enough to put a sticker camera in his parent's bedroom?
Of course, its attention would be focused on the keyboard of his father's computer. He wouldn't technically be invading anyone's privacy -- only the computer's. Still, it just didn't seem right. He put the sticker cameras back in his safe and thought for a while.
Butler appeared in the doorway. "Everything all right?"
"Fine, yes. Butler, go see what Mother's doing, will you?"
"She's reading in the library." The manservant's eyes narrowed.
"Where's Father?"
"In his room, working."
Artemis reached into the safe for a small black case in the back of it. "And Juliet?"
"Starting lunch in the kitchen."
Artemis pulled a rolled-up poster out of the safe and held it between his fingers like it was a long-dead squirrel. "Give this to her, will you?"
Butler gave him a long, deeply suspicious look, but took the poster and left the room.
In the spacious, expensively furnished kitchen, Juliet was setting a pot of water on the stove. Butler handed her the poster. She took it, puzzled, and unrolled it. She staggered backwards against the cabinet, smashing several pieces of priceless china, and began to keen loudly and shrilly with a glazed look in her eyes as she clutched it with both hands.
"Julie?" Butler, nervous, shook her shoulder. She blinked, dazed, tearing her gaze away from the poster. "Where did you get this?" she asked in a reverent monotone. Without waiting for an answer, she went on to explain the incredible rarity of a WrestleMania 2000 group poster and et cetera et cetera et cetera, in one high-pitched squealing breath.
The two older Fowls rushed downstairs to investigate Juliet's screams. Artemis Senior carried a handgun, Angeline carried a small pewter statue of a stalking weasel. Just behind their backs, Artemis Junior slipped into their bedroom with a small device clasped firmly into his hand. He slid the black-market piece of fairy technology into his father's floppy-disk drive, then went downstairs to act suprised at Juliet's fit.
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Rant and Very Important Message
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I hope to the Patron Saint of Fanfiction that I'm not making Foaly sound gay... Well, Eoin Colfer started it, with all the whinnying. Actually, a gay Foaly might add to the general insanity of the story... nah... it'll be too much like daytime television... parody material? No, too much on my hands. (rambles on semi-coherently)
Now look what you've done to me. Anyway, the whole point of this Rant was this Message:
Author Note: This is a very important sentence.
THERE WILL BE NO PAIR-OFFS.
No Holly-Artemis. No Holly-Trouble. No Artemis-Juliet. No Root-Holly.
No Artemis-Trouble, Holly-Grub, Juliet-Root, Artemis-Butler, Holly-Juliet, Juliet-Trouble, Trouble-Root, Artemis-Mulch. No Artemis-Holly-Butler, no Mulch-Artemis-Juliet-Root. And my original characters aren't going to be pairing off either. Not in this fic, anyway.
There is plenty of perfectly good romance out there for you to read, I leave that to the estimated 3249 gazillion romance writers in the fanfiction universe, who even as you read are hard at work. They come up with plenty of unique combinations which I am sure you will enjoy.
Oh, yes... (runs back)Nyghtvision, Lady of Infinite Flamingos, has drawn again. The latest pic is of Grub Kelp. Interested? I'll pass it on if you want to see. 29 kbs. And while we're shamelessly self-advertising, I posted part one of my Gundam Wing fic and "Why did the Chicken Cross the Road? Tamora Pierce Style." Yay? Nay? Pfay? You tell me.
PS Sorry to not cover everybody in each chapter. (i.e. Bob, Takaban) It's hard when I have at least six fronts to cover and all these little plotlines to tie... bear with me?