A/N: I've got such lovely long constructive (and flattering!) reviews from everyone that I can't possibly reply to them all without starting to get into a length I really don't think is appropriate for these authors notes. But I'm taking it all in, I assure you, and a few changes have been made already. Others are more complex for... various reasons. So they'll take a little longer, but I thought I wouldn't delay the next chapter until I'm finished working them out. (Aren't I nice?) Thank you all muchly for your time in reviewing - it is much appreciated.

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Disclaimer: Not mine. Eoin Colfer's.

CHAPTER 2

Without meaning to, Artemis found himself waiting for the flickers of the light, counting seconds.

One, one thousand, two, one thousand – off, on.

One, one thousand – off, on.

One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand – off, on.

It felt like he had been here for days. Actually, it had felt like he had been here for days what felt like days ago. He tried to focus on something – anything – other than the growing suspicion that he was on his own, but he couldn't marshal his thoughts into any semblance of order. He was worried, he had to admit. How long had it been? How long could it possibly take them to get here?

Off, on. Four seconds.

The flicker somehow managed to catch him by surprise each time, jolting him out of whatever meagre thoughts he had managed to assemble. Trying to hold all the variables of a plan in his head at once was simply impossible with the flashes of light knocking them out every few seconds.

Off, on. Two seconds.

He had not, however, Artemis reminded himself, lost all control over his situation. He could still assert some level of influence over his captor whenever he chose.

Now that the majority of the pain he had woken up with had died away to a dull ache, numerous itches had sprung up all over his body in an effort to provide him with sensory input. It really was the least of his worries – he often experienced the same sensation of all-over itching when meditating, it was a common distraction in the early stages and Artemis had grown accustomed to ignoring it – but he allowed himself to twist against his bonds, visibly succumbing to the urge to attempt to scratch.

"Uncomfortable, are we?" asked the disembodied voice and Artemis resisted the urge to smile triumphantly at the minor victory, keeping his game face firmly in place. He must be being watched very carefully for such an immediate response to a display of discomfort. "Perhaps you'd like to swear me an oath?"

"I know what you're planning," said Artemis thickly. The light flickered, but he pressed on. "It won't just kill the ones you're after, though; don't you care about the collateral damage? Doesn't it bother you that thousands of innocent fairies could die?"

"Innocent?" scoffed the voice. "Nobody's innocent, human, not even among the fairies."

"What about the LEP?" he tried. "They'll be the worst hit and they're only trying to help the People. The ones guarding Howler's Peak will be absolutely slaughtered!"

"The LEP? Don't make me laugh! Corrupt, out-of-control egotists - there's not a fairy who isn't in it solely for power, bribes, or surface privileges!"

Artemis had to actually bite his tongue through two flickers of the light to prevent himself from speaking and he tasted blood before he managed to completely restrain the urge. Anything he could say now would only count as 'antagonising his captor' and, however satisfying it would be, was not a good idea.

"Hmmm," said his captor as Artemis remained silent for long enough to make it clear there would be no response forthcoming. "I'll leave you to think for another few days, then, shall I?"

Artemis' stomach churned. Had he really been standing there for as long as it seemed? It felt like an eternity and, if there was one thing Artemis could be absolutely certain of, it was that he had never gone anywhere near this long without the material comforts of food, water, or sleep. If it really had been as long as it had seemed, his plan must have failed; there would be no-one coming to rescue him.

He pushed the thought forcibly out of his mind, gladly letting another flicker of the light distract him. Time dilation was the most basic of psychological manipulations – the single most effective way of establishing a state of confusion and dependence in the victim. Even he had used it on Holly when he had held her captive. Nothing his captor said was trustworthy. Nothing.

"Such a pity," said the voice, brimming with false concern, "that humans don't respond well to the higher settings on neutrino weapons – this would go so much faster if your parents had survived."

Off, on. Seven seconds.

Nothing his captor said was trustworthy. He had to believe it. He had to. But he couldn't be sure. His parents would have been vulnerable – to capture or murder. They obviously hadn't been captured, or they would have been used earlier. It would have been easy. It would even have been prudent, since his captor was attempting to force his own interpretation of that prophecy.

Still, whether his parents were alive or not, he would probably have been told they were dead. Depriving the subject of hope was standard technique to establishing psychological vulnerability. Even –

Off, on. Four seconds.

His parents were alive. He hadn't seen their bodies, so they –

Off, on. One second.

He must have shown something of his thoughts on his face despite his best efforts, as they were answered by a chuckle from the speaker that brought him back to his senses.

Ameteur. He's an amateur, he can't hurt me, Artemis told himself disdainfully. I am Artemis Fowl the Second, and I can think my way out of anywhere and anything.

Then the light flickered again and he lost his train of thought.

Earlier…

We were almost ready by the time we received our ultimatum – an amplified voice informing us to come out of the front door within five minutes, alone and unarmed, if we wanted Angeline to live. We arrived in the vaulted foyer of Fowl Manor with a minute to spare.

As we paused to collect our thoughts, Arty's Butler took a step forward, his fingers tightening around the grip of his Sig Sauer, a seemingly unconscious move on his part to place himself between his employer and the risky path on which he was embarking.

"Thank you, old friend," said Arty, a wry smile touching his lips. "If I don't see you again, don't blame yourself."

"I do not think that is an order that I will be able to obey," replied Butler bleakly.

My Butler, a relatively new employee, shot his cousin a scornful glance. I smiled ruefully. Whatever Madame Ko's theories were on not getting attached to one's principal, I for one was very glad that my son had found a friend as well as an employee in his Butler. My first Butler, the Major, had been my closest friend and confidant, having been with me from the cradle until he perished in the sinking of the Fowl Star. I still felt the gruff man's absence more keenly than that of my leg.

"Then we must hope for the best," said Arty firmly, his game face settling back into place. "It may not be the best plan I've ever made, but it's all we have."

Butler patted the slim bulge of the fairy communicator in the breast-pocket of his suit, his bleak face twisting into a slight grimace of acknowledgement.

"Father?" Arty asked, checking his watch. "It's time."

As one, we turned and headed out the front door of the mansion together, leaving the Butlers behind us. The walk down the front steps and out onto the immaculately groomed lawn seemed to take hours longer than it usually did, moving steadily towards the small man aiming what looked like a child-sized water pistol at my wife. I suspected, looks aside, that the gun would dispense significantly more than a jet of water if he fired.

Despite the fact that we were surrendering, I couldn't resist giving the fairy my fiercest glare before turning to examine my wife's expression. She looked peaceful, relaxed, as though there was nothing on earth that could harm her, least of all the gun pointed so casually at her.

I considered how easy it would be to simply knock the tiny gun out of this irritating halfling's hand and return to the house, but a closer look at the air behind the pair made me realise that the visible fairy was the least of our problems. The whole area was shimmering slightly, the way Arty had described the giveaway for a shielded fairy. Sizing up the visible fairy, I tried to make an estimate of the number of hidden team members in the shimmering area – ten or more, I was certain. All, probably, with invisible weapons pointed at us. Unpromising odds, to say the least.

"Hello, Major Kelp," said Arty conversationally. "I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances that we meet again."

The visible fairy pressed a button on the side of his helmet, raising his visor with a faint hiss to reveal a face that was almost human looking, save for the size. His tiny, hooked nose was wrinkled in an expression of distaste as he mouthed, "Sool's orders. He's gone mad!"

I darted a sidelong look at Arty, but he hadn't given the slightest flicker of recognition that Kelp had said anything, so I kept quiet.

"Don't try to talk your way out of this, Fowl," Kelp continued aloud, then raised his eyebrows as though he had asked a question.

"I wouldn't dream of it," said Arty sardonically. "I don't suppose I could convince you to leave my parents in peace, though?"

The small man's face twisted regretfully. "Not without…" he mouthed.

"I didn't think so," Arty continued as though it had been a rhetorical question, rolling his eyes in resignation. "Lead on, then. I suppose I must be under suspicion every time anything remotely unpleasant happens to the People, mustn't I?"

"Just follow me peacefully," ordered Kelp, although this time his voice sounded different – melodious and layered with multiple tones, like a choir all on its own.

I let my face slacken and my eyes dull in an imitation of Angeline's expression, as Arty had instructed, trailing placidly behind the fairy towards the Manor's gates. My eyes itched from the unfamiliar contact lenses, but it seems that my acting passed muster, because I remained unchallenged. So far, so good. We could only hope that the rest of this hastily-constructed plan worked as well.

As we came closer to the cloaked transport Arty had warned me would be waiting, its disguise became less effective. The main giveaway was the open door, which was completely visible along with the steps leading up to it, although on closer examination I decided there was a flat, slightly distorted quality to the ostensibly empty air around it. I didn't get the chance to examine it in more detail, however, because Kelp was leading us up the stairs into the shuttle. The three of us meekly allowed ourselves to be manacled to a rail at the back and sat, unmoving, as the craft took off.

When the fairies with us unshielded, I could see that Arty had been right when he said that this move was out of character; my eyes were automatically seeking out each of my opponents, memorising their features, assessing their personal weaknesses. Those in the shuttle with us looked nervous and conflicted – and I assumed they would have sent the closest they had on the police force to killers. They darted guilty looks at the three of us throughout the flight and worriedly eyed the cameras watching over the interior of the shuttle, as though their commanding officer might be watching them at any time.

If Arty hadn't described Sool to me, I would have thought they were being paranoid, but I knew the type. If he was half as obsessively rule-bound as he sounded, he would spend twice as much time policing his own police-force for minor infractions as he did chasing real criminals – and four times that amount on assembling structures and procedures which were wasteful of everyone else's time as well. In most cases, he would have been a criminal's dream come true.

We didn't break from our rigid imitation of a hypnotic state until we were miles underground, seated in a conference room absolutely packed with green-suited fairies, and Major Kelp verbally released the three of us from his mesmerisation. With at least a basic understanding of what was going on, and having been feigning susceptibility to the mind control anyway, Arty and I remained calm. Angeline, understandably, panicked.

"Where am I?" she shrieked, leaping to her feet and striking her head on the low ceiling. I made a mental note to hunch if I had to stand up. "What did you do to me? What are you creatures?"

Arty shot me a look and I hurriedly grabbed her hand, trying to pull her back down into her seat. "It's all right, Angeline," I tried to soothe her, keeping a watchful eye on a fairy at the back of the room, who was filling a small syringe with what was presumably a sedative. "I'll explain later."

She looked at me with an edge of terror in her eyes, not helped, I'm sure, by the fact that Angeline has always been able to see right through my masks and would know just how frightened I truly was. She subsided, however, her lips moving in a silent prayer as she realised the delicacy of the situation. The fairy with the syringe gave her a suspicious look before retiring back to stand against the wall.

"No interrogation room this time?" asked Arty, smoothly drawing the attention away his mother. "No bad cop, worse cop routine with the light shining in my eyes? I must say I'm disappointed. I guess it's too much to hope that you'll also restrain yourself from quoting threateningly from The Wizard of Oz?"

There was a snigger from somewhere in the room. The creature at the head of the table, presumably Ark Sool, the gnome in charge, scanned the room darkly for the source before he turned back to face my son. He and the fairy with the syringe seemed to be the only ones in the room who were completely unsympathetic to our situation – that, at least, was a very good sign.

"We're not here for chit-chat, Fowl," he growled. "You're here to give us information."

Arty and I exchanged a glance, made an impromptu adjustment to the plan, and then turned back to him. "Yes?" we asked in innocent unison.

It was immature, I had to admit it. It served no real purpose in the overall plan. But it could push a dangerous enemy off balance, make him angry, make him more likely to make a mistake – a mistake which we might well be able to use against him.

Sool's smile slipped a little bit as he looked from my son to me and back again.

"I see," he said flatly. "Very amusing. Artemis, then, you're going to answer some questions."

"Of course," we answered again, in cheery unison. Several of the guilty looking police-fairies around the table looked as though they were barely restraining themselves from laughing out loud.

"Boys," said Angeline reprovingly, right on schedule.

We hadn't played his game since Arty was only a small boy, but she still knew her lines flawlessly from the number of times we had used the technique for putting my prospective targets off-balance. I could hardly restrain a grin at the fond memory, but a poker-face was far more effective at this stage.

"I do hope you'll forgive them," Angeline told the now-scowling creature on the other side of the table in a motherly tone, "I sometimes wonder which one is the younger, myself."

"Angeline!" we protested. "How can you say such a thing?"

A loud guffaw burst from a bizarre looking creature with the upper body of a half-size man and the four legs and tail of a fairly small Shetland pony. It could only be a centaur, really, but for some reason my mind was refusing to accept the possibility, focussing instead on trying to decide whether the incongruous tinfoil hat he was wearing was a fashion statement or a symptom of paranoia.

Sool shot the unrepentant creature a glare and turned back to us, visibly fuming now. "YOU!" he snarled, pointing at Arty. "Where is Pandora's box?"

His voice was layered with deep notes that seemed to resonate over and over again in the conference room. The opening gambit was over; now it was time for Arty's desperate plan to be put into motion.

"Hidden," Arty replied. "I have set it to target each and every living fairy and arranged for it to be opened. If my parents and I are not returned unharmed by sunset tonight, the fairies will be no more."

The silence in the room was immediate and absolute. The creature across from us seemed to have been completely floored by Arty's pronouncement and, although the centaur appeared to be taking it all in his stride, we had suddenly lost all sympathy from the other fairies around the room. I hadn't really expected otherwise – most sentient beings would probably respond badly if you told them you were about to exterminate their entire civilisation.

"TELL ME WHERE IT IS!" Sool roared, pouring so much of the layered sounds into his voice that several of the fairies cringed, although whether it was at the volume or a judgment on the amount of magic in his speech, I couldn't tell.

Sitting in his chair like it was a throne, Arty didn't even twitch. "No," he said coolly. "No, I don't think I will."

The silence was, if it was possible, even more complete than before. It was as though time had frozen for an instant, as though the whole universe was doing a double-take at seeing something that just couldn't be true.

"No human is immune to the mesmer," breathed Sool in disbelief.

Arty raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more.

"NO HUMAN IS IMMUNE TO THE MESMER!" repeated the gnome, as though saying it again, louder, would make it true.

"I threw off a mind wipe," said Arty dismissively. "I escaped the time field. I separated the People from half a tonne of their gold. What makes you think the mesmer – or any of your other little toys, for that matter – would be any more effective against me? I know all your secrets – and I know how to work around them."

"Well, if you can resist the mesmer, we can't trust what you said earlier!" Sool sneered, and a few of the fairies in the room began to regain their equilibrium. "Have you really arranged for Pandora's box to open?"

"You obviously believe I would do it, otherwise you wouldn't have brought me here," Arty returned, raising his eyebrow again. "Can you really afford to take the chance?"

Some of the fairies looked sceptical – until a smirk that showed far too many teeth and far too little kindness for most people's comfort began to spread across Arty's face. Unable to resist, I gave an identical smile. My son had learned from the best, after all.

The entire room shuddered under the force of our combined malevolence and not one of them doubted any longer.

To be continued...