There was a sharp rap at the door. Artemis glanced up. Another rap.
"State your presence and purpose," he said icily.
"I…uh…it's Josh—Josh Anderson. Can I come in?"
Artemis opened the door partway. It was Anderson, looking rather frightened, surrounded by his belongings. Artemis raised his eyebrows at him, which seemed to make Anderson more nervous. "Well?"
"Look, I just need somewhere to kip—"
Artemis looked him in the eyes. Anderson had one blue eye, one hazel, was one of the star varsity football players, and was considered by many of the younger students very frightening. At the moment, however, Anderson was wavering under Artemis' pale blue stare. "It is," Artemis stated coldly, "near one o'clock in the morning. There is one week of school left. Surely you can cope."
"Mate, you don't understand—"
"Enlighten me. And do not refer to me as your 'mate.'"
Anderson looked around the hallway, as if invisible specters were watching him. "My roommate is gay. I think he was writing slash fiction—I just don't like sleeping in the same room as him, okay?"
Artemis glanced at the most popular boy in school, who was somehow frightened beyond reasoning. He sighed half-heartedly and said, "Very well. But first you must let me clear away some of my articles to make room for your," Artemis glanced at the boxes filled with various clothing, football gear, and pile of textbooks, "rubbish."
Anderson blinked, and stepped back as the door slammed in his face.
Artemis glanced around his cluttered room. He had grown accustomed to the space, but Anderson was going to be one important part of the plan he was forming. Artemis roughly cleared away the electronic devices on the extra bed into a spare box and shoved this under his own bed. He hid carefully some of the manuscripts that he had been deciphering, and as a final thought, took the painting Holly and placed it carefully under the bed as well.
Artemis opened the door. Anderson grinned at him determinedly, as if he was ready to get along with Artemis no matter what. "Thanks, mate, I really owe you."
"Indebted to me," whispered Artemis with a sinister smile that went unnoticed by Anderson.
"Did you say something?" Anderson huffed as he carried his boxes into the room.
Artemis chose not to reply as he watched his room grow smaller and smaller.
Anderson was chatting away about something irrelevant and incomprehensible (Artemis had never known someone to use the words bloody hell and toaster in the same sentence) as he pinned up pictures of girls cut out from magazines on the wall. Artemis Fowl II raised another eyebrow when the entire wall was covered in pictures within minutes.
Anderson grinned at Artemis again, this time with a wink. "You like that, don't you, Fowl?"
"I do not drool like a disgusting primeval male over poor replications of—" Artemis stopped.
"What?" asked Anderson, clearly not very sharp.
Artemis had forgotten his biting remark as his glaze chanced upon a girl in a lavender summery dress. She had dark hair fluttered in the wind, and she was walking barefoot on a cloudy day at a beach, the waves lapping over her toes.
But Artemis barely noticed the beauty of the girl and the scene. His eyes were focused on the tattoo on the girl's left ankle. "Who is this?"
Anderson grinned cheekily. "That's Alanis. Only fifteen, believe that? She also models for Armani, Bloomingdale's, the Gap—"
Artemis caught the name and left Anderson to dreamily describe her assets…but the tattoo. He darted across the room, yanked open his desk, pulled out a magnifying glass, and focused on the left ankle.
Anderson was chuckling. "Hey, mate, if you like that picture so much you can keep it."
Artemis, who had already taken the picture down and to his desk to examine it more closely, ignored him.
The tattoo was a beautiful design of curlicues and some runic symbols that looked, from afar, like Egyptian hieroglyphs. Closer inspection revealed symbols that Artemis had seen before. Even with the magnifying glass, it was too small to examine it too meticulously.
"Alright, I'm going to sleep, mate."
Artemis spun around, his ice blue eyes flashing dangerously. "What did I say about calling me 'mate?'"
Saint Bartleby's School for Young Gentlemen, County Wicklow, Ireland; BreakfastArtemis glanced at the array of breakfast foods and scowled. One more week of school and I'll be at home with my caviar. He selected some fresh fruit and sipped some orange juice. Vile stuff from concentrate. Artemis pursed his lips and set the glass down as the headmaster rose to his feet to address the school.
"Gentlemen, today we have a very important visitor," said the balding principal Eric Guiney. He wiped his shiny pate nervously. "Jonathan Night is an extremely important man. I expect each and every one of you to show respect to him. What he will see today may reflect how much more funding we will receive from the school board, meaning—"
"That if you do not behave like well bred gentlemen, you will expect me to be extremely disappointed in you," drawled Artemis to himself in a bored voice.
"If you do not behave like well bred gentlemen, you will expect me to be extremely disappointed in you," finished the principal, who wiped the shining sweat from his head again.
The schoolboys looked around edgily. Of course, whenever the principal said this, it meant whoever crossed his path would most likely receive detention and remain in the principal's bad graces.
The principal had hated Artemis from the start of the school year, so this little speech hardly mattered to him. Artemis let a small smile cross his face, remembering the button camera he had installed in Guiney's office, and the scene he had broadcast to the entire school of Guiney singing and shaving his head. Guiney had never found the culprit, but he never looked Artemis in the eye from that point on.
The front doors burst open, and two large men entered. Bodyguards, thought Artemis. How important does this man think he is?
"Ah, Mr. Night! Come in, come in! Welcome!" said Guiney, rushing over to another man who appeared behind the bodyguards.
"Dr. Guiney," said Night, shaking the hand of the principal. "These are my men Arno and Demetri."
"Hello," said Guiney, shifting his eyes toward the large men.
"Daddy," interrupted a young female voice, "Do I have to stay here the whole day?"
"Yes, darling," said Night, then turning back to Guiney, "This is my daughter, Alanis."
"I—oh—you didn't say you were bringing your daughter—er—welcome—come in, no need to stay standing outside—"
"Her boarding school finished last week, and I fear for her safety alone."
The men had started walking towards Guiney's office, leaving the girl to follow behind. As she walked, she left a trail of gaping, drooling, slack-jawed, wide-eyed, hormone-driven, goggling, gawking schoolboys in her wake.
The beauty removed her sunglasses and shook out her long, black hair. She was wearing a dark violet sleeveless dress that was cut very short, revealing a pair of long, pale legs. Knee high matching violet boots tapped loudly against the polished floor.
Artemis Fowl, coolly composed, found he was practically the only boy in the whole school who did not have his mouth open or eyes glazed in worship. He took another sip of the vile-from-concentrate orange juice. They act as if they have never seen a female before, he thought. Then again, they do go to an all male boarding school. And she is a very fine representation of the female species.
"That's her, that's her!" came an exited voice a few chairs away from Artemis. It was Anderson, no doubt about to spout off some nonsense. "It's that model I was telling you about!" Anderson was holding a ripped out magazine picture of her, and ran forward.
"Alanis! Can I have your autograph?" he asked sheepishly.
Alanis placed a small violet purse in Anderson's hands, opened it, pulled out a feathered purple pen, and signed it.
Anderson beamed at her, and Alanis took back her purse and walked off, boots strumming against the floor. She entered the office, and the door slammed behind her.
The breakfast hall was in an uproar. Every boy had rushed over to congratulate Anderson, look at the picture, or just be gaping, drooling, slack-jawed, wide-eyed, hormone-driven, goggling, gawking schoolboys.
The boy next to Artemis had the picture, and was examining it with a toothy grin, giving Artemis a clear view.
The picture was a duplicate of the one Artemis had studied over with a magnifying glass the night before, and a curlicued signature was gracing the left corner. It was the girl with the tattoo.
Suddenly, Artemis was very interested in this Alanis Night.
Saint Bartleby's School for Young Gentlemen, County Wicklow, Ireland; Fencing 101
Artemis ruffled his raven black hair and scowled. He had yet to actually meet Alanis and ask her about her tattoo. She had been appearing in various classes throughout the morning, and by what he had pieced together from various conversations, she was good at French and could slap very well.
Derek Montague, who was still sporting a red cheek, was regaling the tale as he strapped on his fencing suit. "And so, I said to her this line from that Lady Marmalade song—I dunno, vooloo vocooshay something, and BAM! She just slaps me, just like that!"
Artemis smirked, and put his mask on. "After taking French, Montague, I would expect you to know that voulez vous coucher avec moi means 'Do you want to sleep with me?' And your father is French as well, correct?"
Montague turned an unhealthy shade of red, his red cheek turning purple as Artemis strode out of the changing room.
Montague spat furiously. None of the other boys looked him in the eye. After all, none of them wanted to take on Fowl. Ever since he had disappeared two years ago with that large butler of his (none of them knew the butler, was in fact, named Butler), he had returned and had built up considerably—perhaps Fowl had taken lessons with the large butler? (Which he had. Butler had been very pleased at Artemis' progress.)
~
Artemis smiled. "Yield," he said, in a rather bored voice.
Montague was on the floor, looking very frightened. Artemis looked very much like a vampire, and the smile looked like he was about to cut him into pieces, despite the large blunt knob at the end of the rapier.
"Very good, Master Fowl! Are there any other challengers?"
Montague scuttled away, determined to get as far away from Artemis as possible. He stepped on a distressed Angsty Harry Potter™ squeaky toy that belonged to Master Mo, the fencing instructor, who today was wearing a bright red T-shirt that read, "H/Hr IS SO DEAD! R/Hr FOREVER!"
The Angsty Harry Potter™ squeaky toy squeaked in angst. "WHO STOPPED TOM RIDDLE! ME! WHO KILLED VOLDEMORT WHEN HE WAS ONLY A BABY! ME! WHAT DID YOU EVER DO, HUH?"
There was silence. Then Master Mo giggled.
Master Mo, who was a short man in his late twenties, acted like he was eighty. He treated every boy like his favorite grandson, and was apparently an avid Harry Potter fan.
"Newest on the market!" Master Mo beamed at the boys, who were looking at him, not for the first time, like he was crazy. "If any of you want an Angsty Harry Potter™ squeaky toy, just tell me and I'll call—"
"Master Mo, I believe you were asking if there was anyone who wished to challenge me?" Artemis asked icily. He swung the rapier gracefully, drawing an fanciful pattern in the air.
"Yes! Right—anyone else to fight young Fowl here?"
More silence. Several of the boys shifted uneasily. Even the best fencers in the class had challenged Artemis, but none of them had ever beaten him. Artemis had a certain grace and air that seemed to know exactly when and where to strike.
A masked boy raised his hand, and Master Mo beamed. "Excellent, excellent! Now, make room!"
The other boys stood back. Far back. Last time one had made the mistake of standing too close, and had Artemis' rapier ram him in the ear.
Artemis looked down his challenger, mentally ranking his assets. He seemed rather short—under five feet—had a slim build, and was left handed.
Both swung their blades to the guard position. Artemis smiled his vampire smile again. "May the best man win," he said, then dropped into the attack.
Artemis attacked viciously, his composed face a stark contrast to his rapidly spinning and slashing blade. His opponent was good—he had never fought someone who had blocked that well. Then again, the only people he had ever fought were the boys at St. Bartleby's. "You can't win fighting defensively, you know," he taunted.
Artemis faltered as the other boy whipped his blade into a reverse crescent and moved forward.
Artemis was fighting the defensive now, and with every lunge he noted that his left-handed opponent had several advantages over him. Being left handed, he had an entirely different position than what Artemis had grown used to—adjusting was quite difficult.
"Boys! Stay in the fencing quad!"
Suddenly as Artemis lifted his blade to block an attack, the other boy whisked his blade into a vertical butterfly so fast Artemis couldn't see it. The dull end of the rapier bit into his shoulder. Artemis scowled; if that had been a real sword, he would have been sporting a nasty wound.
Artemis could barely hear Master Mo and the other boys as they struggled to catch up with the fight, which was moving quickly into the gymnasium. He dodged another swift blow and darted up the stairs, his opponent racing behind. The only sound was of blades crashing against one another, a flurry of blows and blocks.
His opponent slipped; there was water on the floor. His rapier clanged against the wet ground.
Another time, Artemis would have noted this, but at the moment the heat of the battle and the thrill of beating a formidable opponent was the only thing in his mind.
The other boy lunged for the blade, but Artemis was quicker. The dull edge of the rapier nudged the throat of his opponent.
"Yield," said Artemis, his sapphire blue eyes gleaming.
"An fair opponent would let me get my blade."
Artemis bent in closer to his opponent's face. "I don't fight fair," he said maliciously.
Master Mo and the rest of the fencing class had rejoined them. "A magnificent battle!" Master Mo exclaimed. "Superb job, Artemis!"
Artemis looked up and smirked.
Suddenly there was a flash of speed, and a heavy kick thudded in Artemis' chest. The force of the blow sent him backward, and he fell.
Perhaps if earlier Artemis had used his high IQ to deduce that the water on the ground and the tiled floor meant that they were near the swimming pool. Perhaps if Artemis had noted this, he would not have moved so close to the edge of the pool, or had his back to the deep water.
Nevertheless, despite various clues and his high intelligence, Artemis Fowl the Second fell noisily into the Saint Bartleby's School swimming pool. Water splashed and sloshed everywhere, soaking through the wire mask, making Artemis cough and snuffle. The water was also ruining his rather expensive Armani underwear.
By the time Artemis had climbed out of the pool, still coughing and spluttering water, dripping wet, the entire fencing class was laughing madly. His opponent had meanwhile gotten up and was standing nonchalantly.
Master Mo was giggling so wildly tears were coming out of his eyes. "Shake hands…well done, both of you."
Artemis glared at his opponent and removed his mask. Ugh. His hair was ruined, his expensive silk underwear was beyond repair, and he had water in his ears. "You're not even a boy," he said in distaste.
There was silence.
The challenger removed the mask, and shook out long black hair.
It was Alanis.
She smiled sweetly and held out her hand for Artemis to shake. "I don't fight fair either."
Artemis blinked at her.
Author's Notes: whoo! Took a while to get this chapter up—long! The squeaky toy especially. Artemis Fowl and Co. are all the property of Master Colfer, and Alanis and the squeaky toy are all mine. Mine, I say, mine! Whee!
Cheers to Ray and Leeny (aka I Hate Sore Throat Medicine) for finding the Harry Potter reference in Chapter 1! : ) –for those of you who were a bit slow, the painting named Lily was a biggie—red eyes, green hair? Nyeh? Harry's mum! Hehe.
Krystal Black: Nice try, it was not Wicklow—er, that's where Arty's school is. Maybe you're thinking of Barstow, where Harry fell asleep when Hagrid was driving him over on Sirius' motorcycle. (Obsessive-compulsiveness.)
LOL! Didn't expect Artemis to be very good at fencing, nyeh? I had a pretty good idea from Artic Incident he would have been bulking up a bit, such as before the Eternity code. Or during. Heh. He had a feeling he wanted to be more athletic. : )
This chapter has been edited in some slight details.
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