A/N: first of all: I did not want to hurt the feelings of any Canadian readers, but it's the truth that it's a Canadian company that is about to cause an eco-disaster in Rumania. Certainly I don't think anything bad of the Canadian people in general. There are greedy companies in every country, in Hungary, in Canada, absolutely everywhere. I just learned about this particular case at an environment protection course at the university and since Artemis seems such a huge fan of environment protection, I thought I'd make him mention it. It seemed in-character for him.
I replied everyone whom I could or whom I felt necessary to reply, through the new ffnet PM.
Also thanks to: septempopuli, I Am The Krow, hello, J. Dawnwolf, christieelise, hogwartscharmed1, AmethystPhoenix11, ebtwisty9, AnnieThePipster, The Flying Moose, Mockingbirdflyaway, Queen Dragon, aperfectattitude, Zodokai, ustechygurl, blondevil, Chris-Crossed, Mousewolf, Chixawitch, SPG, refloc, Kerry, an-angel-in-hell, Fleury, obsessed4life
Chapter 9
In Attila's Camp
"Why did you want to meet me so urgently?" Fiona asked her fiancé, barely hiding her annoyance. After their first meetings she hadn't expected to see him for another few months, and now here he was again…
They were sitting under a beech tree, behind a thick wall of shrubbery, hidden from possibly curious Mud Man eyes.
Alexius tentatively reached out and took her hand, then heaved a sigh. "I had to see you and… tell you to be careful."
"Careful?" She arched a reddish eyebrow at him. She was surprised enough by the fact that she didn't find his holding her hand unpleasant, and now this serious tone he's talking to her in…
"Yes, Fiona. You need to take care, because…"
She thought she was almost enjoying his embarrassment. If she looked more carefully, she had to admit that embarrassment made his features look downright cute. Not that that made her want to marry him, not in the least… she loved Attila. Attila and no one else. Even if that love was forbidden and impossible. The Hun king would never love her back, she knew that well. She had been friends with him for over ten years now, and he had never ever shown any signs that he might have romantic feelings for her. On the contrary. One year after they met, Attila married a German princess called Krimhilda. Not long ago he'd lost his first wife Réka, and now he was about to get married again, to some princess from Bactria, a girl so young that she could easily be his daughter… Sighing inwardly, Fiona willed herself to take her mind off Attila and listen to Alexius. "Because of what?" she asked challengingly.
"Because my relatives don't like you," came the young elf's simple reply.
"They don't like me?" She frowned.
Her fiancé nodded. "My cousin Rufus is against me marrying you. I bet his parents are of the same opinion. They think you're too… liberal-minded to fit into the family."
"Too liberal-minded?" she echoed his words. "You mean, they think I'm a traitorous bitch for consorting with the Mud People."
Alexius took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage to reply, and finally nodded. "Exactly. And that's why you need to be careful. They will try to thwart this marriage, even by… by…"
"…killing me?"
"I wouldn't put it past Rufus," the male elf said darkly. "They are so proud of the family name, they don't want to have someone soil it…"
"And do you?" Fiona asked sharply.
Alexius tightened his grip on her hand. "I don't mind what they say. I don't mind if people find out that you are friends with Mud Men… I don't give a damn about the whole thing, I just want to marry you."
"Even if your family's pride gets ruined because of me? Even if the rest of your family turns on you?"
"Yes."
"But why?" she sighed. "Why, Alexius?"
"Don't you understand? I love you, Fiona."
The girl ripped her hand out of his and jumped up from the grass. "Love me? You're telling me you love me? Holy Frond, Alexius, how can you love me when you don't even know me?"
"I fell in love with you the first time I saw you…" he whispered, also rising to his feet.
A sarcastic grimace spread on her face. "Love at first sight? Hah. Don't make me laugh! You fell for a pretty face, nothing else! You don't know what I'm like, you don't know my temper, for all you know, I could make our married life a living hell!"
"Then give me time to get to know you," he replied gently. "True, I fell for your beauty, but I'd like to get to know the inner Fiona as well. Give me a chance."
"And what if you don't like the inner Fiona?" she asked, looking direct into his eyes.
"Then I'll force myself to fall out of love with her and let her go," he said.
She had to admit that she couldn't see anything but sincerity in his eyes. Those murky brown eyes were radiating warmth and gentleness and a longing to get to know her better. Why not give him the chance? Especially now that Attila's about to get married – again?
For a second Fiona felt a hypocrite. She'd been accusing Alexius for having fallen for her pretty face, but if she thought back, she remembered that she'd done the same. Seeing Attila once was enough for her to fall in love with him, before she even knew what kind of a person he was. Did she have a right to condemn this fairy then? No.
"All right then, Alexius. Let's try to get to know each other better."
A grateful smile appeared on his face. "Thank you, Fiona. I'll do everything in my power not to disappoint you. And please, take care of yourself."
o o o O O O o o o
Artemis held his breath as the Huns burst into the clearing and noticed them. What was next? Would the Huns kill them without asking anything? Were the Huns aiming for them at all?
His unspoken questions got answered as one of the horsemen held out his hand to stop the others and galloped over to the travellers alone.
"You look terrified," he said with a concerned expression. "I hope none of you got injured in our little game…"
"Game?" Patrick echoed the Hun's words.
"Yes, game." The horseman, who seemed to be around Artemis' age, shrugged. "My little brother Aladár and I were competing with our friends. You know, that 'who-can-shoot-his-arrow-further' sort of game." He looked around, searching for the arrows. Some of them were embedded into the bark of nearby trees, some were half-hidden in bushes. One thing that they had in common was that the feathers at their ends were painted in bright colours, clearly to help the archers find their own arrows once they'd shot them. "There, that's mine." The horseman pointed at an arrow with red fletch. "Yours went quite far too, Aladár," he said, turning to a boy one or two years older than Patrick. "Not a bad shot for someone your age."
"Of course not," Aladár replied haughtily, spurring his horse to join his brother's. "I am Attila's son too, remember?"
"Of course, of course," his brother laughed, gently patting the youngster on the head (which the youngster took with a rather resentful expression), then he turned back to Artemis, Patrick and Mulch. "I'm sorry if we scared you; we just love shooting, even if we don't exactly see where we're shooting," he said with a wink. "I'm Csaba, by the way, Attila's eldest son. Who are you and what are you doing in our land?"
Artemis shot Patrick a meaningful glance, and Patrick immediately bent slightly and produced a few fake coughs.
"My name is Artemis Faulus," Artemis told the Hun prince, "and this is my little brother Patricius. Oh, and that's our servant, Mulcius," he added with slight contempt in his voice, not even glancing at the dwarf. "We're coming from Britannia-"
"Britannia? Where's that?" Aladár interjected.
"Don't tell me you don't know where Britannia is," Patrick said in his usual know-it-all voice, then he suddenly realised he was supposed to be playing the invalid, and quickly coughed. "So… sorry… I just thought…"
"He just thought everyone knew where Britannia was," Artemis cut in. "Don't be mad at him please, he just thinks he's cleverer than the rest and loves to show off. As for Britannia, it's a big island, far to the west, near the coast of Gallia. You know where Gallia is…?"
"I've heard about it." Csaba nodded, but judging by Aladár's expression, he had never heard of it. "And what brings you here from the far Britannia, Artemis Faulus?"
"I and my little brother were en route to Thracia, where my bride-to-be is awaiting me to take her back to my homeland. However, a week ago a troop of Roman deserters attacked us and took our horses… it was a wonder they didn't take our lives as well… We have been travelling by foot ever since, but Patricius has fallen ill and I don't think we could continue our journey without a few days of rest…"
"Never worry, Artemis Faulus, you can get accommodation and food in my father's camp," Csaba said benignly. "I'm inviting you to the wedding as well."
"What wedding?" Artemis asked with a surprised expression, pretending he didn't know Attila was supposed to die on his wedding night…
"My father, King of the Huns is going to marry fair Mikolt in six days," Csaba announced brightly.
"Don't pretend you're actually happy about it," Aladár commented with a sour expression.
"It's only you who's mad about it," Csaba said, "you, and your mother… I bet she filled your head with Mikolt-hating stories already…"
"You're just jealous because my mother's still alive while yours isn't!" Aladár snapped.
Csaba stiffened and his face darkened. Seeing his dark expression, his young brother cringed. "Sorry, I didn't mean it…"
"I know you didn't," Csaba sighed. "And I know it's not easy for you to see Father marrying someone when he already has your mother for a wife. Believe me, I felt the same when Father married your mother: I knew it must be horrible for my mother, and I felt with her. Now I feel with Krimhilda. But chin up, little brother, your mother will always be regarded as the queen of the Huns, no matter how many wives Father takes in the future."
"I truly hope so," Aladár said defiantly. "And I hope this Mikolt is the last wife he takes."
Your wish shall be granted, Artemis thought, feeling a slight twinge at his heart that he identified as pangs of remorse. He, his son and Mulch knew that Attila was to die in a few days, but they couldn't tell anyone, because that would mean interfering with the course of events, and they weren't here to change history. If they accidentally changed something, it would result in a catastrophe, Artemis was aware of that.
"For once I agree with you, little brother." Csaba patted Aladár on the shoulder and turned back to Artemis. "If your brother's too tired to continue walking, he can sit behind me."
"On your horse, sir?" Patrick gaped.
"Obviously." Csaba smiled and bent down, holding out his hand for Patrick to take. The boy glanced at his father, and Artemis nodded his consent, so Patrick took the Hun prince's hand and got lifted into the saddle.
"Will you walk behind us, Artemis Faulus, or would you like to ride with Aladár or one of our men?"
A look of horror flashed across the Irishman's face at the prospect of riding a horse, even if only being a pillion passenger. "No, thank you, I shall walk."
Ignoring Mulch's half-stifled chuckles, Artemis followed the Huns who tried to gallop slow enough so that he and the dwarf could keep up.
o o o O O O o o o
Arriving into the Huns' camp, Artemis suddenly had the feeling that he'd entered the camp of some travelling circus. There were tents in all colours and all sizes as long as the eye could see; warriors in richly embroidered clothes riding horses or leading them by the reins; a man teaching a group of male children how to use a sword; female children helping their mothers carry the laundry; and endless sea of people – and not only Huns. Artemis spotted a few men who wore garments after the Byzantine fashion and also some he suspected to be German or Visigoth, judging by their pale complexions.
As they reached the imaginary centre of the camp, the Irishman saw the biggest tent ever towering over them. It was enormous, bigger than any circus tent he had ever seen – 'king sized' was the best expression he could have used to describe it with. And after all, it did belong to a king. The king of the Huns.
Before the tent Csaba dismounted his horse and helped Patrick off the saddle.
"You can come in with me, Artemis Faulus, I'm going to introduce you to my father," Csaba said. "But I have to warn you that it might not go quick… it's audience day, and father's having loads of guests and underlings visiting this day. You'll have to wait for your turn. Until then Aladár can show your brother your accommodation and the boy can lie down if he's not feeling well. Aladár," he turned to his young brother, "take Patricius Faulus to the empty tent on the northern end of the camp."
"The blue one?" the younger prince asked.
"Exactly."
With a sour expression Aladár nodded. Anyone could see that he didn't like being ordered around by his brother and that he wasn't charmed by the idea of giving the grand tour to this snot-nosed 'Brit'. His lips pressed firmly together, the young prince helped Patrick into the saddle behind him, then spurred his horse and rode in the northern direction.
Artemis watched Aladár take his son away, and for a second he felt worry clench at his heart. Had he done the right thing in bringing the boy here? What would Holly say if something happened to her little son? At the thought of Holly he felt a lump rise in his throat. If they didn't manage to accomplish their plans, he might never see her again, and then she wouldn't have a chance to be mad at him for taking their son on this possibly dangerous mission. He swallowed to make the lump disappear. They had come back in time and they had entered the camp of Huns. Alea yachta est. The dice had been cast. Taking a deep breath, he followed Prince Csaba into Attila's royal tent.
o o o O O O o o o
"Are you really sick?" Aladár asked Patrick as he dismounted his steed before a tent made of some dark blue material.
"Yes, why are you asking?" Patrick said as he carefully slid off the horse.
The young prince shrugged. "If we were in the Pilis, you could drink from the Well of the Fairy Lady… or not. I keep forgetting that the well dried out last year. Too bad."
"Why, what is it like? I mean, what was it like? And what's Pilis?"
"Pilis is a mountain range in the north," Aladár replied in a voice that suggested 'every-idiot-should-know-this'. "Father used to take me and Csaba hunting there. He loves that place for some reason…" Aladár entered the tent, followed by Patrick. "There was this well with magic healing powers. It was said to have the power to restore health and abilities and… well, possibly anything. Warriors who got injured in battles drank from the well's water and were healthy in an instant. Women who couldn't bear children drank from it and soon got pregnant. Seer of Stars – our greatest shaman - told me a legend about another shaman who'd lost his Sight and then drank from the well and he got his Sight back. Weird, huh?"
"Yeah, weird," Patrick agreed. "Nice tent, by the way. Looks really comfortable, thank you."
"Don't thank me, thank Csaba." Aladár waved irritably.
Patrick had the feeling that the other boy had some serious inferiority complex and hated living in his older brother's shadow.
"Anyway, he could have given you a nicer tent," the prince carried on with a belittling expression, "there are loads of vacant tents closer to the centre of the camp, but no, he had to choose the one that is possibly the farthest from the centre… well, only the fairy's tent is further to the north…"
"The fairy's tent?" Patrick gasped.
"Yeah." Aladár shrugged. "That one." He pointed at a tent made of dark green material, only fifty feet to the left.
"I see… but… a fairy? What the heck?" Patrick pressed. He wanted to know everything he could find out from the Hun prince.
"I don't know what 'heck' is. Anyway, no idea if she's a fairy for real or not," Aladár said in a slightly sarcastic voice. "Some say she is, some say she isn't. She's a weird little creature for sure. Has those funny pointy ears… Her name's Fiona, by the way."
"Fiona? Nice name." Patrick sat down and produced a few fake coughs. "I think I need to rest now. Thank you for taking me here, Aladár."
"To you I'm Prince Aladár," the other boy said and marched out of the tent.
Rolling his eyes, Patrick stretched on the cot. It was so pathetic when a child so young tried to look so important… But haven't you done the same? – his Short-self asked him.
Eh, no. I wasn't trying to look important… I am important, his Fowl-self replied to himself, and with a satisfied grin, he closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep.
o o o O O O o o o
Attila's gigantic tent looked just as pompous on the inside as it had on the outside. Its burgundy hangings were held together by golden sheets and its pure gold pillars were covered with precious stones.
Csaba had been right to say that Artemis would have to wait a 'bit' before he could talk to Attila in person, as the tent was teeming with people of all ranks and origins. Most of them were standing in the queue, waiting for their turn, but some of them were sitting on thick, colourful carpets, facing the huge, carved wooden chair in which the king sat.
To Artemis's surprise, the 'throne' seemed quite out of place, compared to the rest of the glamorous tent – it had no golden décor, no gems, nothing whatsoever – not even a squashy cushion for Attila to sit on. It seemed as Spartan as it could be, and Artemis couldn't imagine it to be very comfortable. However, the Hun king didn't show any signs of feeling uncomfortable and despite his simple clothing, he looked as regal as one could be.
Hour after hour passed and Artemis started to become impatient, not to mention that standing at the same spot for a long time always gave him a backache. Mulch, next to him, kept fidgeting and Artemis could see the dwarf's desire to nick a few things from the people around. "Don't – touch – anything," the Irishman murmured to his kleptomaniac companion every ten minutes.
Finally their wait was over, and Csaba, who'd been standing next to his father's throne since their arrival, beckoned to Artemis to come forward.
"Stay behind me," young Fowl told Mulch as quietly as possible and walked down the red carpet towards the throne.
With every step he took he felt more and more amazed by the leader of the Huns. From where he had stood for hours he hadn't seen much of Attila, but now he had a chance to make thorough observations.
The man sitting on the throne seemed to be in his thirties, although Artemis suspected that he could rather be in his early forties – after all, Csaba was around twenty five, and it wasn't too likely that Attila had had a child at the age of fourteen like him… The king's youthful face was framed by a black beard and black hair that hang over his shoulders in braids, adorned by several tiny pearls. Those pearls were the only part of his appearance that gave him the air of a king, as the rest of his attire seemed far from royal. He wore dark blue velvet robes devoid of any jewels or embroidery. He looked elegant, but had he not been sitting on the throne, Artemis would have easily mistaken him for a nobleman of a lower rank. During his wait Artemis had seen several Huns and non-Huns wearing more pompous clothes than the king himself.
About five feet from the throne, the Irishman stopped and bowed. Upon straightening his back again, his glance fell upon a sword hanging from Attila's belt. He had seen many wonderful weapons in museums, but none that rivalled this one.
Attila returned his greeting with a friendly nod. "Welcome, Artemis Faulus. My son says you're coming from the far Britannia…"
"Indeed, your majesty," Artemis replied. "I, my little brother Patricius, and our servant Mulcius had been en route to Thracia when a group of Romans attacked us, not far from the borders of your kingdom. They stole our horses and our valuable possessions… barely left us anything to keep going. My brother is rather sickly and the long walk and malnourishment took their toll on him. Your son has gracefully placed a tent at our disposal and I expect Patricius is resting already. All I ask of you, great king, is to let us stay in your camp for a few days, a week at most, until my brother gathers enough strength to continue our journey."
"So be it," Attila said with a benign smile. "And while you're here, you can tell me about your home, Britannia. For example, right at tonight's party. You are invited to take part in the feast, and if your brother feels up to it, he can join too."
"And the servant?" Mulch grunted, but thankfully the king couldn't hear him, and Artemis, as inconspicuously as he could, stepped on the dwarf's foot to shut him up.
"Thank you for your kindness, your majesty."
Csaba waved to Artemis to move, signalling that his audience was over. He bowed and headed for the exit.
"The servant's not invited, eh?" Mulch huffed as they stepped out into the sunlight, blinking after the considerably darker inside of the tent.
"Servants are usually not invited to royal balls… or perhaps Attila just couldn't stand the stench of your sunscreen." Artemis shrugged. "And next time try not to mutter such things in the king's presence."
"And next time try not to tread on my foot, Mud Boy," the dwarf grunted.
"Sorry about that, I had no choice. You could easily have discredited me in front of the king."
"Ehm… yeah. Sorry," said the dwarf without really looking sorry. "So, what's next?"
"Next we find our tent and Patrick, then we can start searching for our mysterious fairy lady."
o o o O O O o o o
Cesare Cavalieri's Manor near Kilkenny, 15th July, 2016
Holly opened her eyes, feeling dizzy. Looking around she established that she was still in the room where that accursed Emese had imprisoned her. Suddenly she heard people talking outside the door.
What had happened? She tried to remember, but all she could recall was having felt giddy right after Emese had brought her her dinner, then… nothing.
I must have fainted, she decided. Stupid pregnancy symptoms!
"…and what if her husband doesn't get back in time?" someone – presumably one of the guards – asked outside the door.
"I'm giving Fowl a few more days," Emese's ice-cold voice replied. "He must have figured something out, otherwise he wouldn't have left for Hungary. He knows something, and I'm giving him the chance to share it with us. I'm going to send him an email, telling him that I'm aware of his departure and that he's getting three more days. After that…"
"What, milady?" the guard asked.
"After that he's going to get little presents from us… like, his wife's little finger in a jewellery box…" the woman said with a tone that suggested she was smiling. Holly could well imagine her cruel smile.
The fairy shuddered. Could that beast mean what she was saying? Losing her thumb in the Arctic had been bad enough, but then Artemis had been there to use his famous brains and reattach it… now Artemis was far away and his famous brains no longer worked as they used to…
"And until then?" another male voice – very likely that of the other guard – asked.
"Until then we keep our precious prisoner safe and sound," Emese replied. "I'll bring her smelling salts, that might bring her around."
Steps echoed on the corridor, signalling that the woman left.
Slowly, Holly sat up, rubbing her temples to clear her mind. Of one thing she was sure, no way would she let Emese or her gorillas chop any of her bodyparts off. But what could she do? Escape? Fat chance… Guards were standing on every corner around the building, she'd seen them when looking out the window…
But wait a minute! Guards were patrolling outside the building…
If she had a little luck, then only the door of her apartment was heavily guarded and the rest of the corridors were not teeming with these gorillas. If she managed to get to the front door, she might be able to escape… After all, if Emese had a little sense, she had commanded the gorillas to guard the backside of the building as Holly's room was situated there… No one would expect her to be bold enough to walk out the front door, would they? Now, if her theory was right, all she had to do was get past the two guards standing at her door…
Holly heaved a sigh. At her current state she couldn't stand a chance to fight two Butler-sized men and knock them out… She had to find another way. But there was no other way, only through the window…
She again heard steps that indicated Emese's arrival. Quickly she slumped back onto the bed, pretending to be unconscious. And once Emese had 'brought her around', she'd pretend to be extremely weak… no need to let the enemy know that she was fit enough for a breakout… Come to think of it, was she fit enough? She couldn't tell.
o o o O O O o o o
Attila's camp, 453 A.D.
"So, you're saying that our fairy is living in the neighbouring tent?" Artemis said incredulously.
"Exactly." His son nodded. "At least, that's what Aladár said. I mean, Prince Aladár…" He allowed himself a sarcastic grimace.
"I see you don't like him too much…" Artemis perceived. "Weird boy that's for sure."
"Weird? I'd say megalomaniac," Patrick replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if in a few years he'd be trying to kill his own brother for the throne…"
"As a matter of fact, he will be fighting Csaba for the throne. It's all over the history books. Aladár defeats Csaba but dies of his injuries. Csaba flees and one year after Attila's death the Hun Empire falls to pieces."
"But at least our little megalomaniac never gets to be king," Patrick commented with a satisfied look. "Not that I want him to die, but-"
"Would you look at that," Mulch said suddenly, beckoning to his companions. Father and son stepped to their tent's entrance to see what the dwarf was staring at so intently.
A tiny figure had just exited the dark green tent to the left and headed out of the camp. They couldn't see it well from this distance, but it was obvious enough that its hair was auburn, like that of most elves.
"If we manage to catch up with her now, we could talk to her," Artemis said.
"And what will we tell her?" Mulch frowned. "That we come from one thousand and five hundred years in the future?"
"Obviously not." Patrick shook his head. "First we have to start some conversation with her, about… something… anything… to gain her trust. Right, Dad?"
"Right." Artemis nodded. "Let's follow her and pretend that we were just sightseeing, exploring the surroundings of the camp or something…"
"As you wish, boss," Mulch replied exiting the tent, and almost ran into Prince Csaba.
"Ah, Artemis Faulus!" The prince waved, completely ignoring the 'servant'. "I've come for you to show you to the tent where the feast is going to take place."
"So early?" The Irishman blinked. "It's not even dark yet…"
"True, but my father instructed me to take you to the head table, and if you arrive any later, you might not get through the crowd to your reserved places."
"Reserved places?" Patrick gave his father an amused look.
"Exactly." Csaba nodded cheerfully. "You are to sit next to my father."
"Next to Attila?" Artemis gasped. "But… why? I mean, it's a great honour, but why would the king of Huns want us, poor travellers to sit next to him?"
"My father's curious." The prince shrugged. "He loves to hear stories about far away lands and unfamiliar customs. Come, follow me."
"Great," Patrick whispered to Artemis, "we have to make up all sorts of things about Britannia now. Or do you know everything about Britannia in the fifth century?"
"Hardly. A few things, of course, but by far not enough," young Fowl admitted. "Well, you're the brains of the family… be as creative as you can. I shall occasionally add a 'yeah' and an 'uhum'."
"That will be a big help." Patrick grimaced.
o o o O O O o o o
Upon entering the tent where the feast was to be held, Artemis established that this tent was almost as big as the one where Attila had had the audience. The tent was packed with long tables and the tables were covered with golden plates and goblets.
A few seats were occupied already, but the ones at the head table were still vacant.
As Csaba led Artemis and Patrick (Mulch lagging behind them) to the head table, a woman entered the tent through another 'door'. She had an immense amount of jewellery hanging from her neck, arms and woven into her light blonde hair.
"That's, my step mother, Krimhilda," Csaba whispered to Artemis.
"Aladár's mother?" Patrick asked. The prince nodded.
"Is she German?" Artemis wondered.
"Yeah, and therefore good friends with Detre… that man over there," Csaba said. Krimhilda was animatedly chatting with a man around fifty, fifty-five years. "He's German too, and sort of an advisor to Father."
"He has a shifty look about him," Patrick murmured.
"I don't like him either," Csaba admitted, stopping by the head table. "This is Father's place." He pointed at a chair slightly bigger than the rest. "You are to sit on his left, as Krimhilda's sitting on his right. Oh, and either send your jester out or tell him to stay away from the tables."
"Tell him to stay away from the tables," Mulch grunted as the prince left. "I'm beginning to dislike this servant role a lot, Arty."
"Sorry Mulch. You couldn't have passed for our uncle," Artemis said with an indulgent smile and took the seat reserved for him.
About an hour must have passed since they'd entered the tent and guests kept arriving in a swirl of colourful clothes and sparkling jewellery.
Krimhilda took her place two seats to Artemis's right and soon another young woman sat down on her right. Upon spotting the young woman, a sour expression spread on the queen's face, and that was enough for Artemis to assume that the newcomer was the king's bride-to-be. She had chestnut-coloured hair and huge, innocent brown eyes. She wore considerably less jewellery than Krimhilda and overall gave the impression of being a shy, withdrawn person.
One of the last to arrive was Attila himself. As he appeared in the entrance, everyone in the tent rose to their feet, so Artemis and Patrick followed suit.
The king walked up to his seat, waved at the guests, signalling that they may sit down, and took a place himself.
Artemis couldn't help noticing that while all tableware was gold, Attila alone had a wooden plate and wooden goblet.
The feast began, and the king immediately turned to his 'British' guests, asking them about their homeland, just as Csaba had predicted.
"…and well, there's Stonehenge, an enormous circle of stones… some say it had once been used as an observatory, but some say it was built by fairies…" Patrick forced a laugh as if thinking that the mere idea of the fairies' existence was ridiculous.
"What is an obser… observ…" Attila began as the final guest, a tiny girl, arrived, almost half an hour late. "Ah, Fiona's here." He waved at the late-comer and pointed at a vacant seat not far from his – obviously it had been reserved for her only.
The tiny female sent the king a radiant smile and took her seat.
"So, what's an obser-whatsis?" Attila asked again, but neither of his British guests was listening – they were staring at Fiona with their mouths agape.
"What?" Artemis shuddered, taking his eyes off the fairy and forcing himself to concentrate on the king. "Oh. Observatory. That's a place from where you can watch the stars."
"Then the whole world is an observatory, isn't it?" Attila smiled. "You can watch the stars from anywhere: from a hilltop, from a clearing, and even in the thickest forest you can catch a glimpse of a few stars through the foliage… I must admit I have a liking for watching them, especially the Route of Armies."
"The Route of Armies?" Patrick blinked.
"That long, white ribbon that stretches across the night sky," Attila explained.
"Oh, I see. In my home we call it the Milky Way," commented Artemis, his glance returning to the fairy who seemed to be enjoying her meal a lot.
"I see you have developed an interest in Fiona, Artemis Faulus," the king said with a knowing smile. "I'm not surprised, she has that effect on everyone. Simply charming girl, isn't she?"
"Yes, charming." Young Fowl nodded, his eyes never leaving the fairy's face. Those cherubic lips, those huge, hazel eyes…
He felt his son nudge him, and he reluctantly turned away from Fiona to focus his attention on the king once again.
"You have good taste, Artemis Faulus," Attila said, "you developed an interest in two of the prettiest things ever: Fiona and my sword." Seeing Artemis's shocked expression, he chuckled. "Yes, I noticed you staring at my sword at the reception, and I'm not blaming you for it, it's undoubtedly the finest sword ever made. A magic sword."
"Magic, your majesty?" Artemis raised an eyebrow at the king.
"Indeed." Attila smiled. "There is a legend saying that-"
"Oh, Attila, don't start that again," Krimhilda's indignant voice spoke up. "Everyone's heard that story a hundred times already!"
"But I haven't," Artemis said, "and I'm curious. You too, aren't you, Patricius?"
"Yes, brother." Patrick nodded eagerly. "I'm all ears, your majesty."
"So…" The king drew himself up with a smug smile. He had told this tale to various guests approximately fifty times already, but he never got bored of it (only his usual table partners did). "So, there's a legend saying that Lord of Wars once made a magic sword. The one who would bear this sword would conquer the world. One night, in my dream, I had a vision that showed me wielding this sword. The same day a little shepherd boy came to me and told me a wondrous story. He had noticed that one of his heifers had injured its leg. He followed the blood traces back to an eglantine bush where he saw a piece of iron standing out of the ground. He decided to pull the metal out of the ground so that it wouldn't injure any other animal's legs. As he touched the metal, it suddenly spread purple flames and started to emerge from the ground, sparkling in the sunshine. It was the sword that was destined to be mine – The Sword of God." Attila gently patted the sword hanging from his belt. "It has served me well so far. This wonderful piece of iron and me have been invincible ever since."
"That is wonderful," Artemis said, trying to look as amazed as possible – even though he would rather have watched the fairy at the neighbouring table.
Noticing his father's stolen glances at Fiona, Patrick decided to take things into his hand. That is to say, he faked an almost-faint.
"Patrick…sius!" Artemis gasped as his son's head slumped over the table. "Oh, I'm incredibly sorry, your majesty, apparently my little brother hasn't yet gathered enough strength, he needs to rest more… if you don't mind, I'd take him back to our tent now."
"Do so, Artemis Faulus." Attila nodded. "I shall send one of my shamans over to your place to see what he can do for the boy."
"Ooooh, no, not necessary." the Irishman shook his head as he scooped Patrick's body up. "He's just tired, all he needs is a good rest…"
"As you wish." The king shrugged. "But never hesitate to tell me if you need the shaman's help. Or mine."
"I won't." Artemis bowed slightly, as much as he could with his son in his arms. "Mulcius, come on, help me!"
Mulch, who had been sitting on the ground behind Artemis, hopped up and pretended to help carry the child.
As soon as they were out of the tent, Patrick opened his eyes. "You can put me down now."
"Glad to hear," Artemis grunted, sweating profusely despite the relative coolness of the April night. He wasn't used to carrying forty kilos. "And now tell me, what was this show good for?"
"I thought it was obvious," Patrick replied in a 'know-it-all' voice. "I freed you from Attila and now we can go back to the tent, wait for Fiona and talk to her. We could pretend to be stargazing or something and as she arrives, greet her and tell her we saw her at the party and since we're neighbours…"
"I know, I know." Artemis waved irritably. "Smalltalk, all right. Let's just hope that she isn't staying at the feast all night… I'm sleepy."
"So am I…" Mulch yawned, then suddenly stiffened. Something glinted among the bushes. Something that looked like moonlight reflecting off metal. The dwarf nudged Artemis and pointed at the bush. The glinting thing had disappeared.
"What?" Artemis strained his eyes but couldn't see anything.
"I'd say someone's hiding there. With a piece of metal. Possibly something sharp."
"An assassin?" Patrick whispered, suddenly feeling adrenaline rush through his veins.
"Dunno." Mulch shrugged. "I might have been imagining things…"
"Do you think that the assassin noticed us?" Patrick asked, entering the tent, followed by the others.
"He must have," Artemis said. "But he mustn't know that we spotted him."
"Who do you think he's trying to kill?" Patrick gulped. "Us or…"
"Fiona?" Artemis finished the boy's sentence. "Don't know, Son. But we can't possibly have enemies here… yet. We just arrived."
"That sounds logical." The little genius nodded. "But why would anyone want to kill that fairy?"
Artemis shook his head. "No idea… but one thing's sure: we can't let that happen."
"Isn't that meddling with time, Arty?" Mulch asked, munching on something that looked a horribly lot like a handful of worms.
Not wanting to know where and when the dwarf had collected those worms, Artemis peeked through a thin slit on the hangings that functioned as the door of the tent. "I don't think so, Mulch. After all, according to the kidnapper, this fairy had witnessed Attila's funeral. So obviously she must have survived…"
"…and saving her life would be the beginning of a wonderful friendship, not to mention that she'd immediately trust us," Mulch concluded. "Right, let's do it."
"Do what exactly?" Patrick whispered. "Do you have a plan, Dad?"
"No. For the time being we stay here, pretend to have gone to sleep, and keep a lookout."
"Ooookay…" the boy sighed.
"Patrick?…"
"Yes?"
"About Fiona…"
"Yes?"
"Did you notice…?"
"What?" The boy deliberately looked away, even though his father couldn't have properly seen his features in the dark. Of course he knew what Artemis was hinting at…
"…That she looks a lot like…"
"Shhh!" Mulch hushed them, waving to signal that something was happening outside. All three of them peeked through the slit, holding their breaths.
The moon illuminated the clearing enough for them to see a tiny girl with long, flowing red hair walk deliberately towards the adjacent tent. She seemed deep in thought, her eyes fixed on the ground as she walked, not noticing anything of her surroundings. And that was what the assassin decided to use against her.
The bush shuddered as he crept out of it, towards the fairy who had almost entered her tent, her back turned on him.
It was now or never.
Artemis, Mulch and Patrick lunged forward.
Hearing a thump and a muffled yell, the fairy swirled around, her huge hazel eyes widening in surprise as she spotted Attila's 'British' guests in a very undignified, moaning heap just a few feet from the entrance of her tent.
"Don't worry, Lady, we got him," the elder of the two young men got off the others, swiping his clothes with a suffering expression (as much as Fiona could tell in the semi-darkness).
"Who?" She frowned.
"This tiny guy who wanted to kill you, Lady," the shortest of the Brits grunted, pointing at something beneath him. To Fiona, he looked pretty much like a fairy dwarf… how strange.
"Kill me?" she breathed. "What are you talking about?"
"Ask him," the youngest one suggested, helping the 'dwarf' to keep the assassin on the ground.
Though somewhat hesitantly, not being able to decide whom to trust and whom to believe, Fiona approached them. At a closer look she could immediately tell that the person pressed to the ground was a fairy. A gnome, to be exact. But what was a gnome doing here? And why would he want to kill her? Then it dawned on her. Be careful, Fiona – Alexius's words echoed in her mind.
"Who are you?" she demanded from the gnome.
The gnome moaned and shook his head.
"Talk," the elder of the Brits said, holding the gnome's own dagger at his throat. "Speak or die."
"Sp… speak…" the subdued fairy muttered, his eyes focused on the sharp point of the dagger. "I was… I was just doing my job. I was… hi...hired."
"Told you, a petty assassin," the young boy said.
"Who hired you?" his brother hissed, still pointing the dagger at the gnome's throat.
"Dunno… honestly… my bosses never tell me their full names…" the fairy whined.
"Then tell us anything you know about him. Describe his looks, for example."
"Well… an elf…" the assassin wheezed. "And… and there was another elf who called him Rufus… I know nothing more… Will you… will you release me now? Pleeeeease?"
The black-haired man shot Fiona a questioning glance, and she nodded. "Let him go. He won't dare come back," she sighed.
"And what shall I tell my boss now?" the gnome groaned.
"Nothing," the older brother said. "Don't tell him you failed… don't even let him see you. Hide. And most important of all: start a new life. Become a farmer or something."
"A farmer… yes. Certainly." The gnome trembled from head to toe as he got up. "Well, then…"
One second he was there, in the next one he disappeared.
"Well, that's settled, then." The younger of the two men said.
Settled? Fiona blinked. Weren't the black-haired man and his brother supposed to be surprised at seeing someone disappear into thin air just like that? That was more than strange…
"You need to be more careful in the future, Lady. That Rufus might send other assassins if he finds out this one failed," the dark-haired human said. "Perhaps ask for a guard from the king. He seems to be fond of you enough to provide you with one…"
"I can't let Attila know that someone's out there to kill me," she whispered. "No need to worry him. But thank you for saving me. How… how come you managed it… just in time?"
"Oh, we were just about to exit our tent to breath some fresh air when we saw you approaching and a dark figure approaching you," the red-headed child answered. "The little bloke seemed to be carrying something sharp, so we thought it was dangerous and acted on instinct."
"Yes… my leg still aches," his brother agreed, massaging his left shin. In the process of lunging at the assassin he must have hurt himself.
"By the way," the dwarf-look-a-like spoke up, "who's that Rufus who'd like to see you dead?"
"Rufus Short," Fiona sighed. "My fiancé's cousin. Not one of the Shorts want me in the family… not one but Alexius. Well, thank you once more…?"
"A…Artemis," the young man said, realising that she was expecting him to introduce himself. "Artemis Faulus. This is my brother Patricius, and our servant, Mulcius."
"Fiona." She stretched out her hand to shake his. "Fiona Springwater. Pleasure to meet you."
With a final, warm smile on her face, she disappeared into her tent, leaving Artemis dumbstruck outside.
"Short?" he whispered to Patrick.
The boy nodded mutely, heading for their tent. "You know, when… when I realised that Mum had lied to me about my parentage, I made a little family tree research…" At the entrance of their tent he stopped and turned around to look at his father. "There was one Alexius Short who married one Fiona Springwater. They had a son called Justus Short who married one Iris Winter, and they had one single daughter."
"Holly Short, I presume?" Artemis breathed.
"Right." Patrick nodded. "Fiona here is my great-grandmother."
o o o O O O o o o
A/N: I bet some of you have expected something like this… Review, please!