A/N: review responses sent out as usual. If you reviewed and didn't get my answer or don't see your name below, do tell me, please.
Also thanks to: Mistri, Tonks' Admirer, Mousewolf, Epsilon2Delta (I don't really like crossovers so won't write one), an-angel-in-hell, AnnieThePipster, QueenDragon, aperfectattitude, The OddBird, J. Dawnwolf, specklednewt, Rebel Rose, Anonymous, hello, Eclectus, refloc, artemisfowl12, ebtwisty9, SPG, Marissa the Scamp, Tritium, Fleury, Caryn, frenchpiment, Chibi Binasu-chan, the Thirteenth Councilor, Lii
Chapter 12
The Last Acorn
"I can't believe it." Wing-Commander Vinyáya shook her head. "I knew you to be always so level-headed, so considerate, so… loyal to the People and the LEP, and this whole Holly affair is just…"
"I know," Root sighed. "But I had no other choice but to encourage her to go to her Mud Boy."
"Why?" She looked at him questioningly.
A sad smile appeared on Root's face. "Because she loves him. And I wanted to see her happy. So simple. I know that I broke a dozen fairy rules and persuaded her to do the same, but… I felt I had to. Don't you understand it, Annie?"
His expression was so full of emotions: love for his 'would-be daughter' Holly, worry for her, and a silent apology to the People to whom he had lied for the past few months.
"Oh, I do, Julius." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Or at least, I'm trying to understand it. And I'm beginning to see you from a new angle."
"What new angle?" He raised a greyish eyebrow at her.
"Well… so far you've only been a commander… a strict, determined commander, but still just a commander who ordered people around according to what he saw fit. Now I see your softer side…"
"And…?" He gulped.
Her lips tucked into a smile. "I like it."
Julius felt his heart soar seeing her smile. "Do… do you? Er… good. I presume I can trust you to keep this a secret? The whole Holly business?"
"Of course you can," she said. "I still don't approve of it, but I can understand it. However… Holly being pregnant with Fowl's child… I can't help but feel disgusted… And it's dangerous too… That kid could turn out really bad with a mixture of elf and human genes…"
"Let's hope that it doesn't turn out any worse than Patrick…"
"Patrick?" Vinyáya sucked in her breath. "You don't mean he's… he's too…"
"Have I forgotten to mention that little detail?" Root scratched his head. "Possible… So yeah, Patrick too is Holly and Artemis's son."
Annie could only blink and gape like a fish.
"He was a breeding project… a fertilised egg developed in a womb-simulator. Fowl didn't even know about it before little Pat was kidnapped."
"So… so that's why Short asked the Mud Man to help her find the boy! Because he was the father! Well, that at least explains the boy's exceptional intellect…"
"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" Root smiled. "Let's just hope that the next little Fowl turns out just as wonderfully as our Patrick did."
Vinyáya nodded, but her face didn't reveal much confidence. "Lucky that Holly managed to escape from that Mud Man… Frond knows what he could have done to her and her unborn child! But I seriously don't like the idea of Fowl being back in time…" She shook her head with a contemplative look. "So many things could go wrong with time-travel…"
"That's the rub of it… something must have gone wrong already," Root replied. "Fowl was supposed to return to our time around the same time he'd left into the past, and that was around four p.m., yesterday. And there's still no news about him… I'm starting to be worried."
"I wish I could tell you something to cheer you up… At least Patrick's with him. Even if Fowl is no genius anymore, the boy still is. He won't do anything unreasonable, and won't let his father do anything of the sort either."
"Yes, but you forget that Mulch Diggums is with them too. And no power on or under earth can prevent that dwarf from doing something he wants to do."
Vinyáya made a grimace. "You know, now I'm starting to get worried too."
o o o O O O o o o
Attila's camp, 14th April, 453 A.D.
"You wished to speak to me alone." Attila motioned Artemis to sit down on the thick carpet before his throne. "Normally I don't send my guards and other people waiting for the audience out, but you made me curious with your special request. No one ever dared to ask me for a private audience…"
"Never, your majesty?" Artemis looked politely surprised. "Then I feel most honoured that you agreed to receive me alone."
"Don't feel honoured, I just did it out of curiosity… and to annoy the envoys of the Roman Emperor," Attila replied with a wink. "Let them wait a bit. Or… a lot."
Artemis couldn't hide a grin – he was beginning to like the Hun king. Attila was as different from the standard royalty as possible: not only did he wear simple clothes and ate from wooden plates but he had a sense of humour as well. It almost shocked Artemis that he liked someone with a sense of humour. He had never been the type to appreciate funny people and their stupid jokes. Maybe he was changing too, not only his son…
"Well, then, let me hear your problem, Artemis Faulus."
The young Irishman took a deep breath. "It's about the fighting festivity to be held in two days, your majesty."
"Oh. Do you wish to take part?"
"Not really, but I have to…"
"Have to?" Attila arched a black eyebrow at him. "There's no such thing as 'have to', at least not at this festivity. Everyone takes part of their own free will."
"Let me explain it, then…" And Artemis shortly summarised Patrick's deeds to the king. "So, you see, my little brother got me into a bit of… or rather a lot of trouble."
"I don't see why it would be a lot of trouble for you to participate in the fights. It's just a game till first blood, not a fight till death…"
"I suppose that should be very reassuring… but it isn't," Artemis muttered. "Your majesty… I wouldn't mind fighting if I knew how to… defend myself." He gazed at the carpet, feeling embarrassed – rare thing for a Fowl! The Hun king surely regarded a man who couldn't fight as a useless, worth-nothing person. Slowly, he looked up to meet Attila's gaze. "In our country not every young boy is trained to fight. Actually… I was meant to become a priest, so got an ecclesiastical upbringing. The monks didn't teach me how to use a sabre or how to shoot an arrow. Well, I learnt the latter on my own, but… I still cannot duel."
"And how come you're about to marry a Thracian woman now, if you were meant to be a priest?" Attila asked, his expression radiating extreme interest.
Artemis was more than relieved to see that the king didn't look at him as though he were a stinkworm, so, feeling encouraged, he carried on with his tale. "My older brother, the firstborn, was trained to be a fighter while I was taught to be become a priest. My priest training was almost over when my older brother died. He was to inherit the family fortune and marry Honoria of Thracia… but with his death, I became the heir. So I had to leave the cloister before I would have been ordained a priest, and I will have to marry my late brother's fiancée. That's the story, your majesty."
"I see." Attila nodded. "But I still don't understand what I can do for you."
"I'd like to be trained. I still have two days before that festivity."
The king gave him an amused look. "Do you think you could learn to fight in two days? Your opponent, whoever it might be-"
"It's someone called Keve…"
"Keve, eh? Well, sorry to disappoint you, Artemis Faulus, but Keve is one of our best warriors. He has been trained since he was three, like most Hun boys. Against him you don't stand a chance."
"I know I don't… I mean, I know I couldn't defeat him, it's against all the rules of logic… All I would like to know is how to defend myself enough to stay alive. Even if the fight is only till first blood, I might get unfortunate enough that my first wound is lethal…"
Attila seemed to be thinking for a moment. "All right, Artemis Faulus. Come with me."
He rose from the throne, and the Irishman stood up from the carpet and followed him out of the tent.
"Your majesty?" a seemingly high-born Hun asked at the tent's 'door', "what about the audience?"
"Cancelled for today," the king replied.
"But… but… your majesty! There are still seventeen noblemen waiting, not to mention the envoys of the Emperor!"
"Tell them to come back tomorrow," Attila said. "This way, Artemis Faulus."
o o o O O O o o o
The pension near Dublin, eight a.m., 16th July, 2016
Holly awoke to be gently shaken by someone. "Hey, wakie-wakie, princess!"
Holly rubbed her eyes, yawned and saw three pairs of eyes looking down at her. She tried to arrange her thoughts to form a more or less coherent pattern in her mind, and suddenly remembered who these people were. Of course, the Irish Star Wars fans… She remembered having contacted Foaly, then having climbed upstairs around two in the morning and having lied down somewhere in the darkness. Now that she looked around, that 'somewhere' she had laid down on turned out to be a heap of crumpled Jedi robes on the carpet. Well, it had felt soft and comfortable enough as she had felt around in the darkness and she hadn't wanted to wake the three friends by turning on the lights. But now the robes were all crumpled.
"Uh… sorry 'bout ruining your robes," she said, picking the soft, maroon material off the ground and holding it out for Doug. "Perhaps I could ask the owner if he had an iron or something…"
"Ah, forget about it." Doug waved. "Sitting in the car would wrinkle it anyway…"
"Shall we go downstairs to have breakfast, boys?" Jerry suggested. "Holly can wash up until then and we'll pick up a few slices of bread for her too. By the way, where do you intend to go from here, Holly?"
"That's a really good question," she replied. "Would you mind if I joined you at the Star Wars fans meeting? I like those movies too…" And I can't go home, Foaly told me that even Root agreed I shouldn't go home as long as Artemis's away… "I have nothing better to do right now."
"Great!" Nate clasped his hands. "But I think you should get something more appropriate to wear…"
"Oh yeah…" Holly glanced down at her torn, wrinkly wedding dress that barely resembled a wedding dress anymore, then glanced at the clock on the wall. "Problem is, I don't have any money on me. And even if I did, I doubt that any clothes shops were open at eight o'clock… They usually open at ten."
"No worries about that, dear." Doug smiled at her brightly. "I happen to have spare robes in the car's boot. You could pass for a random Jedi."
"Mara Jade, I'm telling you," Nate said, grinning.
"When are you going to give up on Mara, eh?" Jerry shook his head. "As Han Solo, you should be interested in Leia instead…"
"I'll bring you the robes, then," Doug cut in to stop any possible 'who's the hottest SW female' debates. "And you guys go, fetch breakfast!"
Jerry nodded, pulling Nate out the door. Before the door closed, Holly could hear Nate say 'Mara's still the hottest, you know!'.
Chuckling, she walked into the bathroom. No doubt, her new friends were a bunch of madmen… but amusing madmen, to say the least.
o o o O O O o o o
Attila's camp, 14th April, 453 A.D.
Patrick sat among a bunch of Hun children and younger adults and watched as the greatest Hun shaman, Seer of Stars chanted something while beating his drum. Wisps of smoke rose from a cauldron at his side, and he seemed to be in a deep stupor.
A stag-shaped wisp rose from the cauldron, followed by another one that formed two warriors on horses. The horsemen began to chase the stag.
Some children squealed with delight and applauded. Such shows must have been like rare television broadcasts for them, Patrick thought.
"What's this supposed to be?" he whispered to Irnik who sat next to him, and tried to ignore the fact that Csenge was sitting on his other side.
"It's a legend about Hunor and Magor," Irnik replied as quietly as possible. "They were the sons of Nimrod and they began chasing a stag that led them to a wonderful land. Hunor is the ancestor of the Huns, and Magor is the ancestor of the Hungarians."
"Oh, I see." Patrick nodded. So perhaps it was true that the Hungarians were related to the Huns… Since he had the gift of languages like all the fairies, Patrick knew that the Hungarians called themselves 'magyar' in Hungarian. The word 'magyar' must have come from the name of their legendary ancestor, Magor.
After a few minutes, Seer of Stars came out of his stupor and the wisps of smoke disappeared. Some of the younger children gave out disappointed groans, just like modern-time kids when their parents turn off their television and send them off to bed.
"That was nice, shaman, but why not predict something for us, eh?" Aladár spoke up in his usual sharp, demanding tone.
Many of the children and even some of the younger men cheered at the idea.
"For whom shall I predict something?" the shaman asked.
Before Aladár could have opened his mouth to request a prophecy for himself, his brother Csaba said 'Me'.
Patrick hadn't even noticed the older prince in the crowd and was now surprised to see him – but pleasantly surprised. At least Aladár didn't get what he wanted.
Now that he looked around more carefully, Patrick spotted Aladár's mother Krimhilda among a bunch of handmaidens, standing as far from the shaman as possible, but still listening to his every word.
"Well, then, noble prince…" Seer of Stars began a new chant and started beating his drum at an even quicker rhythm than before. It took several minutes before anything happened and the crowd was getting impatient when the shaman finally spoke up in a sing-song voice. "I see… I see… Prince Csaba is stronger than any men in this camp, save his father… He can't be hurt by a mere sword, nor an arrow or a dagger… Only a magical weapon can defeat him… Strong he is… very strong…"
Patrick, along with everyone around, glanced at Csaba, who seemed to be half-proud, half-embarrassed by the shaman's words.
Suddenly the crowd parted to let Attila to his eldest son. To Patrick's surprise, Artemis was walking in the king's wake. At the sight of his father, a new wave of guilt washed over the boy. He had merely agreed to come with Irnik to this little 'show' to forget about Artemis's ire, but now he couldn't not think of it.
Artemis didn't seem to notice his son among the other children – even if the redhead shone out of the sea of black hair. Patrick half-expected to see his father angry or sad, but Artemis seemed to be neither. He rather looked like a person full of anticipation.
Irnik shot his new friend a questioning glance, but Patrick only shrugged, not having the slightest idea what was happening. They watched as Attila and Csaba exchanged a few words, then the prince left with his father and Artemis.
"What was that about?" Irnik wondered.
o o o O O O o o o
The motorway between Dublin and Drogheda, ten a.m., 16th July, 2016
After Holly had got into the car with the three friends, she tried to take part in their conversation as much as possible, but since all Doug, Nate and Jerry could talk about was the designs of the Nubian spaceship whose hyperdrive was malfunctioning or the special TIE fighter Vader had flown in the battle of Yavin, Holly soon gave up on trying to add her two pennies.
It seemed that after a while, even the trio got bored of analysing the manoeuvrability of the All Terrain Armoured Transports and began listening to a CD. To Holly's not so big surprise, it turned out to be the soundtrack of Star Wars – A New Hope. She had to admit that she actually liked that soundtrack. The binary sunset theme lulled her into a sleep (she hadn't got much of sleep over the night) and only the Yavin throne room celebration's theme woke her up with its fanfares. However, she decided to pretend that she was still in a half-slumber and watched the Irish countryside swish past them through half-closed eyelids. The greenness of the 'Emerald Isle' never ceased to amaze her, and even now she felt enraptured with its beauty. It was simple, more or less flat – barely a hill here or there – but it felt so peaceful, so unspoilt, so perfect…
A sleepy voice inside her head told her that perhaps a Lord of the Dance CD would fit the surroundings better than what her companions were listening to right now, but she was too tired to say it aloud.
Absentmindedly, she listened to the music and established that it was definitely not the Star Wars soundtrack anymore. But it had to have something to do with Star Wars, as the singer kept repeating the line 'Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi'.
"Like it, Holly?" Jerry grinned at her. "Weird Al Yancovitch's song. Anakin guy. My favourite!"
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Holly just smiled. "Nice," she muttered, letting herself sink back into a half-stupor and watch the emerald fields swoop by. Here and there she spotted a few villages, and once she thought she'd seen a bigger, dark-looking building that must have been some castle long abandoned by its owners.
"What've you got there?" Doug (who was driving now instead of Nate) glanced at the newspaper in Nate's hand.
"Just some stupid magazine I found in the glove compartment," Nate replied. "Clarissa must've forgotten it here about a week ago. You know, my girlfriend…"
"We know," Jerry snickered. "Just have many times has he mentioned he'd hooked up with this Clarissa, eh, Doug?"
"Dunno, once… or twice…"
"Twelve… or thirty times…" Jerry carried on.
Nate gave them a patronising stare. "You guys are so childish…"
No surprise here, Holly thought, suppressing the urge to grin. People who dressed up as Wookiees, Captain Solos and Jedi Knights couldn't be anything else but childish… Then again, aren't I wearing Jedi robes right now?
"Tell you what, I bet the only reason our Nate's drooling over Clarissa is that she resembles his imaginary Mara Jade," Doug said casually.
"Do you mean she doesn't have any other values?" Nate tried to look hurt, then a grin spread on his face. "Well, you're probably right, old buddy. No woman in their right mind would read such filth as this…" He showed the magazine to the others to see its title printed in huge, pink letters: The Rich and Famous, then opened it and began turning over the pages. "Why, listen to this… Prince Harry's secret liaison with Pamela Anderson is not a secret anymore. We've heard from a trustworthy source of information that… blah-blah-blah… rubbish, I'm telling you." He turned over a page, focusing his attention on an article on the right. "Or this: Michael Jackson…"
"Don't even continue," Jerry cut in.
Completely agree, Holly thought, glancing at the newspaper in Nate's hand.
Her blood froze.
Nate had started to read out the article on the right hand side and his eyes must have skipped over the one on the left that said: 'Wedding of the year: Multimillionaire Artemis Fowl…'
Holly didn't even read the full title, just stared at the picture under it: a photo of herself and Artemis standing in front of the altar, facing Father Brian. The photo showed her profile and wasn't the best one ever made of her, but it was recognisable enough.
She chose the only possible option. "I think I'm going to…" she whispered, dropping herself back into the seat as though she'd fainted.
"Holly!" All three friends turned to look at her at once.
"You mind the steering wheel, you idiot," Nate snapped at Doug and turned completely around in the passenger seat.
Jerry was already patting Holly's cheek, trying to make her come round.
"What…?" She opened her eyes as groggily as she could pretend.
"Whew, you got us all scared, girl," Nate heaved a sigh of relief.
"Sorry. Must be due to my pregnancy," she mumbled. "And it's too warm… don't you think?"
"Here." Nate began fanning her with the magazine, thankfully with the Michael Jackson article on the top. "Feel any better?"
"Thanks. I think I could do it myself…" Holly took the magazine from him and continued fanning herself, careful to hold it in a way so that the wedding article would be facing in her direction all the time.
That had been close. Not that she would have really minded if the trio found out who she was married to, but it was still better and safer this way. They didn't need to know she was the wife of a millionaire… Certainly they didn't seem the sort to kidnap anyone for ransom, but Holly had been kidnapped enough times in her life to be careful and not to trust anyone completely.
Now all she had to do was to wait for a particularly strong gust of wind, drop the magazine and pretend the wind had swept it out of her hand. And do all this with a radiant, innocent smile. No problem at all.
o o o O O O o o o
Krimhilda's tent, Attila's camp, 14th April, 453
"I could sing and dance for joy, Detre!" Queen Krimhilda hugged the astonished toady. "As if my greatest dream had come true! It's all perfect!"
"What is perfect, milady?" Detre asked, carefully disentangling himself from her embrace.
"Our plan! To get Csaba killed!"
"Is it?" The German looked confused.
"I've just heard wonderful news, my faithful servant!" The queen clasped her hands in delight. "Seer of Stars has given Csaba a prediction. He said that Csaba could only be destroyed by a magical weapon!"
"I don't see why this would give us any reason to feel happy, milady…"
"Ah, you ignorant fool!" She waved. "Can you think of a magical weapon?"
"Only of one, my queen, but… that belongs to your husband."
"Exactly." She nodded. "Csaba will be killed by the Sword of God."
"But… but… milady! Attila never parts with that sword, you know that! He never does!"
A sly smile spread on the woman's face. "He did it once… on our wedding night. I remember I told him that him coming near my bridal bed with a sword would scare me… and he was so sweet and asked Réka to take care of his beloved sword for the duration of the wedding night…"
Detre nodded. Of course, who else would Attila have entrusted the Sword of God with than his first wife Réka?
"All I have to do is convince little Mikolt to tell him the same," Krimhilda carried on. "She's the gullible sort, so that will be no problem. Attila would never want to scare an innocent virgin on their wedding night… And I will willingly volunteer to take care of the sword for that single night…"
"But… won't you be suspected of murder, then, my queen?" Detre furrowed his brow.
The woman rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I was taking good care of the precious sword, but someone evil came and stole it from me! They even knocked me out…" she said in a whiny voice. "I will pretend to be unconscious for a while, perhaps even smear a bit of blood on my scalp, let them believe I was attacked. And certainly I was out cold when Csaba was assassinated, so I'm above suspicion. And then…"
"And then?"
"And then the assassin is going to hide the sword in Artemis Faulus' tent. Once the dead body of the prince is found, everyone will remember the shaman's prophecy and there will be a search for the Sword. It will be found in the Brit's tent and there will be no way for them to talk themselves out of it. They will be executed, of course, and there will be no trouble. My Aladár will inherit the throne, and everyone will be happy. Like my plan?"
The German man smirked. "I do like it, milady. But what if more evidence is needed against the Fauluses? They could say anyone could have hidden that sword in their tent…"
The queen seemed contemplative for a minute. "That can be taken care of, quite easily. We'll say they're Roman spies… Roman assassins, actually. They might come from Britannia, but their names sound very Roman to me… for all we know, they could be spies. In their tent, we could hide a fake letter from the Roman Emperor or something… I could write that letter – I'm fluent in Latin and I can distort my handwriting enough so that no one would recognise it. Attila's receiving the emperor's envoys right now, and any of them could have brought Faulus-the-spy a letter with final instructions from the emperor on how to kill the prince…"
Detre couldn't help but smirk. "And they say women aren't fit to rule a country… My queen, you're cleverer than any man I've ever known."
"I know, my faithful Detre." Krimhilda beamed. "I know."
o o o O O O o o o
"Patricius?"
Patrick turned around to see Csenge staring at him. He had just wanted to leave the square where Seer of Stars had given Prince Csaba that particular prediction.
"Why don't you leave him alone, eh, sis?" Irnik snapped at the girl. "We are busy, you know!"
"Busy, oh, yeah." Csenge waved with a knowing expression. "You want to sneak after the king, the prince and Patricius's brother to find out what they are up to… am I right?"
"No, you're absolutely wrong, and now-"
Irnik couldn't finish his sentence, because Patrick clamped a hand over his friend's mouth. "Be nicer to your sister, okay?"
Irnik frowned, but nodded, so Patrick released him.
"Good. You wait for me by the Big Tent, and then we can go snooping around the royals, okay?" He sent the Hun boy the grin of a true accomplice.
"And why wait for you there? I could listen to whatever my sister wants to tell you," Irnik said defiantly.
Patrick made a grimace and Csenge shook her head.
"Why not?" Irnik questioned. "Whatever Patricius has to hear, I can hear too, can't I?"
"No," Csenge replied firmly. "Because it's about… your birthday present."
"My birthday? But that isn't for another two months!"
"And Patricius won't be around then, so I need to ask for his advice now," the girl said, her voice peremptory. "Leave now!"
Rolling his eyes, Irnik turned to leave. "But it better be a good present, you know…"
o o o O O O o o o
"I didn't know that giving birthday presents was a custom at this age… er, I mean, at Pannonia," Patrick quickly corrected himself.
"Oh well, not everybody gives their loved ones presents, but some do," the girl replied. "The Romans do it at least, so I heard. Some of the Huns adopted the custom out of snobbism. But of course we never do it as precisely as the Romans…"
"What do you mean by precise?"
"I heard that the Romans – or at least the rich Romans – know the exact day their child was born on. We don't, because we don't use that cal… cal… what's that called?"
"Calendar?" Patrick helped her out, not even noticing that she had already led him out of the square and they were walking in an alley between tents.
"Yeah, that one." She nodded. "We only know our birth dates by seasons and other events. Like, I was born when the first snow fell."
"November, then?"
"Dunno, what's November?" She smiled up on him innocently. That smile made his stomach do those funny flip-flops that it always did when she was around.
"Never mind."
"When were you born?" she asked.
"Around this time of the year," the boy replied. "Well, just a little earlier. My birthday was fifteen days ago."
"And how old are you exactly?"
Minus 1551, he thought, but aloud he only said "Twelve".
"Twelve already? And when are you going to get married?"
"What?" Patrick gasped and stopped in his stride.
"Some Hun boys get married at twelve already. I thought you in Britannia did too…" She shrugged.
"No," he replied, his cheeks glowing. Could Hun boys be developed so early to be able to fulfil their 'duties as a husband' at such a young age? Well, he knew that boys and girls at earlier ages developed quicker than in modern times because their life-expectancy was shorter too, but he still couldn't imagine anyone getting married at twelve. "We don't. People in my country marry much later."
"Like your brother? I mean, he's oooooold to be a single! I heard he was about to get married soon and wondered what made him wait so long…"
"That's something you should ask him," Patrick answered, careful not to say anything that might get his father into more trouble. He had caused poor Artemis too much trouble already, no need to add some more…
"Oh… Well, do you know why I wanted to talk to you without Irnik around?"
"To ask when my birthday was?" He gave her a half-hearted smile.
"No, not really…" She blushed. "I was wondering whether you loved stargazing…"
"I haven't done much stargazing yet, but I think I do like it…" He stared down at his boots, feeling his cheeks turn even redder. Was she trying to ask him out on a date? "Why?"
"Would you like to come stargazing with me one night?"
He looked up, her straightforward question startling him. Certainly, he had expected something like this, but it still surprised him. He surely wouldn't have been brave enough to ask her out on a date…
"Er… I think I would…"
"Great." She smiled. "What about in two days? Tonight I will have to help Mum with the dinner, tomorrow we'll be decorating the wedding tent, but on the king's wedding night I'm free. Meet me by the three beech trees near your tent. From the meadow we'll have a lovely view of the stars…"
"O…okay," he muttered. "And when shall we meet?"
"When? Not right after sunset, obviously. We'll have to give the stars time to appear."
If only she told me to meet her at ten p.m.… But no, they don't have clocks… "All right, I'll be there as soon as the stars are visible."
"Good. And don't tell Irnik! He'd only ruin it for us." She stood on tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek, then hurried off.
Now that will be hard to keep from your brother… – He watched as she disappeared behind a tent, gently massaging the spot she'd kissed.
In five minutes he joined his friend who was indeed waiting for him by the Big Tent where Attila usually held his audiences.
"So, did you manage to give her a nice idea for a gift?"
Patrick just grinned at the Hun boy. "Of course I have. Now, shall we follow the royals and my brother?"
"You bet! I want to find out what they are up to! They went in that direction… hope we can catch up with them…"
o o o O O O o o o
Cesare Cavalieri's manor, 10 a.m., 16th July, 2016
"Please, calm down, dear Emese." The archaeologist held up his hands in a placating manner.
"Calm down! Calm down? How can you expect that of me, Cesare?" the woman yelled. "The little tramp's escaped, and with her my hopes and dreams of owning the Sword of God!"
"Let me remind you that you're not the only one who lost something due to Mrs Fowl's escape," the Italian man said stoically. "I lost my chance to make the greatest archaeological revelation of the century. Well, of course…"
"Of course what?" Emese Hunfalvy asked, now interest mingling with anger on her pretty features.
"Weeeell… Let's assume that the little fairy doesn't contact Fowl Manor at once to tell them that she's escaped. Let's assume she's cautious, believing that the manor has bugs – after all how else could we have found out that her precious husband left for Hungary? The girl must think the manor's full of our spy cameras. And if she's got any sense – and I know she does – she will be careful not to contact the manor just yet. So young Artemis might return from Hungary in the belief that his wife is still in our custody… and he'll deliver the information we need."
"You want us to bluff?" Emese arched an eyebrow at her boss.
"Why not? We can't lose anything if we do. We can't lose anything more than we already have."
The woman seemed contemplative for a moment, then nodded. "All right, then. I suggest you pay your dear friend Artemis the First a visit today. If Holly's back, you might catch a glimpse of her. Or even if she doesn't appear to greet you, you can still find out things by just analysing your friend Timmy's behaviour. You said last time he looked devastated, even if he was trying to hide it. If Holly's back, his good mood will be back as well."
"Va bene. Good idea, my beautiful accomplice." Cesare gave her a grim smile. "Nothing's lost yet. You still might get your desired sword and… what do you need it for again?"
"Nothing special, just a bit of world dominance." She smiled back, her smile icy.
"And may I ask why you wish to rule the world, dear Emese?" Cavalieri asked, sitting back in his armchair.
"You think I'm kidding, don't you?" She crossed her arms. "You think I'm a lunatic, eh? Well, I am not. That sword is magical. It has the power to help its bearer rule the world. That's why Lord of Wars forged it."
"Just like Excalibur?" Cesare looked amused.
"Almost," Emese replied coldly. "But there's one huge difference between Excalibur and the Sword of God. The latter is real. And had Attila lived a little longer, he would have conquered the then known world with its help."
"I'm sure he would have," Cavalieri drawled, "but do tell, how are you planning to conquer the world with a sword? We're living in a modern world, dear Miss Hunfalvy. Today's wars are fought with nuclear weapons not pieces of old metal."
"True." She nodded. "But none of the nuclear weapons have magic powers. That sword does. And I will learn to use it to rule the world. At all costs."
"Feel free to, my dear, feel free to. But make sure that if you're queen of Earth, I still get to be the most famous archaeologist for finding Attila's grave."
The woman gave the man a contemptuous look. He didn't believe her. He thought she was a raving maniac. But that she was not. She was Attila's only living descendant, and she'd make her great ancestor's dream come true: she'd rule the world.
o o o O O O o o o
The meadow near Attila's camp, 14th April, 453
"You expect me to train him… in just two days?" Csaba gave his father an incredulous look.
"You can do it, Son. You're one of the best warriors and definitely a good teacher. I remember watching you teach Aladár," the king replied. "And I hope you agree that we can't let our friend Artemis Faulus into a fight with Keve untrained…"
"Of course I do," Csaba heaved a sigh and turned to the Irishman. "Do you feel you're up to it? It's going to be two extremely hard days for you."
Artemis nodded solemnly. "I've endured enough hardships already, two days of warrior training can't be that bad." In reality he wasn't as confident as he sounded, but he tried to convince himself that after riding the Mayak Chemical train on the Arctic, fighting his way across the Mexican jungle and enduring all the mosquito bites, attack by a gecko plus a jaguar, and getting shot by arrows and bullets, he could easily survive a bit of training in hand-to-hand combat. And then perhaps he could survive the actual duel as well.
"Well, if you think so." Csaba shrugged. "We're going to start your training in the afternoon. Meet me where the creek disappears underground."
Artemis nodded, knowing which place the prince meant – he had been there once already. It was a nice little clearing not deep into the forest, but it was thankfully surrounded by bushes enough to block it from the sight of anyone who happened to linger on the nearby meadow.
o o o O O O o o o
The two boys reached the three adults just in time to catch the last words of their conversation. Thankfully the boys' eavesdropping went unnoticed by the adults as they hid in the bushes on the edge of the meadow, about ten feet from where Attila asked his son to train Artemis. Clearly Attila didn't want anyone to overhear them, that's why he'd chosen the meadow 'far from civilisation' to have this conversation.
After the adults departed, Patrick and Irnik exchanged a mischievous grin.
"To the creek, then?" Irnik asked.
"To the creek." Patrick nodded. "If we get there much earlier than them, we can find a decent hiding place from where we can witness the whole training session."
"Do you know you're starting to behave more and more like a twelve-year-old every day?" The Hun boy grinned. "I remember when I first met you – you were as cold as an icicle and as aloof as Prince Aladár…"
"Take that back." Patrick pretended to be hurt. "I was never as horrible as He-Who-Has-A-Little-Problem-With-His-Mind…"
o o o O O O o o o
After the heavy rains just three days ago, the creek looked like a smaller river now. Instead of peacefully gurgling and babbling in its stony bed, it ran across the forest at a greater speed and with four times as much water as normal.
Near the well-hidden clearing, there were a few big rocks overgrown with moss, forming what resembled the opening of a cave. However that 'cave' continued in a network of underground channels. Patrick suspected that the water running in one of those channels must have ruined Rufus Short's home.
The boys settled down by the creek, munching on the slices of bread Irnik had nicked from home after breakfast.
The weather was starting to be unusually hot for the middle of April, even in a shady place like this.
After 'lunch', Patrick drowsily watched the golden patterns that the sun's rays filtering through the foliage painted on the waves. There was no wind at all, only a few butterflies and bumblebees drifted lazily across the air.
"What're you doing?" Patrick muttered as his friend began to undress.
"Take a bath, what else? I can't bear this hotness anymore," Irnik replied, dropping his tunic and trousers and waded into the water. "Care to join?"
"No, thanks, I catch a cold easily." Patrick shook his head, loosening his tunic's neck a bit. "But I suppose washing my face won't do any harm…"
He crept to the creek and splashed cool water on his face.
"Hey, what's that?" Irnik pointed at something dangling from Patrick's neck.
"That? Nothing." Patrick quickly tried to stuff the Book and the glass sphere with an acorn back into his tunic, cursing his own stupidity. His so-far closed tunic had kept his 'pendants' out of sight, but now that Irnik had seen them, he would have to make up something to explain what those were.
"Definitely not nothing," the Hun boy waded out of the creek, waving with his hand to chase a bumblebee away. "Magic pendants, eh? Let me see them!"
"I shouldn't…"
"Pleeeease…"
"Only if you don't touch the booklet. It has powers that can burn your hand. Burn anyone's hand save mine."
"Okay, I promise I won't touch it."
Patrick hesitated for a few seconds, then fished his pendants out of the neck of his tunic. "Nothing special, see? Just a book and an acorn."
"Pretty book…" Irnik said, eyeing it. "Don't worry, I don't intend to touch it. But what are you carrying an acorn for? And what kind of funny, see-through thing is that?" Before Patrick could have stopped him, Irnik caught the glass sphere – a bit too vehemently, as the string holding it tore. "Whoops, sorry. Didn't mean to…" Irnik shook the sphere and the acorn rattled inside it. "What's this see-through thingie made of?"
"Glass, and give it back here," Patrick held out his right demandingly.
"Glass? What is that? Hey… Go away, you…" The bumblebee he had already tried to chase away, had apparently decided that stalking and preferably stinging Irnik was a good idea. The boy put up a fight, flailing with his hands. "You annoying little…"
"Watch out…!" Patrick shouted, but it was too late. The glass sphere landed in the water.
Without thinking, Patrick jumped into the creek after it, but the current was too strong and quick for him to reach it. Within a few seconds, the precious acorn got sucked into the underground water channel. "Noooooo!"
"What?" Irnik looked around, searching for his friend. His battle with the bumblebee had ended and the insect had decided to leave him alone at last, but in the heat of the fight he hadn't even noticed Patrick jumping into the water. "Hey, didn't you say you were afraid of catching a cold?"
"To the hell with a cold! You made me lose my acorn, you idiot!"
"What? Oh…" Irnik just noticed that he wasn't holding the sphere anymore. "Sorry."
"Sorry? SORRY? You have no idea what you've done!" Patrick bellowed at him.
"Why, what have I done? It was just a stupid acorn!"
"But it was my only acorn! There isn't one single oak tree around here! How am I going to get one again, eh?"
Irnik was at a loss for words. He had never seen this composed boy lose his temper like that before. And because of an acorn. What use did he have for an acorn?
"Er… you could travel to the north… there are huge oak forests in the Pilis, so I heard…"
"The Pilis?" Patrick snapped. "That would take days to reach there and then back here! I don't have that much time!"
"You don't have that much time… for what?"
"You don't understand it! You have no idea!"
"I would know if you told me!" Irnik replied angrily.
"No way am I going to tell you! You've caused enough trouble already!" Patrick spat, wading to the shore.
"Me, causing trouble? It was you who wanted to see your brother training!"
The half-elf's cheeks were ruby red with fury. "Don't you dare blame me for your clumsiness! And leave me alone!"
"As you please!" the Hun boy snapped, gathered his clothes and marched away.
Dripping wet and shaking with rage and nerves, Patrick sank onto the mossy ground. He had lost his only acorn. What if his father got injured too much in that stupid battle and his magic won't be enough to heal him?
All my fault, he thought, tears running down his cheeks, mingling with water droplets dripping freely from his reddish locks onto his face. If I hadn't been so stupid to let Aladár bait me… Dad will never forgive me… and if Dad dies, Mum will never forgive me either… Holy Frond, what have I done?
o o o O O O o o o
A/N: I don't think that the Romans really gave their children birthday gifts… but forgive me for this tiny historical inaccuracy.
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