I N F E R N O

- Dim Aldebaran -

Chapter Two

:i:

In recent years, Butler had become a proficient gardener. It gave him a strange sense of peace, as escapisms are intended to do.

Artemis rarely brought him on missions anymore; instead, he carefully coordinated his thieveries with Juliet's wrestling schedule and his parents' myriad of honeymoons.

Of course, Artemis still used his expertise on missions. Recommended equipment and the like. Butler knew full well that Artemis could plan them on his own, but he was gracious for his inclusion.

Over the past few years, Artemis had curiously mellowed. In a sense, he had become altruistic. This shift had given him no visible angst, no deep inner conflict. It seemed natural, really, only natural…

Butler smiled to himself. He had been proud to serve the Artemis Fowl who had proved the world could be his if he so wished, had been proud to serve the Artemis who employed that seductive mix of blackmail and genius to secure his goals—but he was prouder still to serve this more reserved model.

Artemis still had his razor wit. He employed it readily enough: "Really, Dom, roses? I didn't know you were a romantic."

Bullshit, of course, but familiar bullshit. He smiled to himself, pruning back the blushing roses. If Foaly invented a time machine and told him six years ago that Artemis would joke around, he would consider it a plot to undermine their professional relationship.

Artemis looked around the garden; Butler had divided the grounds into a maze, of sorts, garden mazes, like those in the Loire Valley chateaus. They were quite charming, really.

Butler, however, was still Butler. In this section alone, Artemis had counted three security cameras, two remote-activated sonic grenades, a very well-hidden weapons cache inside a creamy marble bench, and what he suspected to be a remote-controlled Cupid—the cherub had this terribly wicked grin on his face, and the arrow seemed slightly more sharp than the art of sculpture required.

Butler caught him eyeing the Cupid and grinned at the roses. "One shot only, of course."

Artemis studied the pudgy arm more closely. "Who designed this?"

Butler snapped off a particularly brilliant bloom and set it on the bench. To think an Uzi lay scarce three inches beneath… "I did."

Artemis looked faintly surprised—much more emotion than what he would have revealed five years ago. "Really, Dom? You must have been sneaking my engineering textbooks."

Butler nodded, plucking a particularly embarrassed one and setting it next to the former. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course I don't! Really, this is a very efficient design. I'm impressed."

Flattered, Butler said nothing, continuing his meticulous pruning.

The silence reigned for a while; out of the corner of his eye, Butler could see Artemis' eyes flickering towards him.

"Is there something you'd like to say?"

Artemis pondered the growing pile of roses on the bench. "Nothing terribly important."

"It's the painting, isn't it?"

Artemis sat down next to the roses, fingering the soft petals. "You know me too well."

Butler waited until Artemis saw the need to continue: "I want to know who stole it." When Butler passed him another rose, he twirled it whimsically between his fingers. "I was rather fond of that painting. That was perhaps the closest I have come to temptation in many years…" He smiled to himself. "I suppose my fondness is rather Narcissistic. We look rather alike, the girl and I. Surely you've noticed."

Truth be told, Butler hadn't, but he nodded along. Artemis continued: "In any case, recovering this painting will be a fine adventure, no? We haven't done anything interesting lately."

Butler turned from the roses. "Is this a priority, then?"

Artemis nodded. "Check the security cameras for the Louvre, first. I want to see if there was any suspicious activity—people staring overly long and such."

Butler nodded. "Anything else?"

"I'd like blueprints for the garden, as soon as possible. I'd like to know what improvements you've made to the grounds."

Butler moved to pick up the bundle of roses; Artemis handed to them, wincing slightly when a thorn stabbed into his thumb.

"I'll tell Juliet that you sent them."

"Don't play the matchmaker for us."

Butler gestured towards the flowers; they were yellow.

"Yellow for friendship."

"Pink for hope," Artemis countered, noting their faint blush.

"Do you mind?"

Artemis smiled slightly. "Not really, no."

Butler smiled as well; after picking up his pruners, he left the scene.

Artemis pursed his lips, staring thoughtfully at Cupid. He recalled a certain relation of the cherub, and smiled. She was, after all, a wildly successful PI now—and she said so herself that she was getting bored.

He picked himself off the bench. The yellow rose garden was just outside Juliet's quarters, separated only by a bed of chrysanthemums. Juliet rarely came to Fowl Manor nowadays; usually, they rendezvoused wherever they were about to… work. He wondered if she missed Fowl Manor, or if her fame in wrestling really had replaced her former life. She had been growing increasingly antsy with their missions lately; was it time to let her go?

She was here now, though. Soon, she would be receiving yellow roses.

He pondered the garden briefly. Surely Butler had red roses somewhere—

It is quite fortunate he was Irish, and thus inherently lucky, since a bullet came whizzing by his head just as he moved to stand up.

He rolled to the side, coming up with an easy movement to pluck LEP sponges out of Cupid's ears. He jammed them into his own.

The nearest sonic grenade was on the nymph statuette, on her dangling pearl earring. On the other side of the garden.

Dom was already in the Manor.

The gun had been muffled.

Dom wasn't coming.

Artemis was not a fast runner.

He ran anyways.

He heard bullets whizzing around him—the would-be assassin was not a very good one—but they stopped as he dived behind the nymph statuette.

He hesitated before squeezing the earring. Some of the closer windows would be shattered, and much of the stained glass was one-of-a-kind—designed by him, for Mother's birthday.

The hesitation was enough; when he reached up to squeeze the earring, a bullet shattered his wrist. The spray of blood stained the nearby roses a brilliant crimson.

Red roses for Juliet, he thought absently—

—even if the bullets weren't heard, his scream was.

Through a haze, he could hear the sound of parting bushes, the assassin coming to finish him off, the thud of running steps as the Butler siblings came at full sprint, the near-silent hisses of the bullets, his own moans as his wrist pulsed out blood onto the ground, pouring like hot syrup.

Gunshots. Loud: unmuffled: Dom's. More steps; pursuit? He didn't know, didn't care. All there was was his wrist, bleeding out onto the ground, and he ripped his oxford shirt, moving to apply the tourniquet, but he couldn't with only one hand, his wrist bones were shattered, oh God, I'll never play the piano again

Butler came to his side. Juliet, the sprightlier of the siblings, was undoubtedly chasing after the man who had stolen his soul. Wordlessly, he applied the tourniquet that he himself had been unable to tighten.

Even at age eighteen Artemis had a light build. Butler picked him up easily. "Shall I contact Holly?"

"Yes," Artemis gasped. He had never been injured like this before—it had been so long since anything of this magnitude had happened—

He often provided his expertise on Holly's more difficult cases, refusing to accept any payment—when she insisted, he turned around and donated it to the Red Cross. They were friends now, old friends, bonded by the same instinct for altruism—she would come and heal him, no matter what the cost.

He was set on Juliet's bed; the nearest. Numbly, he reached for his left wrist—the feel of the saturated tourniquet made him gag, and the distinctly metallic smell of blood made bile rise at this thought. It was sheer pride that kept him from vomiting over himself.

He heard the sound of the door, the sound of Butler: "She's coming."

Artemis said nothing for a few moments. When Butler reached for the tourniquet, he let him; he had tied it too tightly, and he didn't want to lose all hope for his hand.

"Dom?" A whisper, like the rustle of the rose petals.

"Yes?"

"I need to reconstruct the bones by the time she gets here."

Butler stared at him in shock. It was obvious Artemis could not stand the sight of blood. "Wait until she gets here."

"No." Point-blank refusal.

"Artemis—"

"Butler," Artemis snapped, "this is my hand. I know what I'm doing. Now, if you can kindly collect a surgical kit for me, I'd be much obliged."

Butler nodded mutely. Artemis hadn't used that tone of voice in years—excepting, of course, when the painting had been stolen.

When he returned, Artemis was sitting upright at Juliet's desk, left wrist laid on a bed of Kleenex as if crucified, but fallen from the cross. His face was grim. "Please undo the tourniquet," he said calmly.

:i:

By the time Holly had been come, Artemis had fainted from blood loss—but he had done most of the prep work. Foaly was able to guide Holly through the healing of shattered bones.

It was fortunate enough. Holly stood by anxiously while he slept—this had been the first time she had seen him in person in five years. She was startled by the change—he seemed kinder, more benevolent. It matched his recent actions. She could say, in all truthfulness, that she rather liked the change from the strange little boy who had kidnapped her all those years ago.

To keep the stress away—if the wrist hadn't healed properly, Artemis would skin her alive, for he was a leftie and still very much in love with the finer arts—she held a reunion, of sorts, with Juliet.

"Mulch watches you on TV," she said when the younger Butler came through the door. "I think he's a little infatuated."

Juliet laughed. "Tell him it would never work between us." She flipped her now infamous braid over her shoulder.

Butler had more serious issues on his mind. When Juliet caught sight of him, she sighed. "Is this how you welcome people home now? Assassination attempts?"

Butler stood silent. Juliet rolled her eyes and continued—she had that talent of making light of the more serious issues. "I have no goddamn idea who the assassin was. I didn't even see him." She paused. "Or her, for that matter. Or maybe it. Maybe it was a robot. I dunno. Whoever it was, he was a hell of a lot faster than me, and managed to scale the walls before I even got a glimpse." She plopped down on the bed, evidently not noticing the sleeping Artemis. "I'd check the security cameras, if I were you."

A silence. "The feed was looped."

In the silence, Juliet cackled. "Ooh, boy! Artemis is going to be pissed!"

Holly agreed silently, though she couldn't help but ponder Juliet's Americanization. The idea of anyone hacking into the Fowl Manor network was a foreign one—and Artemis, despite it recent altruism, was still very proud of his security.

It was strange. It seemed as if the assassin had punched through the security like paper, but had fallen apart once he was actually doing the job. Really, it made no sense—and he had been able to escape perfectly fine, the plan for doing so obviously already made.

It would take Artemis to analyze the situation properly. It didn't make much sense to Holly, and she was a PI for Frond's sake.

Artemis stirred in his sleep. Idly, Holly wondered if it was because of his proximity to Juliet's rear.

"Who do you think he was?" Holly asked.

Juliet shrugged. "He'd been stealing plenty of paintings, granted, but we haven't left any trace behind ever. Fairy technology is very clean."

"Evidently not clean enough," Holly replied, frowning.

Juliet held her hands up in an expression of innocence. "He was the one who planned them, not me. I just did what he told me to do."

"Do any jobs in particular stand out?"

Juliet grinned, reaching down and ruffling Artemis' hair as if he was still a boy. He smiled in his sleep, much to Juliet's delight. "Well, there was that time in Munich when he—"

Holly saw the expression on her face and knew that wasn't what she wanted. She turned to Butler: "Anything odd lately?"

Butler had been silent during this, watching his Principle sleep through the biggest upset since Opal Koboi: life had been comparatively peaceful these last five years. "Girl in Solitude has been stolen."

A grin came to Holly's face as she realized the predicament, and then, like silver bells on a sleigh, she laughed, punctuated with: "And he—that was his latest—Foaly told me that—"

"Really," Artemis murmured, "it's not that funny."

Juliet squealed, leaning over and smothering Artemis in a very awkward hug. "You're alright!"

Artemis let her hug him for a few moments, then struggled. "Really, this is undignified—"

Juliet let go of him and bounced a bit on the bed. "Well, excuse me for being worried."

Holly smiled at the scene—but there was business to attend to. However much they joked, Artemis' life had been forfeit today for their mistakes.

They waited for Artemis to speak, then—it was habit, after all, albeit a habit that had lain dormant for five years.

Artemis sat up in bed. He reached for his wrist; all remained was ragged scar tissue, like a blooming pink carnation where he had slit his wrist open. He wriggled his digits experimentally; they moved perfectly. He flicked his wrist; and then he beckoned to Butler. He walked forward, head bowed.

"I would like to play my piano now."

"What are we going to do?" Juliet protested.

Artemis looked up from the bed. "I don't particularly care at the moment," he said. "Right now, I am going to play the piano."

:i:

Mm. Likey? CC always appreciated.

I was watching Lion in Winter when I watched this, so I was a little distracted. Maybe that's a good thing. I dunno. Peter O'Toole is a damn good actor, granted, but I never thought him to be a muse.