Disclaimer: Blah! I was trying to find yet another interesting way to say this but I can't. The idea is just too painful. I don't own them, alright? I DON'T! ::sob:: I never said I did!
Author's Note: Please note that this is no longer in continuity with the books. You'll see that in this chapter I have Stonehenge as a place of fairy importance, even though in TEC it was said that it was an ancient fairy pizza parlour – which throws the ideas of pizza being invented in the colours of the Italian flag only two centuries ago out the window. BoaF is now an AU (Alternate Universe). Not only do I like Butler's name as Romeo (although Domovoi is very good, very useful, too), but by the end of this story, events such as they are written in TEC would not work in my universe, even though they are set later. For one thing I don't like aged!Butler. But you'll find out about that later…
What's Happened: At St Bartlebry's Artemis has met a fellow genius, by name of Liam Brambling. The Irish government launched a competition where they gave an encoded document to everyone in an effort to discover how to decode it. Liam, being a genius specializing in languages, won the competition because Artemis went off to the Arctic for the events in The Arctic Incident. After this Artemis discovers a code within the given code that speaks of biological weapons, one targeting Holly and the other related to Liam's pen name that he uses to publish articles on the Internet. Artemis goes to the Brambling's house, where Liam's younger sister, Jac, is affected; unconscious Holly and Commander Root then meet them here. Artemis is making progress on discovering how to counter the biological weapon and goes to Dublin Uni to use their technology and while here he gets shot by an unknown assailant. There is a great deal of tension between the countries of Pakistan and India, and they are on the brink of war; both countries have biological and nuclear weapon capabilities.
Underground: There is a group of terrorists, known as the Anti-Atlantis Association (or AAA), who are running rampant in Haven and other parts of the Underground, especially after the Goblin rebellion. The leader is a sprite named Quentin Thyme, and he has some rather extreme uses of fear. He has set off a bomb in the Underground station of Tara, videoing it himself to send the tape into the media and so perpetuate the fear further, and Foaly has been severely injured in the attack, losing a leg and the use of his right eye and one arm. Willow Wattle is a flora biochemist who was/is in love with her partner named Cypress who was killed by Quentin after he developed a biological weapon for the AAA. Basil is a member of the AAA, one of Quentin's closest advisers, and was Cypress' lover.
Chapter Eleven Fortified Magic
"…Committing the oldest sins in the newest ways."
- A Knight's Tale
"How about you just tell Liam, Marcus and the Commander what you've found, Artemis? I'll go and retrieve the box of files from the car for you."
"Right." Artemis started. "Well, I went to Dublin Uni so that I could use their electron microscope – it's not as if any of them are using it for a good cause and--"
"They just let a thirteen-year-old kid use one of their most expensive pieces of equipment?"
Artemis looked over at Liam, daring his peer to challenge him. "Of course. Haven't you thrown your ideas about society out the window by now? There's a fairy sitting in front of you. Someone has made you little sister sick so that you'll have to write what he or she wants you to. I," Artemis paused and looked around the room, "am not your average genius."
"I examined various blood samples from both of them, some lymphatic cell samples, and both antidotes under the scope and … I think I've found out a bit more about this. Or I've figured out what it's based upon, at least."
Butler came back in, carrying the box with a spattering of blood down the side. Artemis saw it and swallowed, a hand moving up to his shoulder where blood was congealing on the expensive shirt. "Are the printouts ruined, Butler?"
"Most of them are alright. A few have some splattering. Only one, the one you were carrying, is really ruined."
"Doesn't matter then. I've got that one memorised."
Marcus coughed to draw Artemis' attention. "So do you know how to fix Miss Jac and the fairy, Master Fowl?"
"Well … not exactly. But I've got an idea or two. The first thing I have to do is explain what it is – then Brambling might get an idea about it as well. And I need the Commander's fairy knowledge."
"Explaining things never works with me, Fowl. Just so you know. Foaly tries it sometimes and well… I'm useless in that department."
"Well, I'll just ask you specific questions then. But it would be best if you understood it because you might think of something which I won't."
Artemis breathed in and looked down at the box of papers. "The first thing about this disease is that this isn't just one thing - it's got two components that I can see. The first is a simple, slightly modified influenza virus. And the other is a biological agent which works like HIV – Human Immunodeficiency Virus – in that it suppresses and destroys elements of the immune system. And the fact that it works on Holly proves that fairies do have an immune system other than their magic, Commander. And, if you think about it, if the People did rely on their magic for immunity when a fairy is deprived of their magic they would become almost instantly very sick with bacteria and small diseases. Any fairy would be ill in hours after using the last of their magic – Holly would have been incredibly sick last year for example, after so many hours without magic."
"Interesting, Fowl. But the point?"
Artemis turned and glared at Liam. "It's coming, Brambling. Patience is a virtue, remember?
"Holly and Jac's immune systems are being broken down by the biological agent and then their symptoms are caused by the flu, which was administered to them at the same time. The antidote contained some antigens to the flu virus – antigens are what our bodies produce to fight invading diseases, and what our bodies have trouble producing if the immune system is weakened. It's working like AIDS. The immune system can't work properly and so what would usually be an inconsequential disease – especially in a fairy – is now life-threatening."
"And how the hell is this good news, Fowl? My sister's got AIDS. And there's nothing we can do to get rid of it, is there? No one's made any real progress with AIDS over twenty years."
"It's not AIDS, Brambling. It just acts like HIV on caffeine – the same processes, just sped up so it doesn't take the possible 12 years before it becomes AIDS. It's actually very unstable – the makers couldn't get it quite right – and so they had to find a way to stick together this unstable retrovirus so that it could hold together." Artemis gestured with his hands, forming a tight globe with his fingers. "And so if you take out the glue the destructive agent in their bodies will disintegrate. And that's the really interesting part. They used magic to hold the disease together. Which is why magic didn't work against it. And all we need to do is remove the magic and…" He let his hands fall apart and float around freely in the air for a moment before landing them in his lap.
"Do you understand?"
* * * * *
"Do I look like I'm dead, Willow?"
"Well… Not technically. Most people who are meant to be in a gazillion places all over Haven don't knock on doors. Not my door at least." She was in shock, her voice holding the capacity to become hysterical in a moment.
There was silence. Then:
"Are you going to explain?"
"Are you going to ask me in?"
Basil grinned at Willow and moved past her into the apartment. "I'll explain it, I promise. But I can't be seen on the street. Many People have joined Quentin lately and most know what I look like. I can't let him know that I'm still alive. He'd kill me if he found out."
Basil looked around the sparsely furnished room, taking in the mess strewn across the floor and the overflowing bin crowded with take-out containers.
"I shouldn't have come here. You don't want me here. You don't need me to add any more stress onto the lot you've already got. I just… I'm sorry." He turned around and opened the door, which Willow had just closed behind him.
"No. I … I'm alright. I swear I am. And I want to know what's so important that you had to come back from the dead to tell it." She tried a grin, failed miserably and picked up her drink from the side table draining it quickly.
"No, you're not alright. I'll just—"
"I'm fine! Talk." She poured herself another shot of the liquor and vaguely wobbled the bottle in Basil's direction. He took it, capped it, and put it down on the table.
"I'd really prefer if you were sober, Willow. How about I bunk here for the night – I know that your brother won't be home – and I'll tell you in the morning once you've slept this off."
"Where did you learn that? To chop off your finger so that people would think the rest of you was gone? Did you cause the explosion too? So that you could pretend to be dead?"
"I didn't do that. I swear I didn't do that. I just … I was part of the group who did, and I didn't want to be part of them anymore so I had to escape. And I got the idea to chop of my finger," he rubbed the stump carefully, "from research I had to do for … this group. Mud Men literature. I had to find out what they knew of magic and was given the assignment of reading the 'Harry Potter' books; in them a man called Wormtail cut off his finger so that people would think him dead. Quentin thought the books probably had real magic attached to them since they were so well known. They're just kids books really, and all the ideas of magic in them are completely wrong – they couldn't even get the crazy Centaurs right."
"Mud Kid books, fingers, not-dead Basils. Wha…? Why? D'Arvit! What does this have to do with me?" Willow wobbled slightly as she drained the second glass of something, which had been guaranteed to knock out a Troll with 60 mLs.
"Not you. Your brother. William. Quentin wants him for something. I'm not quite sure what but … I think it's to do with what Cypress was doing before he died."
Willow was instantly sober. "Not that?" She grasped Basil by his shirt, shaking him. "Tell me Cy wasn't making that thing which he had all those papers about."
Basil nodded. "I … I never meant for him to have to do it. But Quentin found out that I was with him and since he was a biochemist, Quentin decided that we should get him to work for the group. That's why Cy really died. Quentin killed him when he decided he had everything he needed."
"Cypress died because of you. Because of you!" Tears were streaming down her face and she was punching Basil's chest again and again. Then she froze. "Your Quentin wants William to do the same thing?"
Basil nodded, "I think… well, perhaps. Probably."
"And then he's going to kill him as well. Please, please, please…"
She ran into her brother's room - which Basil noted was surprising neat compared to the state of the living room, and started to pull everything apart, searching for the papers. "I wanted to destroy the papers but William didn't think we should. I think he took them, I don't know. I can't remember much from the time when Cypress died. I… I've never wanted to before but now…" Willow broke down, head in hands with tears streaming down her face.
"Shush, shush." Basil reached out awkwardly and stroked her arm. "I'm sure we'll find it anyway. And … Well, it doesn't really matter now. It's already too late."
* * * * *
Root was the first to move, looking up at Butler in an effort to find another who didn't understand it. Butler gave a slight nod, indicating that even though he'd spent the last 13 years around Artemis, he didn't understand more than the basics. Liam had a thoughtful look on his face.
"So the actual manufactured agent is a virus which attacks the immune system? And the symptoms aren't from that, but from a flu?"
Artemis nodded. "From the flu and any other small time pathogens they might have picked up or already had in their systems."
"And all we need to do is defeat the magic that's holding it all together because then the fake HIV will disintegrate and we'll only have the flu to deal with?"
Artemis nodded - his face was almost, but not quite, not truly noticeable, flushed from the adrenaline pumping through his blood at the idea of a problem so close to being solved. He turned towards Root, "and this is why I need you, Commander. Or perhaps I should talk to Foaly. We need to find some way to pull the magic away from the 'virus'. We need some way to counter the magic in their bodies, or to draw it out from the virus. Do you have any ideas?"
Root's shoulder's slumped, and he rubbed a hand across his forehead. "If I had known anything about it, I don't anymore. I… I don't think there's ever been anything that can counter magic. If there were we'd have used it by now. There's been a few times in history that the People have wanted a way to rid themselves of the restrictions out ancestors put upon us, and we could do this if we could counter our own magic. But it's been five hundred and thirty years since I was last at school, I might have forgotten something crucial." He ran a hand through his hair, then the hand moved to his breast pocket and he pulled out his cigar case. "If there is anything though, Foaly'll know about it. Would my helmet fit you?"
"Perhaps, but I've got my mobile anyway." Artemis pulled his mobile from a pocket and flipped it open. It took a moment till he found the record of Foaly's call and managed to trace the number it had originated from, even though it was a private number (or a number that didn't quite exist above earth). He waited as it rung.
Root plucked a cigar from the case, snapped it shut. He popped the foul smelling thing into his mouth and was about to light it—
"There are patients in here, Commander. No smoking." Said Butler.
"Fine, fine." Root opened the case again, but then decided against returning the cigar; he twirled it between his teeth. He upturned the case on his lap, looking up at Artemis who was still waiting for an answer. Half a dozen cigars and a minuscule Book lay in his hands.
He flipped through it until he found the page he was looking for - the one on origins.
Artemis closed the phone with a snap in frustration after it rang out.
"Does Foaly usually leave his booth unattended? I wouldn't have thought he would."
Artemis pressed redial.
* * * * *
When Foaly woke up he momentarily forgot where he was, and what he now was. He moved his hooves up and down slightly, as he always did after sleeping, and stretched out his arms to either side, rolling them around twice in the backwards direction then once forward. He realised three things when he attempted that this day. Firstly, he noticed the searing pain that shot through his left arm. Then, while trying to stretch his arms to the sides he was unable to move either. And finally he realised that he was lying down and that the reason he couldn't move one of his arms was because it was pressed against starched sheets.
He mused on the pain in his left arm for a while. For a limb that was supposedly numb it was awfully painful. Although, his right front leg hurt in an abnormal way as well, since it wasn't there anymore. But it still hurt.
He vaguely remembered medics and medical warlocks sprouting information, he remembered a Mud Man medical book being shoved in front of his nose as they tried to explain something or other to him with diagrams - he had laughed until his ribs complained, the irony was too great. Fairies have become Mud Men. If they had access to the Oceans they'd have probably taken up whaling already. All the bad things, some of the good, all examined. The only way the People were superior to the Mud Men now was technologically – and only because of Foaly's own efforts. Morally, at least some of the fairies had been corrupted, and some of the Mud Men had equalled them. Medically cane toads were probably better off. The fairy system of government was a cross between England under Bloody Mary and Communist Soviet Union at it's lowest.
The Mud Men were dominant, not only in numbers anymore. It was their time for the Earth, just like thousands of years before when the Ancients had left, judging their time to be over, the time of their children had been beginning. And now… Since the Mud Men now owned the planet, there was nothing the fairies could do but watch as they changed coastlines and flew faster than sound.
A medic knocked quietly and then moved into the room – quickly, as though scared that if he didn't keep moving someone would point out that he was doing something wrong. His entire nature was scared, worried, wary. He had a name badge on. It read: Keith.
"Hi, Keith. I'd get up; I'd even shake your hand - if I were actually able to. I'm sure you'll forgive me for my lack of etiquette, Keith, eh?"
"That's what I'm here for—" he looked down at his grey-coloured clipboard, "—Wither, isn't it? I'm a physiotherapist. I'll get you back on your feet."
"Hooves. And it's Foaly."
Keith's eye's almost crossed as he worked that out. "Right, right, hooves. You're a centaur, right."
"It's the ears that give me away, isn't it?"
Keith seemed to have less sense of humour than a custard tart did – at least custard tarts fly through the air and splatter across some poor clown's face.
"Here, I've got a sling that we're going to use to help hold you up on your fe-- hooves. And then I can start working with the other things. Okay, Wither?"
"I can stand by myself."
"How about we use the sling anyway, Wither? You've lost a leg, you haven't gotten used to the strain yet."
"I can stand by myself, Keith!"
Foaly pulled himself up, sliding slowly off the bed until his three hooves touched the ground; it was like watching a child dropping down from a step slightly too high for them to do it comfortably - awkward, feeble, but ferociously determined. Then he was standing; the 'numb' arm was throbbing and Foaly pulled it closer to his side, using his right arm to adjust the sling. He wobbled slightly, but managed to correct his balance before he fell down. He tried to think of it as simply standing with one leg raised, so he didn't look down. Instead he stared down Keith.
"Great work, Wither."
"Foaly. My name is Foaly."
"Right, right."
"Why do you need to do this? I've only been bed-ridden for less than 36 hours. It's not like my muscles have atrophy."
"We can't take any chances with you, Wither. Centaurs can have very temperamental bodies – it's the horse side of you."
"Centaurs do not suffer the same problems as horses when it comes to lying down – although it is extremely difficult. The reason why horses have to be shoot if they're sick or lame for too long is that the limbs don't get enough blood without movement. We Centaurs are much smaller, with huge hearts," Foaly gave a slight, patronising grin at this irony, "and so don't have the same problem."
"There's no need to get angry with me, Wither, I'm just doing what the medics are telling me to do. And I'm sure they know best."
Foaly slumped, crushing his eyes closed in a vain attempt to remove the small person from in front of him. "My name is Foaly."
* * * * *
Commander Root scanned through the pages again, ignoring the slight headache that always accompanies reading in spirals. He twirled the half-chewed cigar around in his fingers as he strained to remember long-forgotten lessons from his grandmother - an elf with bright eyes and her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a tight bun. He rubbed a hand across his forehead; closing his eyes in an effort to picture the lessons.
"The Ancients lived in their own world, aloof from all the others. Do you know what aloof means? It means high above, distant. Not really - they didn't live in the sky, although they all had wings like Sprites do. They were better than we are, like we are better than the Mud Men. So, like we live down here, in our own world, so they lived in a world apart from the surface of the Earth – which at that time belonged to us."
"But isn't the surface better than down here? If we're better than the Mud Men, then why are we down here, and they're up there?" asked young Julius, with all the politically incorrect accuracy of a child.
"We're not talking about us, or the Mud Men, we're talking about the Ancients, Julius. The Ancients were special. They—"
"Aren't we special as well?"
"Yes, we are. But the Ancients were different. They didn't live on this world at all; they only visited here when they wanted to."
"That would be great!"
"It was. It meant that when their magic was growing weak here they could leave and go some place else where it wasn't so weak. The Ancients had magic that was much stronger than our own – they could do anything with magic, while we can only do things like healing or special spells."
"I made a door slam with magic once. It was fantastic!"
"But you can only do magic like that when you're extremely angry, or scared. The Ancients could do magic all the time, always like that. They could use magic to wash their clothes, to cook their food, to tidy up their toys."
"Why can't we?"
"We've got a different type of magic, Julius. Our magic belongs to the Earth and us at the same time. We borrow magic from the planet, and we have to give it back. It's a continuous cycle. The Ancients were born with their magic, and it was all their own. And other people could steal their magic from them - suck it out of them like a vampire sucks blood. So some people ended up with more magic than others, and they fought each other over this magic, everyone wanting more and more of the Ancient magic.
"And that's what started the War. Have you heard about the War?" Julius nodded, even more intrigued by a story that contained a war. "It started when the groups within the Ancients, those that followed each of the Seven Lords, got angry with each other. People weren't doing what they were supposed to be doing; some of them were stealing from the other groups, not letting others trade, pushing them around. And then the Lords got angry with each other because they weren't stopping their Peoples from doing the bad things. Then all the groups, all the People, started massing armies together, and they started to build weapons and spells. They realised that they were much more likely to win if they had more magic than the other groups. So they stole magic off each other, and stored the magic away in their deep, protective forts. Their magic was different from ours. It could be passed from person to person, anyone could use it, it was even all the one colour."
"Just a boring blue then?"
"No, the magic of the Ancients is all black. Well, it's not really black, it's really another colour entirely which we can't see with our eyes. But, to you, it is black. A bright shimmering black, like what black would be if black was white.
"I'm getting off topic, dear. Don't you want to hear about the War?" Young Julius nodded, squiggling around into a more comfortable position. "So each of the clans – the People who followed each of the Seven Lords – were preparing for a huge war, because they knew that it was going to be huge. They each created bases from which they were going to defend themselves. Lord Elav'shæ - the Ancient who created the elves, our ancestors – led his war front from a circle of huge stones, protected from all sides by magical spells. They made stores of food and water and magic there, preparing for a siege. They—"
"I know how we might be able to break the magic, Artemis."
Artemis looked up, or rather, looked up, then readjusted his thinking and his gaze so he could meet Root's eyes. "Yes?"
"The Ancients, - you'd know of them from the Book - the people who created us. Nothing we can make, nothing you can make, can counter magic; magic is the most powerful substance on Earth. But the magic of the Ancients was stronger than ours. It's so strong that just being close is enough to do strange things. It might be able to do something. It's been known to affect fairy magic before, although—No, that doesn't matter. It might work, Artemis."
Artemis nodded. "Is there any way for us to get some? Is it extinct? A rarity? Didn't the Ancients leave nothing behind?"
"There are places in the world where there are remnants of their magic left behind. Places built by them as fortresses or safe houses. They are the monolithic structures - stone circles and huge monuments. Some were made by men, some by us… but some, the first of them, were made by the Ancients. Unfortunately, I don't know of any in Éire, at least not ones where we could find any magic – the Irish ground absorbs magic, both types of magic, so it can't be found in raw form here. The only one I know of as a definite is in England. A place called Elv'shæ fa'I – or I think it's been named Stonehenge by the Mud Men. Stonehenge was an ancient fort of My Lord and there were stores of Ancient magic kept there."
"We could take the Lear over to Heathrow, although the customs is shocking. By the time we got through it would probably be early morning. Anything would take a while, though." Artemis ran a hand through his hair, rubbing at the nape of his neck.
"You should stay here, Artemis. We need someone to look after Captain Short and Jacaranda."
"I'll go with Butler," said Root, "he'll know people at the airport, right?" Butler nodded. "Or we could land at another airport? D'Arvit! This will take too long. They're too sick. I wish I knew of the other forts. Can you try and get onto Foaly again, Fowl?"
Artemis nodded, not objecting to the Commander ordering him, nor even of Butler disagreeing with him. Their judgement was quite reasonable.
He flipped open his mobile once more, hoping that he'd be able to get onto Foaly this time.
Butler and the Commander left through the front door, driving towards Dublin.
Captain Vein picked up the line on the 7th ring.
After hearing the news Artemis felt that he should tell someone, but he didn't want to burden the Commander and Butler yet, just before they had to find some rogue ancient magic.
He almost considered telling unconscious Holly, but then his full mental functions kicked in and he definitely decided against that.
He turned and shouted at Liam to check on Holly and Jac.
* * * * *
Butler landed the Learjet – the controls had been modified by Artemis so that for short trips only one pilot was needed, even though the cock-pit was designed with the latest technology for two pilots. With a few nods and a smile they were through customs; as a matter of protocol Root had been carrying a fake passport that named him as an Australian citizen.
They hired a dark-coloured car at the airport and drove towards Stonehenge. They didn't talk.
As they were approaching Stonehenge Root felt the need to disturb the silence. "This used to be a pizza parlour, actually. Stonehenge, I mean."
Butler raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was a place of cultural, perhaps religious, importance."
"It was. But then it became a pizza parlour. It's only important to the Elves – perhaps some of the more conscientious Sprites – but not any of the other fairy races. They discovered that the magic left there could be used for cooking pizzas. They weren't very good pizzas though."
Butler didn't reply to that. What was he to say?
They arrived at the closed tourist entrance before the silence needed to be filled. A wire fence surrounded the artefact from about 50 meters in all directions. Butler pulled a pair of minature wire-cutters with a diamond edge from an inner pocket of his jacket. Root touched his hand lightly to stop him.
"I don't need to get inside. This is close enough. I… I can get in from here."
"Don't you need to get to a store of magic somewhere in the structure?"
The Commander shook his head 'no'. "The circle was only for show. The fort was inside the hill – Foaly's been screening it from your archaeological scans for years now. I can get in from here. If my Grandmother was correct. Which she was. She was a child at the time the Ancients left – her mother was created at the time of the War, when this fort was built."
Root closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose. He ran a hand though his thinning hair, feeling inadequate for entering the place of the Ancients.
"What do you have to do?"
"I… She said that all I had to do was speak the words – but they're not really words, and not even really proper, logical sound. And then, after that, I'd know."
He took once last breath. And then he opened his mouth. Butler couldn't hear anything at all, as if the Commander was speaking in a higher frequency than humans could hear. But at the same time a soothing noise - guttural, strong, yet gentle - was moving like substance though his mind. It was disarming, frightening. Butler felt his breathing quicken and the adrenaline rise in his body. He felt as if it was all wrong, incredibly wrong. Something was out of order, out of place, out of space and time perhaps. He tightened a thick hand around his Sig Saucer, unconsciously.
And then there was mist. And Butler couldn't tell if it had come, or if they had gone to it. But it was everywhere, everywhere. It was entering his nostrils and tingling through his pores. He halted his breathing, like he had been trained to do in a gas-attack situation.
Root had his eyes closed, and didn't seem to have realised the existence of the mist. He kept 'singing', although the noise in Butler's mind had silenced.
Then the mist was so thick that Butler couldn't see where Root was anymore, he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, or even what colour the mist was in itself.
The Sig Saucer came out of his jacket and he made to flick the safety catch off, then realised that it had been off for however-long already. He groped forward with one hand, the gun clasped tightly in the other. He touched weathered flesh - it was cool to the touch, abnormally so.
The Commander's eyes opened. They were filled with rapture, respect. He looked young, carefree, alive.
"Commander!" Butler shouted, not knowing why he was shouting in such a quiet place, at least at first. But then all the sound did was echo a little and disperse into the mist. He tried again. "Commander!"
It seemed as though the eyes opened yet again, something cleared from over them, and this time the Commander Root that Butler was used to, the one that he knew, was there.
"The magic! Where's the magic?"
Root waved his hands around, gesturing around them, not even trying to speak over the soundless din. He cupped his hands and swept them through the fog, the young Julius taking over again for a moment and pouring the mist – the magic – out again over his own head. Root shuddered at the sensation. He was moving slower, with more Root showing in his eyes than Julius, as he made a second swipe at the magic. He caught it in his hands, cupping them tight, possessively.
He smiled, a huge, radiant smile.
Then he collapsed.
~~ * * * * * ~~
Reviews:
Janey the homocidal maniac – Artemis got shot… Isn't it fun? I've really got to get him into a torture chamber soon.
Becca8 – even a 'Great chapter' is a good review to get. I'm eternally paranoid about the quality or lack thereof of my BoaF chapters.
Trisani – And you have a reviewing style that really makes me like you. Do you work at that, Trisani? Find my weakness… find who I aspire to and compare me to him at every opportunity? ::loffs all over you:: Although I've read in a interview with the great and almighty Tperry that he's never going to have main characters meet up, because it would just be too difficult to work. Susan used to be my favourite character (I read Soul Music as my first Discworld at age 11), but now I appreciate Teh Vimes more.
The Kry'rae priestesses was a truly random reference, I know. I've got the entirety of BoaF and it's sequel planned out. And once someone reads the finished products of both the Kry'rae will make sense. Hopefully. I've got a lot of ideas for the future of this story in my head, and so I'm sprouting random references every time I put fingers to keys.
::comes back as a ghost and pokes you:: That really wasn't a very nice thing to do. Vimes! Root! Come and do something with Trisani!
Simply Myself – I can't tell you who really wanted Arty killed, if it wasn't the Mafiya after all, them having killed off all the associates who possibly took it… And Grub isn't all that bad! ::huggles Grub:: He won't tell anyone about Foaly's name. And IWANNABEEVILMOMMY!! WHY CAN'T I BE EVIL!!? (Note that I am Australian and say 'Mummy'). And I probably do need a beta (at all). I generally just go through the chapters myself, and I'm pretty though, although I don't change the actual scenes/situations at all.
Midnight Blossom - ::cringe:: Is 3 months quick enough? Sorry…
Ivycreeper – Ah, Ivycreeper… Such a joy to get to your review. You always have something interesting to say, or at least an interesting way to say it. On the Gaelic, it is make-believe. I have almost no grasp on other languages (or interest is probably the main problem) and so it's all from my jibberishing letters until it looks cool. I really liked you pointing out the factor about horses, and I used that in this chapter. Be proud. ::loffs you for picking me up on such things::
I know what you mean about the Cypress/Basil/Willow/William/everyone factor. I get the strong impression I'm writing for the Bold and the Beautiful when tackling their sections. They don't have the depth that I try to bring into the canon characters and there lies the fault about my own writing which I absolutely hate. I suck at developing original characters, and I really don't enjoy it much.
And my group of net friends recently took it upon themselves to torture Liam for being incurably annoying. It involved red-hot irons, ripped fingernails and eyelashes, and eye gouging if I remember correctly. I think the main problem with Liam is that after I had set this story in motion I realised how I could do it without Liam, although in the original idea Liam was the point (for Arty to learn how to relate). So I've got a grudge against him. And I swear I'll get around to reading your story sometime soon… :hits self::
Melbell – I just realised that you are Melanie from fowl_artemis. O.o I'm writing a B/A for you right now…
Thea the Elf - I think that the evidence/logic is towards Foaly being fairy-sized. And I can't tell you whether or not I'm killing off Foaly because friends of mine have been trying to work out who I'm likely to kill, and I can't give them any clues.
Eleidab – Firstly, I'm glad that I've converted you to the worship of Grub. He needs worshipping! And secondly, sorry for never-ever responding to your out of date political email. I'm horrible, but I'm at Horrible People Anonymous and I'm doing the 12 step program to become nice. And for a political comment… The flags flew at half-mast for Bob Hope's death, while during the Iraq War it never did. Isn't that interesting? (Although Hope did know all the US presidents since Rosevelt.)
Lady Game – they got the name 'Foaly' from Wither because he was the runt of the class. He was teased a lot as a child.
Moonlight2 – I was going to have Arty's suffering long and drawn out after being shot but then I realised that he'd be going back to an elf with magic and I had to change that.
Ophelia – Yeap, Foaly's got post-traumatic stress disorder, so much so that he hasn't had one concerned thought for Holly over that entire time. And once he realises this it'll be even worse.
Belia - ::laugh:: my friends were devising all the methods of Liam torture that they wanted to do to him only last week – there was barrels of hot oil, gouged eyes and red-hot pokers, among other things. But I disagree and think that Foaly is also a wonderful person to torture on occasion. He screams so prettily.
Lady Dragon of Spirit's Fire – I know that Butler's name is Domovoi, and I've used that name a few times since TEC came out. But since this is now an AU story anyway I probably won't change it if I rewrite the first few chapters anyway. In the sequel I can't have Butler aged or Arty memory-less so…