I N F E R N O
- Dim Aldebaran -
Chapter Ten
:i:
After a long and thorough shower, Artemis emerged from his private suite of rooms. Oddly enough, considering how he normally took such disgraceful things, he was smiling.
The smile of Artemis Fowl was not the rare occurrence it used to be: perhaps he still smiled less than the average individual, but then, his smiles were not of the gratuitous variety.
This particular smile was broader than Artemis' usual, and it seemed to stay on his rather longer than usual. Even the familiar austere of the Fowl family portraits failed to quench his almost boyish excitement.
After all, he knew who Medea Atreus was, now.
Smiling, he walked blissfully on.
Nearly a decade ago, he had come before a wall in his criminal activities: finding the low-key person of interest amidst the billions of nameless, faceless, traceless people in the world.
Young Artemis had an intense fascination with programming. This, combined with the current problem, led to his solution: his brainchild, the Diana program. It could accept virtually every input information, from the type of hat worn on a particular day to eye color to shampoo preferences. With the most complete information possible was provided, Diana would do the most complete scan of the internet possible, going not only through the spidered sites of Google, but also through all computers currently connected to the internet and their archives: documents, video footage, emails, credit card usage etc.
Diana, though immensely complicated, was second only to the power of his own mind in efficacy.
However, even with some of the most powerful computers in the world housed in Fowl Manor, it took several hours to complete any given search. Considering that it was pouring over worlds of data, he thought that he could cut Diana a little slack in this.
His search, inputted during his last conversation with Medea, was now complete.
He found himself before the War Room, so christened by a considerably younger (and less witty) Artemis.
He took a deep, shuddering breath: to think, he thought, all that lies between me and Medea is this here door—
The smile would be unseemly; he forced it from his face, and entered the room.
Juliet, Butler and Holly were already arrayed around the massive oak table. Before each of them were a personal monitor, keyboard and stylus, all of which could retract back into the table to leave the surface as pitted and scarred as the day Hugo de Fóle hewed the boards with his broadsword. The chairs, a somewhat more refined style, were designed with thrones in mind. Holly looked like a doll between the solid armrests; Butler, on the other hand, looked as if it was carved to fit. Juliet just looked out of place: despite her valuable input into War Room conferences, she insisted on bubblegum and slippers.
Holly was playing pinball on her screen when he entered; as he walked to his seat, he checked her score. A smile reaffixed itself on his face as he sat down in his own chair. His was specifically designed to massage the users ego: though also built of oak, it had intricate rosewood, ebony and mahogany inlays, and it was bigger. Far bigger. It was the sort of throne Henry VI and his current wife could fit together in, with room for the executioner. And besides: his seat had buttons.
Buttons, he had learned, were very useful things. The larger and brighter, the more interesting the effect. If they glowed, he could be assured of sufficiently mind-wasting entertainment that he could forget his purpose in the War Room for a while.
Alas, there was no one expendable at the table. He pressed a prominent blue one with an inscribed sun in yellow: a large screen slid into view at the head of the conference table.
"Let me present 'Medea Atreus'," Artemis said, quite melodramatically, and pressed another button. Diana's search summary appeared, and no words were needed.
:i:
Her name was Natalie Ferguson, daughter of William and Tabitha Ferguson. She was born the fifth of January in an Edmonton hotel, three months premature. Her brother, Ryan Ferguson, was born later that same day in the local hospital. After two weeks the twins were released, and the new parents returned to their ancestral home in the high mountain country of Alberta.
It was as ancestral as the Americas could be: Daniel Ferguson immigrated from Scotland in the early nineteenth century, the youngest of five sons, and had planned on fur-trapping in the Rockies. However, fate—or rather, his exceptional vision—intervened: he spotted the glitter of gold dust in a small mountain stream. Within five years, he was amongst the richest men in Canada. Used to the poor life a youngest son is usually heir to, he took his opportunity and reaped it to his fullest, investing this money in the railroad industry. Though this did not bear fruits in his lifetime, his children became heir to a fantastic fortune as the great age of railroads steamed its way across North America. Born businessmen, not fur trappers, the new Ferguson generation continued the cycle of investment, focusing intently on the railroads that had made them rich, and the vibrant industries that had flourished alongside it.
When the age of the railroads came to an end, the Fergusons did little to change. Though their wealth was still great, pure investment could no longer sustain them. Some became lawyers, some politicians, and the Ferguson fortune slowly dwindled.
William Ferguson had inherited a dying empire. Scarce out of college, there was little he could do: too honest for a lawyer, too headstrong for a politician, too generous for a businessman. Forced by debt, he began selling the Ferguson assets. A poor marriage—to the Saskatchewan farm girl Tabitha, who had barely even graduated high school—only hastened this spiral.
With the birth of the children, things seemed as if they would only continue spiraling downhill. Yet—yet strangely enough, they did not. Six years after the birth of the children, the Ferguson assets had the first financial growth in nearly two centuries, from converting their oldest asset, the local railroad industry, to tourism: the trains now took scenic tours of the Ferguson holdings in the Alberta mountains.
Eight years after, the Fergusons began to buy back previously sold assets, even land that had been converted to state parks, and adding it to the rapidly growing tourism empire. The ghostown where Daniel had sold his furs was partially refurbished and made into a historic getaway. Tourists could pan for their own gold in the nearby streams. Mustangs ran wild across the grand foothills, and capturing them became a sport to rival the big game hunting that also thrived on the Ferguson estate.
Ten years after, the Fergusons became incorporated—Ferguson Enterprises. Their stock became a hot commodity. Even Artemis had invested, it turned out.
During this time, the twins had seemed sated in a local, coed private school. Their grades were exceptional, their talent renowned in the locally renowned. At the ages of six, eight and ten, Natalie performed in public recitals that were noted in several newspapers as "CD-worthy" and the like, though she did not compete. At the age of twelve, Natalie and Ryan were withdrawn from the private school and brought back to the home: though the state record indicated that they were homeschooled, Artemis noted that no textbooks were ever shipped to the Ferguson household.
After, the record became sketchy, with fewer anecdotes. Natalie first coined the pseudonym of 'Medea Atreus' at age fourteen to enter a local poetry contest. The presence of either Medea or Natalie was noted worldwide for the next three years, ranging from a rug merchant in the Beirut medina to the audience of the Sydney Opera House, though nothing conspicuously illegal. The affair with the Fragonard appeared to be the first truly interesting event that had ever happened to her in all her short seventeen years.
But then, Diana was an imperfect creation.
:i:
Artemis was vaguely aware of a thudding heartbeat. Natalie Ferguson. The name lacked the music of her pseudonym, yet somehow, it had a history of its own, something so much more substantial than Diana's bland text.
Text. All text.
He stilled his irate heart and brought a picture to the mainscreen. Natalie Ferguson was not the exotic creature the burqa implied. Indeed, she looked like little more than a watercolor stain, a Monet bleached by the sun, or a Morisot left out in the rain. Her hair curled in little wisps around her face, so pale they might have been white. Her skin was similarly insipid, and though a little blotchy in places seemed unblemished. Her eyes were that awkward color between white and gray, a cloud that didn't know whether to rain or evaporate, and in all of the pictures he displayed, they had the odd habit of looking right through the camera into the eyes, the soul of the photographer…
His first thought was something between amusement and excitement. Of course—Girl in Solitude had that same expression on her face that seemed default to Miss Ferguson. The reason for her obsession. Girl was full of lucid contrasts, the red of the roses and the yellow of the daffodils, the black of the hair and the white of the face, the blue of the sky and the green of the garden…
It was a moody piece, for a nondescript painter like Fragonard.
Juliet interrupted his thoughts: "She's rather young for a criminal, isn't she?"
"I was far younger than her when I started," Artemis replied.
"A late bloomer?" Holly suggested.
Artemis pattered on the keys briefly, then looked up. "I don't think so," he said, frowning. "The brother, Ryan. CEO since the age of sixteen. Illegal, even in Canada, but overlooked. I have little doubt that he engaged in other questionable activities for his age. His sister would be little different."
"Why not?" Holly asked. "Twins aren't always alike, you know."
Artemis sighed, and looked up. "Fraternal twins, no, I agree. Their natures can be completely different. However, if they are not twins—" He smiled suddenly at the thought. "I don't suppose East of Eden will come into any of your minds, but if they are not quite twins..." He continued his typing; his smile seemed almost malevolent. "There are two ways to determine whether they are fraternal or not: to look at the medical records, which I am disinclined to trust, or to look at the phenotypes, which is my own judgment, and thus very trustworthy."
"Phenotype?" Juliet asked, frowning. Genetics had not been a required class with Madame Ko.
"What they look like, with respect to each other and to their parents. If they are similar, they are fraternal twins. If they are very different, they are..." Again, the smile, curving like a hunter's bow. "... not twins." He considered his screen briefly, then pattered some more. Two pictures appeared side by side on the overhead view: Natalie and Ryan, brother and sister, and as different as dawn and dusk.
It was a school picture of an eleven-year-old Miss Ferguson; her face was softened somewhat, and her eyes a little bluer, but otherwise she was much the same. Ryan, however, was nothing like her: his hair was a mussy brown, obviously uncared for, and his skin was more tan, though still pale. The most strikingly different thing about him was his eyes: brown, dark brown, hard and sharp like a cedar splinter. Childhood had not softened him in the way it had for his sister.
The facial structure—delicate, as if a bird's—remained the same between the two of them. Checking photographs of the parents, it was obvious that both children borrowed from both of the parents.
"Fraternal twins, then," Artemis said, frowning slightly. "However, that does not go to say that they are completely different. Criminality is in the blood, not in the mind with a whim. If Miss Ferguson would steal a painting, then I am sure the brother has done less innocent things."
Even as he said his words, he recalled hers: he plays king with the servants and god with the grounds… i'm not strong enough… no one understands…
…he's coming…
He shivered involuntarily. Ryan was, clearly, a potential threat.
But better not let them know. His suspicions regarding Ryan were unfounded, and one must start the fire before the fish is fried. "To no matter. We have a blueprint of their grounds, and the Fergusons seem… lax in their security." His eyes developed an odd glint. "I believe it is time to point out the weaknesses."
The War Room was quiet for a moment, but the silence subsided into the gentle chatter of planning, and then into the fine tuned
And the words: the words echoed through his mind…
…he's coming…
:i:
When Artemis next entered his suite of rooms, he checked the IM. 'Medea' was not online, nor had she left him any offline messages. All the better; her presence would only tempt him to gloat.
There were a few items he had to pack for the Lear jet. Though Butler would take care of the… supplies, there were some things only Artemis could to attend to.
His clothes, for one. He selected his best. No use looking grubby, even if the security cameras would never capture a pixel of his immaculate aesthetics. His toiletries next, since Juliet always seemed to pack the wrong shampoo. Shuddering, he remembered last time—the only time—he had allowed that. He had walked around smelling like 'orange blast' for a full six hours before he found the opportunity to rinse that atrocity out of his hair.
And then—the painting.
Girl in Solitude.
He went to it, standing there like a lover in awe. It was a beautiful painting: exquisite, really. He understood why such a pale, seemingly insipid girl would love such a thing. Plain girls always long to be roses.
Quickly, he rolled up the painting and set it near the door. Natalie Ferguson was no less a fool than Medea Atreus.
:i:
I hesitated before posting this, since this chapter is the one that really sets "Medea" in stone—and her brother.
The names of "Natalie" and "Ryan" were obtained by closing my eyes, opening a baby name book to a random page, and jabbing my finger down. So elaborate mythological explanations, no naming them after some obscure historical figure. I don't see the point of all that… really, do you think a parent has any idea how their kid will turn out and have some perfect name to describe them? The person defines the name, not the other way around. Only when a person tries to select a name to describe themselves is that changed—like "Medea Atreus". Just thought I should mention it.
In any case, I hope she doesn't appear Sueish at all. I'm planning on doing some sketches of how I visualize her, so if you can suffer through my poor drawing skills, you may like to compare how I see her to your own vision.
I have the next four chapters complete, so after this chapter has trickled down the page I'll post the next one – in a week or so, in other words. Unless I get carried away with editing Teh Invasion. :D
CC much appreciated – and this chapter, especially CC on "Medea Atreus" thus far.
