A/N: review responses sent out as usual.
Also thanks to: Rebel Rose, J. Dawnwolf, Mousewolf, hello, AnnieThePipster, CarynG, ebtwisty9, The Flying Moose, Emrisah, septempopuli, refloc, artemisfowl12, WiseAbsol, Unrealistic, The OddBird, SPG, QueenDragon, Soccer101, iccy, hogwartscharmed1, Fleury, Lady Emerald Black, JoJo
Disclaimer: the same as in chapter one, plus I borrowed the title of this chapter and the next one from Lemony Snicket's book series (before you ask: I've only fully read the first book and half of the second and I disliked both books… but at least the series has an interesting title.)
Chapter 13
A Series of Unfortunate Events – Part I
Depressed and afraid of what could happen now that he no longer had a 'backup' acorn, Patrick walked back towards the camp. He no longer desired to witness his father's first warrior training session. With Irnik at his side, it had seemed a good idea – a real prank – but now it no longer did. Irnik had left, their short-lived friendship had come to an end and his father was in grave danger. All because he had allowed himself the luxury of being a child.
His mother had several times asked him, beseeched him to act his age, to go and have fun with friends, but he had only sat at home or at Ops Booth, programming, tinkering with machines and doing biochemistry projects. He had always been like a little adult who thought he couldn't afford to be a child because he was a genius, and genii were destined to be lonely, withdrawn and aloof. Then he landed in the Hun king's camp, in a different place and a different time, where people didn't know or respect genii and where he first dared be what he was: a twelve-year-old.
And now this twelve-year-old had screwed up. Everything. His life, his father's life and probably his mother's life as well. If Artemis died here thanks to his son's foolish pride, then they might not be able to save his mother from whoever had kidnapped her. His unborn sibling could die as well.
His heart told him that he should travel north immediately to obtain an acorn, but logic told him that he had no time for that. The fight would take place in two days, and he didn't have a means of transport that could take him to the oak forests quick enough. Horses were fine and fairly quick, but he had never ridden a horse on his own and doubted that he could make it to the Pilis and back here in two days. He couldn't use a chute either as there was no chute in the vicinity of the Pilis. Not to mention that fairies at this time weren't using chutes yet – they went underground in special, permanent tunnels dug by dwarves. The 'riding the hotshots' era came only about two hundred years later, according to what Patrick remembered of fairy history.
If only he had managed to complete his transporter before they had to come back in time! If that machine were working, he would be able to transport himself to the oaks and back in a matter of minutes…
Well, if I started working on it right now, I might be able to finish it, he mused. I have brought my micro-screwdriver with me…
"Hey, Patricius!" Someone called out to him.
He looked up to see Fiona waving at him. She was as pretty as a picture. A bit sad-looking, but very pretty. He had to remind himself that this fairy was actually his great-grandmother and therefore she was supposed to be ancient, wrinkly and knitting socks. Great-grandpa is a lucky chap, he thought, giving the elf woman a half-hearted smile.
"What's this expression, Patricius?" she asked benignly. "You look like some who's been chased by a pack of trolls."
"A pack of what?" Patrick as politely. He had to pretend to be a proper Mud Man, and Mud People weren't supposed to know about trolls.
"Oh, sorry," Fiona giggled. "I keep forgetting that people around here don't know things that I know… I came from a different place, far, far away. Trolls are animals like… wolves crossed with bears and huge pigs. And they have tusks like a warthog."
The boy made a disgusted grimace. "Sounds a lovely type of animal to me. But I prefer dolphins, they are so clever. What's your favourite type of animal?"
"You're trying to change the subject," she said sharply. "But I can see through it, young man."
Great, she's behaving just like a great-granny should… Patrick sighed inwardly.
"Something's bothering you. Can I help?"
The boy shook his head. Not unless you can transport me to the Pilis at once. "No, thank you, but you cannot help."
Suddenly an idea flashed across his mind. What if he asked Fiona to help him heal his father from possible injuries if his magic ran out? Then, just as quickly as it came, he banished the idea. They weren't supposed to let Fiona know that they knew she was a fairy. Even less were they supposed to let her know that they had come from the future and were related to her. That might change everything. That could ruin everything.
"All right then." She shrugged. "But if you change your mind, you may visit me in my tent till sundown. At sundown I'm going to leave for a short while – two days at most – visiting someone."
"I see." The boy nodded. Was great-grandma going to visit great-grandpa underground? Well, that was a first step in the right direction… "Have a nice journey, Fiona."
"Good-bye, Patricius Faulus."
o o o O O O o o o
Drogheda, 10:30 a.m., 16th July, 2015
"Finally, the Force has guided us here," Doug sighed happily as he got out of the car. Jerry put the head-dress of his Chewbacca costume on his head and nudged Holly awake.
She opened her eyes to see that they were in a huge park in front of a huge building that could probably be used for conferences. However, there were no limousines around, nor a single diplomat-look-a-like, nor flags on the building's façade. Instead there was an enormous placard hanging above the entrance, depicting Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine, bearing the legend: 'Welcome to the 27th annual meeting of the Irish Star Wars Fans! May the Force be with you!'
As far as the eye could reach, there were cars parked – cars that barely resembled cars. Most of them had wings and a few seemed to be sporting a laser canon. Holly wondered how these transports had managed to avoid being caught and fined by the Mud Man Police.
The people who were disembarking the 'spaceships' looked even weirder than their transports. It quickly turned out that Jerry wasn't the only Chewbacca around (Holly counted four in the parking place and assumed that there would be at least another ten inside the building). Apparently every second visitor here carried a toy lightsaber. A short, blond man, who happened to be madly waving with his green lightsaber, wore a T-shirt with the script: 'I'm in love with my sister and my father's a Sith – no wonder I've gone crazy'.
"Cool place, eh, Holly?" Nate grinned at her. "We're going to have loads of fun here."
She faked a smile as a reply. I'm pregnant, on the run and associating with a bunch of madmen – no wonder if I'm going crazy…
o o o O O O o o o
The clearing in the forest near Attila's camp, 14th April, 453
Artemis thought he'd never felt so exhausted before. Csaba had been making him do ridiculous swishes with an extremely heavy sword for what seemed hours, and every muscle in his arms was aching by now. His situation strongly reminded him of a scene in some movie called Karate Kid. That old Japanese bloke, Miyagi or whatever his name was, had made 'Daniel San' exercise stupid moves like polishing a car or painting the fence. The moves Csaba now made Artemis exercise seemed just as pointless as those in the movie. They were mere swishes and flicks and stabs without a real opponent. What was the point in stabbing the thin air? – the Irishman wondered.
Shortly before sunset, the prince declared that Artemis had had enough of training for today and they should continue tomorrow when he'd act as Artemis's partner in duel.
I doubt I will be able to lift a sword by tomorrow, Artemis thought bitterly. Not with muscles this sore… Perhaps Pat could heal them… But no. I'm not going to ask a favour of him! I'm not going to let him see how weak I am! I'm his bloody father, for heaven's sake! I'm supposed to be the role model! What boy would be proud of a father who complained about muscle fatigue?
He thanked Prince Csaba for the help and walked back towards the camp, wondering why he was doing this at all. Certainly, his son had set it up for him, but he could easily have said no. He could have found an excuse not to fight. In St. Bartleby's he'd always managed to produce fake medical certificates for P.E. lessons saying that he wasn't supposed to be doing any hard work because of his delicate skeletal structure. Surely he could have made up something to spare himself the trouble of duelling this Keve person…
But he found that he only half-wished to be exempted from the fight. His other half wanted to prove himself. To show his son that he was still Someone, even with his genius gone. Something deep in him wanted to make his son proud of him. Even if his brains told him that he was supposed to be mad at Patrick for arranging this duel for him, his heart couldn't stay angry with the boy for a long time.
As he entered the tent, he spotted Mulch snoring on one of the cots and Patrick bent over the same tiny machine he had shown him at the wedding reception. The transporter.
"What are you doing with that?" he asked wearily, dropping himself on his own cot.
"Trying to finish it, Dad," the boy muttered, not even looking up. Then suddenly, as though a bee had stung him, he looked up. "Are you talking to me again?"
"Why wouldn't I be talking to you?" Artemis raised an eyebrow at the boy.
"Well… I just thought… you were too mad at me… and you had every right to be mad, and-"
Artemis held up a hand to stop his son's tirade. "I do have a reason to be mad at you, young man, but I just don't feel like it."
A huge grin spread on Patrick's face. "Gee, thanks, Dad."
Artemis returned his grin with a half-hearted smile, then collapsed completely on the cot.
"Dad?" The boy dropped the micro-screwdriver and dashed to his father. He quickly felt for Artemis's pulse. Thank Frond, he's just asleep… As he was holding his father's arm, he felt that the muscles in it were all seized up. Well, two sparks won't do any harm, would they? – he thought, and sent a tiny amount of healing magic into Artemis's arms. The man stirred, but did not awaken.
Relieved and pleased to have been able to help, Patrick sat back down to continue working on the transporter. He would continue working on it all night if needed, so that he could make a jump to the oaks and back tomorrow. If he managed to complete the machine, he could put everything he'd ruined right. If not, then he could only pray that his father wouldn't be injured too much in the duel.
He lit a candle, and worked, and worked.
In the morning, Artemis and Mulch found him dozing over a still incomplete transporter. The candle must have gone out sometime at dawn, but by then Patrick had long fallen asleep.
o o o O O O o o o
Underground fairy facility, 9 p.m., 14th April, 453
Alexius Short couldn't believe his luck. When Fiona had asked him to give her his address, he had thought she was only doing it to end their conversation and get rid of him as soon as possible. And now, just a few hours after they had last met, here she was, sitting in his living room, sipping a mug of hot nettle tea with him.
"More sugar?" he asked, offering her a bowl of sugar cubes. The cubes rattled in the bowl as his hands holding it shook.
"No, thanks."
Even though she didn't want more sugar, he added a few more cubes to his own tea – and dropped at least three of them thanks to his nerves. He felt lucky, happy, but very, very nervous. He had never before had young ladies visiting him so late in the evening, let alone a young lady who happened to be his fiancée. "So… so… what made you decide to visit me this… quickly? Er… not that I'm not happy about it… of course I am happy, just… just… surprised, that's all. I didn't expect you to come this soon."
The girl seemed downright amused by his stuttering. "I don't really know what made me decide this quickly…" She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. He didn't need to be good in reading expressions to know that she wasn't telling him the truth.
It had happened so that Attila had invited Fiona to his tent after lunch. Fiona had been delighted to have an opportunity to be alone with the king, even if for just a short while, but as she entered the tent, she spotted Attila's new bride-to-be sitting next to him, snuggling herself into his embrace. As it turned out, it wasn't even Attila who wanted to talk to her but little princess Mikolt. She asked for Fiona's opinion on what kind of flowers she should have her wedding wreath made of.
Upon hearing Mikolt's stupid request, Fiona's coffee-coloured face turned red with anger, but the future bride didn't even notice, all she cared for was her wedding outfit. The fairy's anger, however, didn't elude Attila's attention, and he sent his long time 'girlfriend' a silent apologetic and imploring glance. A glance that carried the message 'She's too young and rash, but you're a considerate woman, Fiona. She thinks she needs your help, so please, help her.' Well, at least that was what Fiona thought Attila's glance had meant, and when he gave her such glances, she could never resist him. He was the only person who had this effect on her: with a single glance he could melt her insides and make her do even the silliest things.
So Fiona had helped Mikolt in choosing the flower decorations, but after she'd left the royal tent, her heart sunk. She was actually helping her only love get married to another woman!
She decided that she needed to sort things out, needed to put things in her head in order. She needed to flee from Attila's camp for a while. And well, she perhaps needed to see a male who adored her just as much as she adored Attila. That would probably do some good to her ego.
So here she was now, to deliberately let Alexius Short charm her if he could.
o o o O O O o o o
Attila's camp, 15th April, 453
Artemis opened his eyes, blinked, and the first thing he saw was the canopy of their tent. He was apparently lying on his back.
Closing his eyes again, he ran the events of the previous day across his mind. He was afraid to move. He surely would have horrible aches in his arms if he did. But he couldn't remain like this forever, could he?
"G'morning, Arty," Mulch's cheerful voice came from his side. "Glad to see you awake at last, I was worried that we might miss breakfast if you deigned to sleep any longer."
"I thought you were satisfied with those worms you found around here," the Irishman replied, carefully moving his right arm. It didn't hurt. How was that possible?
"Oh, you know, worms are nice, but only as a dessert. I wouldn't miss the main course if I could help it… So up you get, old boy!"
I'll try, Artemis thought and sat up. Still no aches. He tentatively moved his left arm as well – it felt completely healthy. No muscle fatigue at all. That could mean only one thing…
His glance fell upon Patrick, who was dozing over the transporter. The screwdriver had fallen out of his hand.
Artemis couldn't help but smile – the boy must have healed him.
Mulch padded over to the boy and shook him. "Wake up, Patty! Breakfast time!"
"Huh?" Patrick looked around, confused. "Is it… morning already?"
"Yeah." The dwarf nodded.
"D'Arvit," the boy breathed. He hadn't managed to complete the machine overnight.
"Why? What's your problem with morning?" Mulch enquired. "I particularly like it, as it means we get to have a hearty meal."
It had happened so that Attila had ordered Irnik's mother Gyöngyvér (who was a widow) to make meals for his British guests as long as they were staying in the camp. They usually ate in Gyöngyvér's tent, together with her family. That was how Patrick had first met and befriended Irnik.
"Oh no," Patrick sighed. "I'm not going there. I just can't." How could he face Irnik after all that had happened between them yesterday? Blimey, I never thought that having friends was this complicated…
"Why not?" his father asked. He had no idea that his son had fallen out with the Hun boy.
"Just… I'm a bit sick. Too tired to leave the tent. Please just bring something back for me, like a slice of bread or something…"
"You don't appear to be sick," Artemis said, scrutinizing the boy. "Only tired. You've got horrible shadows under your eyes. Have you been up all night, working on that machine?"
The boy nodded.
"Why?"
Patrick shrugged. "I just wanted to finish it, that's all."
Artemis's dark blue eyes narrowed. "Why do I have a feeling that you're not telling me something?"
"Dunno, why?" his son asked, flashing him with a weak, but pretty much innocent smile. "Really, there's nothing I'm not telling you, Dad. I just love tinkering, you know that. Once I start working on something, I can't stop it until it's perfect and complete. Call it a mania or something if you want… I'm just like that, can't help it."
Artemis forced himself not to smile at how much this boy resembled him, both inside an out! He had been just like Patrick: not affording to rest as long as a project he was working on wasn't finished. Well, at least, he used to be like that. In his genius-era.
He looked away, feeling as though the boy's stare was burning him. He couldn't let his son see him wallowing in self-pity, could he?
Deciding not to let any dark thoughts ruin his mood even more (the prospect of having to train through the day with Csaba had ruined it enough already), Artemis turned to Patrick. "I wouldn't call it a mania, Son. It's just natural. I was like that, too. I'm glad you're like that too. I remember Holly telling me how diligently you used to work on the MMM as well… By the way, what's up with the MMM now? I mean, in 2016? Has its serial production began, or…?"
"No." Patrick shook his head. "First we need to run about a hundred tests… not that anyone thinks it could be working wrong… I made it, after all, it can only be perfect… It's just to satisfy the bureaucrats. Then, at first, only the L.E.P. will have the licence to use it. In a few years, however, it will be in the pharmacies, available for every fairy. But before that, I will need to add a new ingredient."
"What kind?" Artemis asked with keen interest. Even though no genius anymore, he was still fascinated by science.
"Something like a tracker substance. A substance that doesn't affect the MMM-user's health a bit, but one that allows the L.E.P. to keep track of them to-"
"…make sure that they don't misuse their Mud Man appearance," Artemis finished the sentence.
"Exactly." The boy nodded. "Should the L.E.P. find out that a fairy misused the substance and say, bullied a Mud Person, we should be able to find them, bring them back to Haven, force-feed them the antidote and ban them from ever using the MMM again. Don't ask me about the details though, I haven't yet fully devised them. And I have a few years to think of it, so now I can devote all my attention to this little beauty here." He pointed at the transporter.
Artemis stood up from the cot. "Are you sure you don't want to come for breakfast?"
"No, Dad. I'm not really hungry. Just bring me something small."
Young Fowl and the dwarf turned to leave, but Artemis doubled back from the tent's 'door'. "Er, Patrick?" He almost berated himself – 'er' wasn't even a word!
"Yes?"
"When you used the half-fairy version of the MMM… did it hurt or made you feel queasy or anything?"
"Well… it wasn't exactly pleasant, but didn't really hurt. Why?"
"Just… thinking of the baby. He will need to take it someday…" Artemis replied with a pained expression. Anyone could see he was worried about his child-to-be-born.
"Don't worry, Dad. She might scream a bit for a couple of minutes, but not out of pain, only out of surprise. Babies are like that… easily shocked, but they forget quick."
"Ah, okay." Artemis nodded insecurely. "You referred to the baby as 'she'…"
Patrick shrugged. "Mum told me she thought it was a girl. And women are usually right about things like that."
"If only nothing's happened to her and the baby…" the Irishman whispered, staring out of the tent, his eyes distant.
"Nothing wrong will happen, Dad. We'll save them." The boy sent his father an encouraging smile that Artemis returned with a half-hearted one.
"My stomach's rumbling!" Mulch complained, tugging at Artemis's sleeve and pulling him out of the tent.
Patrick watched as the hangings that served as the tent's door flapped back into place behind his father and the happily bouncing Mulch, and prayed that Irnik wouldn't mention the 'acorn incident' to them.
o o o O O O o o o
Police Plaza, ten a.m., 16th July, 2016
"Anything new to report?" Julius barked at Foaly upon entering Ops Booth.
"Shhhh!" The centaur pressed his index finger to his lips.
"What in the name of Frond…?" The commander walked behind the centaur's chair and glanced at the monitor over Foaly's shoulder. "What's this?"
"Just a broadcast from the annual meeting of the Irish Star Wars fans…" said Foaly casually.
"And you're watching that during working hours?" Root snapped.
"Well, Holly's there, after all…" Foaly shrugged. "Just checking whether everything's going all right… to keep her safe."
"To keep her safe, eh? More to entertain yourself," Root grunted.
"To entertain myself? Banish the thought." Foaly waved with the air of a hurt genius.
"Why, only half a year ago, I caught you watching the meeting of the German Star Wars fans! Don't tell me that too was for security reasons!"
"Okay, Julius, got me," the centaur sighed. "I'm watching it because it gives me perverse delight to see Mud Adults behave like a bunch of five-year-olds and listen to them chanting May the Force be with you, young padawan…"
Young what? Root frowned but decided not to comment. "Anything about Fowl? Don't tell me, you would have notified me if there had been any news…"
"Correct, Julius," Foaly said, his eyes fixed on the screen that showed a storm trooper walking hand in hand with Darth Vader. Wonder if either of them was a female…
"What could have happened to that Mud Boy? And to Patrick?" Root sighed. He knew he would be devastated if anything happened to his little 'grandson', and he caught himself being worried about Artemis too. That was something new… "And don't call me Julius!"
o o o O O O o o o
The clearing near Attila's camp, 15th April, 453
Artemis was lying on the grass. However, he wasn't lying there to relax or to watch the birds in the nearby trees. He was lying there because he had tripped over the protruding root of a tree and fell. Prince Csaba held a sword at his throat.
"See, Artemis Faulus, this is how not to do it."
"Thanks," the Irishman muttered sarcastically. "Next time tell me in advance if you're backing me towards a root, because, as you might have guessed, your highness, not even I have eyes on the back of my head…"
Csaba shrugged, grinning. "My father once lured me into the same trap. And if that helps, I hit myself just as bad as you did, if not worse. All I can give you as advice is not to let your opponent to back you towards anything. Don't let him corner you, don't let him back you against a wall, don't let him manipulate you at all. Since you aren't an exercised warrior, cunning is all that can help you. If you don't know how to parry, duck out of its way. If you keep ducking while your opponent is swishing madly with his sword, he might get tired out quicker than you do."
I doubt that, Artemis thought dejectedly, feeling too tired to even sit up, let alone hop to his feet and lift his sword that weighed at least four times as much as his laptop. He wasn't used to carrying anything heavier than that, and even the laptop was most of the time carried by Butler…
"What's this expression?" Csaba tutted. "You look like someone who's been sentenced to death."
"Why, aren't I?" The Irishman arched an eyebrow at the prince.
"Of course not. This is just a tournament. A fight for joy and to prove yourself, but no one is supposed to die. Keve is big and a bit quick-tempered, but overall good-hearted. He won't try and kill you if you don't give him particular reason to."
"I'm very relieved now…" Artemis said, forcing himself to stand up and grab the sword again.
o o o O O O o o o
"A coordinate stabilisator, I need a coordinate stabilisator," Patrick muttered desperately, bent over the almost complete transporter. "But how am I going to get one? Here, at stone age?"
He was getting more and more frustrated. When he had been working on this project back at Haven, he hadn't thought of the final step, as he had been still too far from it. Now that he was almost ready, he had to face the cruel truth that he hadn't thought of this before. How could he have not thought of building a coordinate stabilisator into the gadget? Without the stabilisator, the transporter could take him anywhere – at random. If he couldn't feed it the coordinates, he could wind up in Alabama or Eritrea instead of at the oak woods of the Pilis!
Stupid, stupid, stupid! – he fumed. There's no way I could get one here, at this time! If I went back to our time, then… Nooooo. I would still have to go back from Hungary to Ireland or to Paris to find a chute to Haven, then back to Hungary and then come back in time… But what if something happened on the way, say my time machine got smashed or stolen or… anything? What if I didn't get back here in time to heal Dad in case he got injured in the fight? D'Arvit, why are things always so complicated?
Frustration exploding out of him, Patrick chucked the transporter under Mulch's cot and collapsed on the carpet, his whole body trembling with sobs. He had never been the type to cry, he had regarded shedding tears as something beneath his dignity, but now it felt good to cry. Relieving. He knew that as soon as he stopped crying, he'd have to face the results of his own mistakes again, but as long as he sobbed, he felt better. He felt as though invisible straps that had been tightly wound around his heart had now been cut.
I'm going to save Dad, he swore. Even without the transporter and without a new acorn. I still might have enough magic to heal a serious wound, or at least to give it a first push to heal. Nothing's lost… Nothing. Have faith, Patrick!
o o o O O O o o o
It was near dinnertime when Csaba decided that Artemis had learned enough to keep him safe the following day. Artemis thanked the prince for the lessons and they headed back to the camp. Artemis was supposed to have dinner at Irnik's mother's tent, as usual. At breakfast he had received curious glances from Irnik but ignored them, thinking that the boy was probably sorry for him because he was supposed to fight this Keve person. When he'd mentioned that his young brother wasn't really hungry and that's why he missed breakfast, Irnik had given him a sarcastic grimace but Artemis's mind had too much been on the upcoming training to notice.
Now that he was going to have dinner, he wondered whether his son would turn up at all or he was still too absorbed in working on the transporter to feel hungry.
As he and the prince passed by a tent, Artemis spotted a burly man with thick, black beard yelling and shaking his fists at a woman.
"I come home after a week of hunting, and what do I find here? You and a girl! Another girl! Can't you give me anything else but daughters, woman?"
As Artemis looked at them more carefully, he spotted a tiny bundle in the woman's arms. She seemed to be shaking with nerves and exhaustion – she must have given birth only a few days prior.
"I'm… I'm so sorry…" she muttered.
"Sorry, eh? For giving me a fifth daughter and not a single son?" the man bellowed at the trembling female. "Why am I cursed with a wife who can only give me daughters?"
"Excuse me," Artemis didn't know where and how he had found the courage to cut in, but he did, nevertheless, "but it is the male's Y chromosome that determines the gender of the child."
The burly man turned to him, too surprised to speak for a few seconds. Then finally he asked: "The male's what?"
"The Y chromosome. Women have two X chromosomes, men have one X and one Y. If the male's Y chromosome joins with either of the female's X ones, then the baby will be a boy. However, if the male's X chromosome joins with the female's, then they are going to have a girl. Simple genetics. The child's gender depends on the male."
"So you're telling me that it's my fault that my wife always got pregnant with daughters?" the man grunted.
"Technically, yes." Artemis nodded with the air of a biology professor who had just explained something to one of his dumbest students. He didn't even notice that Prince Csaba was gently nudging him. "So, there is no reason to bully that poor woman…"
The huge man's eyes narrowed in his red-with-anger face. "Who are you, little know-it-all?"
"Artemis Faulus. And you?"
Csaba shook his head dejectedly, while a malicious smirk spread on the bearded man's face. "I'm Keve, little Brit. I trust you have heard of me?"
Artemis gulped and suddenly didn't feel half as confident as he had. "Y…yes."
"Good. Meet you at the fight, tomorrow, then. Oh, and if I were you, I'd start digging my grave."
With that Keve turned on his heels and marched into the nearby tent that was obviously his home. His wife sent the dumbfounded Artemis a grateful glance and hurried into the tent after her husband.
"You shouldn't have done that," Csaba spoke up.
"Done what?"
"You questioned his virility."
"I did not!" Artemis snapped.
"Yes, you did. And in front of many others. You know, people have been joking about it for years that Keve has daughters only. He has been laughed at behind his back for a long, long time… And now here you are, telling him that it was actually his fault that he never had a son."
"Not his fault exactly, but… it's biology," Artemis sighed. "You wouldn't understand."
"No, I suppose I wouldn't, but you, my friend, are in big trouble."
o o o O O O o o o
Artemis could barely sleep that night. He kept tossing and turning and awakening every half an hour until he felt it was no use trying to go back to sleep at all. He would only have more nightmares about Keve slicing him into little pieces and that was the last thing he wanted.
Patrick on the adjacent cot seemed exhausted and his eyes slightly puffy (had he been crying? – Artemis wondered but decided not to embarrass the boy by asking), but at least he slept soundly. Mulch was undoubtedly the best sleeper, his snores filling the tent.
Artemis expected that if he had told his son about his little incident with Keve, the boy wouldn't be sleeping half as tight as he was now, so he decided not to mention it. No need to worry anyone. Keve might be a quick-tempered person, but it was also possible that a good night's sleep calmed him enough to forgive Artemis for 'questioning his virility'. And perhaps just having a closer look at his new daughter would soften his heart a bit…
Fat chance, the Irishman thought bitterly, gazing at the dark canopy of their tent, wondering if he would ever have a chance to see his own daughter. Well, if Holly thought it was a girl, then she must be right… What would the little one be like? – he mused. Would she take after Holly or after him? Would he be scared to hold her for the first time? Yeah, he surely would.
Suddenly he felt an extreme longing to be with his wife and tell her how much he loved her and how anxious he was to see their baby-to-be-born. Oh, Holly…
It must have been dawn already, as the birds outside started an ear-splitting concert. Artemis was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep anymore, and it felt much nicer to be daydreaming about Holly than having nightmares about the duel.
o o o O O O o o o
Around six in the morning, the camp began to stir. In the past few days Artemis had observed that most of the Huns got up around seven, but today, apparently, everyone was too excited to stay in bed for long. It was not every day they got to see a good scrap, after all…
o o o O O O o o o
Mulch, naturally wasn't disturbed by the yells of the people around, he slept on till nine. Upon awakening he told Artemis that he looked somewhat sickly.
Somewhat sickly? It's a wonder I haven't started throwing up my last meal, Artemis thought. He decided not to have breakfast, because then he would surely start throwing up, and also he knew that soldiers who fought on an empty stomach had a much better chance of surviving serious injuries.
"You just go without me," he encouraged Patrick. "And no need to bring anything back for me, I don't think I could swallow anything."
Mulch didn't need to be told twice, but Patrick didn't want to leave his father alone… as if he were worried that this was their last time to talk to each other.
"Just bring me a slice of bread, will you, Mulch?" the boy told the dwarf who nodded and hurried off to have breakfast.
"You should have gone with him, you know," Artemis said dryly. "You missed all meals yesterday."
"I'm not really hungry," the boy lied, blushing as his stomach gave an almighty rumble.
"Why are you doing this, Patrick?" his father asked gently, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"I… just… I should've told you, Dad… I… fell out with Irnik. I don't want to have meals where he does."
"Is that all?"
"Yeah," the child said absent-mindedly.
"All right," his father replied, though he didn't believe a word of it. "Anyway, I'm glad to have you here with me."
"Really?" Patrick looked up from the carpet he had been examining.
Artemis gave him a weak smile. "Yes, really. Whatever you've done, you're my son. Never forget that. And don't you dare blame yourself, no matter what happens, understood?"
The boy gulped, but nodded. "I'll try, Dad. But it's so hard… I don't want to lose you."
"You won't." With that, Artemis reached out and gathered his son into his arms.
"Promise?" the boy mumbled into the man's shirt.
"Yes," Artemis replied, willing his voice to sound much more confident than he was feeling. "Promise."
o o o O O O o o o
An hour laterPatrick watched with awe as a Hun warrior hit the shield of his opponent with such force that the shield splintered and fell onto the grass in five little pieces. This Hun warrior was good, frightfully good. And, allegedly, he wasn't even the best. That bloke Keve was said to be the best…
Patrick gulped. His father didn't stand a chance against people like this… And even if he survived – either because he didn't get badly injured or because Patrick managed to heal his wounds – the defeat would be another terrible blow to his already damaged ego.
The boy was well aware of the changes in Artemis's character and knew that they all had psychological roots. They had all been caused by his losing his genius. His father had very likely agreed to take part in this madness to prove himself to his son, and Patrick feared that a shameful defeat would only crush his father's weakened pride even more.
The warrior who had lost his shield fought on valiantly, but without the shield to protect him, his opponent soon managed to injure him on the chest and he gave up the fight, congratulating the other duellist on his victory.
"Nervous, huh?" a voice spoke up next to Patrick. He turned to his right to see that Csenge had somehow pushed her way to him across the crowd. She was particularly pretty today with yellow ribbons woven into her shiny black hair.
"Er… just a bit," the boy replied.
"I'd rather say a lot," the girl said with a sad smile. "And that's understandable. I heard that your brother doesn't know how to fight…"
Patrick didn't reply just hung his head.
"Can I help you somehow?" she asked, slipping her hand into his.
"I wish you could," he whispered. "But no one can. And if he dies, it will be my fault."
"But he won't die." She squeezed his hand. "This is just duelling for fun. To show off. Not to kill. See, even Szemere, the warrior whose shield got destroyed, is fine. His wound should heal within a few days. Your brother can't get much more injured than him… I hope."
"You're sweet for trying to calm me, but you're wasting your time," Patrick said, pulling his hand out of her grip.
"Hey, Faulus, are you afraid that your big brother will fail miserably?" a mocking voice spoke up from his left. He didn't even need to look in that direction to know that the speaker had been Prince Aladár.
"Yeah, I'm sure he's afraid," another voice – that of Irnik – added. "You're shaking with nerves, Brit boy! And with a good reason! Keve will beat your brother to pulp!"
"Oh, shut it, Irnik!" Csenge yelled at her brother.
"Wow, Faulus, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" Aladár laughed as he and Irnik elbowed their way across the crowd to Patrick.
"Girlfriend?" Irnik hissed. "Don't even think of it, Patricius! Leave my sister alone, you hear me?"
Patrick forced himself to stay calm and turned to his one-time friend. "One: I'm not shaking with nerves. Two: Csenge isn't my girlfriend. Three…"
He couldn't finish his sentence as Prince Csaba announced the next duelling partners: Keve and Artemis Faulus.
Patrick forced a smile on his face as his father walked into the fighting area. He looked paler than ever, clutching his shield like his life depended on it – and well, perhaps it did indeed depend on it.
Artemis caught a glimpse of his son standing nearby with a brave smile on his face, and he returned the brave smile. It took him great effort to do so, but he couldn't let his son down. He needed to look courageous and self-confident, even if he would rather have dropped his sword and run as far from the camp and the fighting area as possible.
However, as soon as he spotted his opponent's visage, the brave smile faded from Artemis's face as though it had never been there. Keve wore a maniacal grimace and wriggled his eyebrows in a full-of-anticipation way. Not to mention that he cracked his knuckles and Artemis hated it when people did that.
"Have you dug your grave, Artemis Faulus?" Keve asked him causally.
"And you yours?" the Irishman riposted. He would keep his levity, he swore, even if that was the last thing he ever did.
"A bit big mouth you have there, little Brit." The Hun sneered. "Your big mouth got you into trouble yesterday. Wonder if it can win this battle for you today."
"We shall see," Artemis replied and saw it from the corner of his eye that Csaba motioned them to begin their duel.
Keve's first blow hit Artemis's shield with such force that it sent him reeling back a good five metres and falling.
See, Artemis Faulus, that is how not to do it, Csaba's words echoed in his mind amidst the hearty laughter coming from quite a few Huns around.
With great difficulty, he got to his feet again, but barely had he straightened up, Keve's sword again came down at him. If he hadn't ducked, his head would be split apart now, his once so famous brains exposed to everyone to see. Charming thought.
o o o O O O o o o
As his father tripped and fell, Patrick gasped and all the blood ran out of his face. Irnik and Aladár next to him laughed the loudest and he felt a sudden urge to strangle both of them with his bare hands. But before he could have considered the possibility, his father had got to his feet, barely getting out of the way of Keve's deadly blade.
"He isn't playing fair," Csenge next to him whispered.
"Who? Da… my brother?"
"No, Keve! He isn't supposed to strike for his opponent's head! If he continues like this, he could actually kill your brother. Wonder why he'd want to kill him?"
"Suppose you haven't heard of yesterday's little incident," Prince Aladár chimed in, delightedly watching as Keve again aimed a blow at Artemis's head.
"What?" – Patrick would have asked, had he not been rendered speechless by the mere sight of his father dodging another deadly swish of Keve's sword.
"It happened so that your moronic brother insulted the big man," Irnik informed the boy.
The gigantic Hun warrior seemed to get really mad at the lithe Irishman who should long have died instead of constantly ducking out of the way. And a really riled Keve was definitely not someone to cross. His face was red with fury, his enormous, yellow teeth gnashing as he advanced on his 'prey'.
Patrick, even though he'd heard Irnik's comment about some insult, couldn't find his voice to ask what kind of insult he was talking about. He felt as though he'd forgotten how to speak, how to blink and even how to breathe. As Keve brought his sword down at Artemis with an almighty and animalistic roar, knocking the shield out of the Irishman's hands, Patrick felt as though he had suddenly forgotten how to stand either and his knees buckled.
Had Csenge not been there to catch him, he would have collapsed and probably even passed out.
He didn't hear Aladár and Irnik's malicious laughter anymore – all he could do was watch as the Hun warrior slashed towards the now exposed chest of his father. There were screams – he couldn't tell whose screams, though. His father's? Keve's? His own? That of the onlookers?
Everything seemed to be a blur.
Keve roared again, pressing his big, hairy hands on his abdomen. Something red was running from between his fingers – blood, no doubt. Did Dad injure him? – Patrick thought in a half-daze.
o o o O O O o o o
Artemis couldn't believe what he was seeing: the big man clutching his abdomen, nursing a wound caused by… by him? He had managed to give the greatest Hun warrior a wound?
Yes, perhaps he did. He had stabbed upwards with his sword at the same time Keve had slashed at him… But why was his vision getting so blurry? At first he had seen the blood seeping through Keve's fingers quite well, now all he saw was the silhouette of a bulky man, but the man's features were no longer distinct, details like his hand pressed over his injury were lost. And then… not even that. Just darkness.
o o o O O O o o o
"DAD!" Patrick had somehow found his voice and recovered his ability to stand.
"Dad?" Irnik gave the 'British' boy an incredulous glance.
"I never got around to say three," Patrick snapped and punched Irnik across the face so that the Hun boy stumbled backwards, into the arms of several onlookers standing behind him. "That for my acorn!" With that he was off, running to the unconscious form of his father.
o o o O O O o o o
Artemis no longer saw anything, he only heard voices. One voice had shouted 'Dad!'. Patrick, his mind whispered, close to shutting down completely.
Someone pulled the sword out of his hand and began fumbling with his tunic.
"Dad," a voice said, now much closer than before, but it still sounded quieter to Artemis – was he losing his hearing as well? "Dad, be all right, please!"
I'm fine, Son. No pain, he wanted to say, but his lips didn't obey him. None of his body parts obeyed him. Suddenly even his ears failed him: he no longer heard the murmur of the crowd.
A droplet of something fell on his cheek. It was a hot droplet, followed by another. Tears, his weakening mind told him. Patrick's? He couldn't tell. Patrick… will he be able to save Holly… on his own? – was the last thing that occurred to Artemis before his mind decided to give up the fight.
o o o O O O o o o
"Is he dead?" Keve asked, limping over to his 'victim'.
"Not yet," Prince Csaba replied. "But he might die any minute."
"Then he won't be needing this any longer, eh?" The big Hun, not caring about the boy bent over his dying brother – father, bent down and pulled a nice armlet off Artemis's left wrist. "Booty," he declared. "For the insults I had to suffer."
He's taking father's time machine, Patrick's mind screamed but he couldn't move. And even if he did, what could he have achieved? He couldn't fight the big man for the 'watch', could he? And perhaps his father wouldn't even need it anymore…
What kind of thoughts are those? Heavens, Patrick! You can save him!He looked at Csaba. "Take him to our tent. Please. Ask someone to take him there. He will heal there."
"What makes you think so?" The prince frowned. "Our shamans could perhaps…"
"No," Patrick said quietly but very deliberately. "Do as I asked, your highness. Please."
Csaba stood up and beckoned to two Huns. "Take him to his tent. Do whatever the boy asks." He turned back to Patrick. "I'll go and talk to Keve. He can't keep that trinket, it belongs to you if your father dies." He turned to leave but suddenly doubled back, his eyes wide with surprise. "Your father?"
"Let me explain it later," the boy said softly and followed the two Huns carrying the limp form of Artemis towards the tent on the edge of camp; praying that his father would still be alive by the time they got there. He still had some magic to perform a partial healing, but by far not enough to resurrect.
o o o O O O o o o
A/N: this is where the chain-reaction really begins. Soon you'll hate me, I promise that.
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