A/N: Hey! I'm still here, plugging away. This chapter was almost as long as the other one, so it needed a lot of going over...I always figure it's better to go over it until I'm (somewhat) satisfied than to hurry and post too soon, and feel like I could have done better if I'd just been more patient and put in more work.

Anyway, hope you enjoy, and see you at the end! (:

Chapter 6: The Prime Suspect

Artemis knelt on the ground. A sky forever tinged blood-red hung overhead, and all around him the world was nothing but a wasteland, barren, dead.

An hour per second for a count of forty, followed by a deceleration to thirty minutes per second for a count of eighteen, then a slight jump backward in time, one minute per second for a count of two.

Forty and thirty—those were good. But eighteen, that could be a problem.

He could hear the shouts of battle behind him. If only Holly could hold them off a little longer—

A sudden burst of cold washed over him. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, the very last friend he had left in this horrible, miserable place. He could see her as the blade sunk deep into her chest, so close to her heart.

All he could do was watch as she fell backward, slowly, as though falling through water, her expression frozen in a look of half surprise, half agony. He heard the distant thud as her back hit the cushion of ash layered over the ground.

She laid there, helpless. At last, with great difficulty, she turned her head and her eyes fell on him.

"Artemis," she pleaded, with her very last bit of strength. "Help me."

Artemis did not move. Instead, inside his core, which was now permeated with sparks of magic, he felt exactly when her tense, pained face slackened, and when her hazel eyes grew dull as rust.

You can save her, he thought, fighting against the ice in his own chest. Just remember the count.

But the numbers were slipping away from him, the memory of them like formless smoke on the wind. Bits of the pattern faded at a time, and were replaced by the rhythmic pounding of a single number, like the drum of a funeral march. Four. Four. Four. Four.

The count, he thought desperately. If he could not remember it, then he would not be able to save her. How could his own mind be so unreliable?If his brain didn't work, it was useless. He was useless.

Artemis staggered toward Holly, his eyes focused on the gun clutched in her hand. He couldn't fail. He couldn't let this happen.

Suddenly, a figure stood in his path. His gaze fell on the all-too-familiar frame of a young girl, her long black hair striking in the red light of the flames around them, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

The number continued to repeat itself in his mind like the pounding of his own heart as he stared into that beautiful face.

"I don't have time for you," he snapped, and tried to weave around her, but the human-like pixie moved in perfect synchronization with him, as though she were his reflection in an endless mirror wall that stood before him, separating him from his friend.

"Oh, I think you have time," purred Opal Koboi, her dark red lips curling with pleasure.

Artemis felt panic crawling up his throat and sinking down into his paralyzed legs. He had to get to Holly soon, or else he would miss his opportunity, and her hazel eyes would never open again.

Think! he commanded himself, the word almost like a scream. Yet he could barely hear it over the roaring beat in his ears, and he could not remember the count.

Opal's smile widened.

Artemis jerked awake. He breathed in ragged gasps, and his eyes flickered unsteadily all around him, settling on various familiar objects. The small bedside nightstand, the desk lamp and his copy of Crime and Punishment next to it, the dresser with the tall mirror, the white door that led to the lavatory—

At last his gaze settled on his laptop, which was open and humming on the bed beside him, the file he had been looking through still on the screen. He took several deep, calming breaths.

It took Artemis a moment to register that his back felt hot and sticky, and when he sat up he found that he was still fully dressed.

This suit is probably ruined, he thought, frowning slightly.

Artemis's gaze drifted, automatically searching for a window to assess the time of day, but of course there was none. He forced his misty mind to focus and, turning his eyes to the digital clock on his computer screen, saw that it was only mid-evening.

He should not have allowed himself to sleep at such an odd time. Repeated experience had proven to him that sleep during the day did nothing to compensate for what he typically lost at night due to nightmares and general stress, but it seemed his body had a will of its own. Ironic that he, Artemis Fowl the Second, who had employed and commanded more people than one could easily count, could not even compel his own body to observe simple instructions. He could not seem to get control.

No control.

Artemis felt his breathing speed up again. Except for the pale, sickly glow of the laptop screen, the room was dark, and suddenly that darkness seemed to weigh on his chest, constricting his lungs. Ridiculous that a mere dream, a collection of old thoughts and instinctive impulses assembled indiscriminately by his subconscious, should affect him so. The iron weight in his head, the lump in his throat, the sense of helplessness that lingered in his consciousness like a ghost—they were all simply physical reactions triggered by an emotional response to memories of previous emotional responses. Each response could easily be broken down and categorized, explained neatly and scientifically.

Artemis couldn't stop shivering. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and it came away cold and clammy. His intellect and broad knowledge base were good for a lot of things—cheering him up after a nightmare was apparently not one of them.

Artemis touched the ring on his middle finger, tracing the large ruby attached to the band, the communicator Holly had given to him so long ago. He was suddenly tempted to use it. Sitting here in the darkness, he didn't trust his memory; for all he knew, he had actually failed to revive her all those months ago, and it was his memory of saving her that had been the real dream. All it would take was one quick call. If he could hear her groggy, irritated voice, that would certainly prove that it had simply been a nightmare, wouldn't it?

Artemis squeezed his palm over the ring, concealing it from view. No. No, you fool, don't be childish. You are a Fowl. To be rid of this ridiculous disease, you must not give in to such weakness.

At moments like this, Artemis regretted sending Butler away. He was used to having his faithful bodyguard forever at his elbow. But it was also at times like these that he knew he had made the correct decision—if Butler was to see the look of supreme self-pity likely now contorting his face, or hear him expanding on overindulgent expressions of pointless emotionalism and gloom, the lingering sense of shame at these lapses would be all the more sharp.

Artemis got up and, after flicking on the light, went to the mirror to comb out his hair, which had become so thoroughly disheveled during his sleep he could have almost passed for the vagabond in Orion's novel.

He stared at the unkempt face in the mirror. What happened? he wondered. What had happened to the Artemis Fowl the Second of yesterday, who was always cool and calculating, a step ahead of everyone else, with the steel core that let him forge ahead with his audacious schemes with no fear? He surpassed almost everyone in so many areas; surely among all the inferior and superior people in the world, he unequivocally belonged among the superior.

At this thought, Artemis's eyes returned to the nightstand beside his bed, and his gaze fell briefly on the worn copy of Crime and Punishment. It had been one of his favorite books back when his father was still missing in Russia; Juliet had managed to smuggle the enormous tome down for him a few weeks ago, and since then he had been perusing it to pass the time. As he looked at it, a strange thought occurred to him.

He had, of course, read the novel in its entirety many times before. It was about a young Russian scholar who decided to commit murder for the purpose of testing a theory. The Russian claimed that the people of the world could be divided into two categories: the ordinary and the extraordinary. The ordinary person had to obey the rules and laws of the world because they were ordinary, but the extraordinary man, who possessed true superiority of mind and was destined to do great things, was exempt from such constraints. A truly great individual would be able to commit atrocities with a perfectly clear conscience.

Ten-year-old Artemis Fowl upon first reading the book had been fascinated. He could not help but observe the striking similarities between the Russian scholar's views and those of the Fowls. Gold is power—As Artemis Fowl Senior had once said, to change the world one must have leverage, and gold was leverage. Likewise, the Russian believed he could murder an old woman and take her wealth, and the act would be justified by the fact it would give him the advantage he needed to start on his road to greatness, and he would one day put that wealth to far better and nobler uses than the old woman had.

The Russian had failed to make his goals reality, but naturally Artemis Fowl age ten knew that was because of the Russian's own personal weakness, not a flaw in the view itself. The Russian had not been clever enough, not farseeing enough in anticipating obstacles and minimizing risks. But Artemis Fowl the Second was different. He possessed more poise and intelligence than the poor scholar ever had. He could have done better, would do better. He was, after all, one of the extraordinary.

However, now Artemis did not find the text quite so inspiring as he once had. Before, he had always had a snide comment to make about the Russian when mentioning the book in passing to Butler. The Russian had been caught up in a pitiable misconception of himself, thinking himself to be greatly superior to the majority of humanity; yet that very misguided belief was what made him all the more worthy of ridicule. Now Artemis found himself looking more at the later sections of the book, after the Russian's misconceptions began to fall away. The man's greatest misery was not fear of punishment, but seeing his own weak, pathetic reaction, and realizing that he was not extraordinary after all, not destined to achieve greatness. His crime was not that of a maverick doing what was necessary to achieve some grand destiny; he was just a petty criminal like any other, like all the other common criminals he himself had so long derided.

"A thief! You're just a thief!"

Artemis's gaze fell away from the novel, but he had trouble raising his eyes back to the mirror.

He had met many criminals in his time. Briar Cudgeon. Jon Spiro. Leon Abbott. Damon Kronski. And of course, Opal Koboi. They all thought they were different from the rest, more intelligent, more capable—special. All were convinced they would succeed where their predecessors had failed, that they were destined for greatness. And that was precisely what made them all the same.

"Yes. A thief if you like. Hardly just a thief, though."

Artemis finished combing his hair and set the comb on the dresser, precisely parallel to the frame. Hollow mismatched eyes stared back at him from the mirror, a face gaunt and unworthy of sympathy. Like a subdued villain from an epilogue.

And now, he thought, as images from his dream flickered across his mind, the villain is under threat by another villain.

They had defeated Opal Koboi more than once, yet she kept coming back. Supposedly the LEP had caught her and sent her back to the past, but Artemis couldn't believe that her plans, whatever they were, hadn't succeed on some level. As long as she lived, she would keep coming for him. Keep working to destroy everything that he cared about.

Had his mind been functioning properly, the thought of her would not be such a torment, and he might trust himself to thwart her as he had in the past. But he was far from at his best at the moment. At the end of his last misadventure with the fairies, his illness had reduced him to relying on a haphazard plan over which he had little real control, and it had been mainly dumb luck that had saved them. It may have worked with Turnball Root, but it wouldn't work with Opal.

Artemis reached absently into his pocket and his fingers brushed against something cool and metallic. A coin with a hole pierced through the center.

I will be returning home soon, he thought. There, Opal will come for me. But he would have friends there, too. Some in body, some in spirit. He could only hope that would be enough.

At the restaurant, they sat in perfect silence. The light from the chandelier played on Trouble's features as he gazed at her across the table, his dark eyes pensive, determined.

Suddenly, Trouble grinned broadly and laughed, breaking the tension. He leaned back in his chair.

"Well, glad to finally havethat all out. If the time ever comes where I have to decide between fighting a raging bull troll on his own turf and coming up with a way to say something tactfully, remind me to take the bull troll."

Holly couldn't help but laugh too. "That bad, huh?"

Trouble shook his head. "You have no idea."

A polite knock came at the door, and the sprite entered, bearing their dinners on elegant white platters. His wings fluttered slightly in excitement while he recited everything included in their orders from memory and set the steaming plates down in front of them. As the sprite came up next to Holly, he met her gaze and smiled with particular warmth. Holly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Male sprites were all the same.

Trouble looked straight at the sprite, and growled menacingly.

"We'll call you if we need anything," Trouble said pointedly.

The sprite noticed Trouble's expression, and tittered a little nervously. "Ah, very good, sir," he said, and slipped out of the room much quicker than he had come.

Trouble continued to glare at the door for a minute, before at last he turned his attention to his food.

Smiling slightly to herself at the scowl on Trouble's face, Holly took up her own utensils and started picking through her food. The dinner was comprised of an assortment of steaming vegetables lightly sautéed in some kind of special sauce. Artichokes, broccoli, mushrooms, and scallions, among a few other things, some of which she didn't recognize, but could only suppose were expensive imports from the surface. A dark, leafy garnish adorned the side. Holly breathed deeply, taking in the smell.

The meal sitting in front of her was probably among the highest quality to be had underground, and certainly better than she'd ever had. She had to suppress a smile at the thought that Artemis probably would have complained about every item there. According to Butler, the 'terrible cuisine' provided at Dr. Argon's clinic was a common topic of conversation.

Holly's fork hesitated on a pea pod.

But there wouldn't be any more of that, she thought, at least for a while. Because tomorrow Artemis was leaving to return to the surface to continue his recovery at Fowl Manor.

Holly had known about the arrangement for over a month now, and yet she still didn't know how she felt about it, or even how she ought to feel. All she knew was that, when she had hesitantly first brought the subject up, Artemis had seemed perfectly unconcerned, even indifferent. Oh yes, he had listened to Dr. Argon's reasoning, and he agreed with it, for the most part. But mostly he was simply anxious to return to his former way of life. Did he feel up for that? Of course, he was a Fowl. It would not be long before he eradicated the disease, and there was little point in worrying his parents when the confinement was not strictly necessary. Did Dr. Argon think there was any chance he would need to come back down to stay at the clinic? Oh, it was possible, if he experienced a relapse, but that wasn't likely. He was well on his way to recovery: he only had to overcome the small matter of guilt.

After that initial conversation, the topic had rarely come up again, and when it did, it always went about that same way. They both spoke with the kind of light tones they might have used if they were talking about the inches of snowfall in Ireland.

I should go see Artemis tonight, Holly thought vaguely. Or tomorrow, before he leaves. Of course, by the time she left here, visiting hours would probably be over, and even if Argon could be persuaded to open the doors for her, Artemis needed his sleep for tomorrow's journey. And the next morning, they were leaving at three in the morning so that they could make it to Fowl Manor by early evening surface-time.

Maybe she ought not worry about it. She had just seen him the previous day, and she could always stop by the manor after he was settled in. However, when she had left the clinic yesterday, neither of them had even mentioned his leaving, and she hadn't gotten in a proper goodbye.

Holly pinched the bridge of her nose, frowning as she rubbed the tenseness in the spot.

"Okay there?"

Startled, Holly glanced up to see Trouble gazing at her, smiling, but looking a little concerned.

"Fine," she said, a little too quickly. "Just thinking."

Trouble nodded. "Right. But go easy. If you keel over and I have to call the LEP medical division to make a run down here, I don't know what I would put on the form."

Holly managed a weak smile. "I'll be careful."

Trouble resumed stabbing things on his plate like they had personally offended him, and shoveling them in his mouth.

Holly chewed slowly on a head of broccoli, and she found herself studying his face. The strong jaw, the patch of yellow scarring on his nose. The determined eyes beneath sharp, lightning bolt eyebrows that angled down whenever he was thinking hard about something.

I said no, Holly thought. Why? What better fairy could she ask for than Trouble Kelp? No fairy in the LEP had more of her respect. Trouble was all the things that she valued, a good officer, disciplined and hardworking, who risked his life for others without a thought. Holly had never thought he was bad looking either. He had that rough, adventurous look she'd always secretly preferred in her hormonal adolescent days.

She could still change her mind. She could tell him she wanted to try it after all.

Holly gazed evenly at Trouble across the table, and the thought flickered across her mind coolly, dispassionately. She could never really accept his offer, of course. Even if she could somehow induce the feelings right now she lacked, she wouldn't be able to trust them, or believe they were anything but fleeting phantoms. And so they could only lead her down a path in which she would eventually find herself hopelessly tangled in a web of expectations she could never fulfill.

Holly's eyes dropped back to her plate.

She realized she wasn't as hungry as she had been a moment before. She prodded absently at her food, and she found her thoughts wandering back to Orion's silly tome of nonsense. Trouble's version of romance was certainly preferable to Orion's, though she could have done without the fancy restaurant. Yet Noble Heart wasn't all a sappy love story. In fact, the first few chapters had been disturbing in a much darker way.

The story began by telling of a great warrior, who trained as a knight in one of the king's guilds and whose skill with a blade was apparently unmatched throughout the land. It didn't even occur to Holly that this great warrior was not the noble knight spoken of on the back cover until the warrior suddenly abandoned the guild and set out on a quest to conquer the kingdom.

Word of the great warrior's exploits eventually reached the king. The warrior was well known for his love of single combat, pitting himself against another opponent and demonstrating his tremendous skill and prowess, and would accept any challenge. So the king issued a proclamation offering untold glory and riches to any knight who challenged the warrior and slew him. Many warriors rose to the king's call, but as each set out for the great warrior's camp, none returned.

As Holly forced herself to slog through Orion's flowery prose, she kept on the lookout for connections to real people. Holly suspected that if Orion had based the "noble knight," who had yet to make an appearance, on himself, and the mysterious princess character on her, then others they knew from their real-life misadventures were likely to come into the picture as well. She was curious as to who this 'great warrior' was supposed to be. Briar Cudgeon, perhaps? Jon Spiro? Leon Abbot? However, none of those seemed to fit the great warrior's profile. He didn't have any grand designs for revenge or a physical deformity, he didn't have gut problems or a fetish for the color white, and, for all his ruthlessness, he wasn't a savage brute.

Finally the noble knight entered the story. The youngest of the king's personal guard, the knight was barely out of his boyhood years, but a quick study with a sharp eye. He volunteered to 'slay the dragon,' and so set out from the king's castle.

The knight arrived at the enemy's camp in time to hear the great warrior making his usual speech, deriding the king and his elite warriors, challenging any who heard to take back their honor if they were able. Of course the knight, idiot that he was, immediately fell for the taunts, and stepped forward, brandishing his sword and declaring he would indeed do just that.

"I am a knight of the king," the young man said. "And a knight of the king defends all he sees. His land, his people, his comrades, his sovereign...even his enemies. I will defeat you, reclaim the honor of His Majesty, and even save you from your own wicked self, great warrior."

The great warrior was hardly impressed. "Save me, will you, boy? No, it is I, the greatest of warriors, who shall save this land. It is ruled by a fool of a king, and in his hands its great wealth is squandered. So I will conquer this kingdom, and I will make it great among all the peoples of the land. I will show you true peace and prosperity, the kind that may only be won through blood."

The noble knight most uncharacteristically had little to say. "I would hate you, great warrior, for your arrogance, your pitiless, misguided ideals," he said simply. "But I see you clearly for what you are, and I can find naught but pity in my soul."

"Holly?"

Holly blinked, startled, and forced herself to come back to reality. "Yeah?"

Trouble stared at her unblinkingly, brow furrowed in disapproval as he speared a head of cauliflower with unnecessary force. "You're thinking too hard again. Stop it."

Holly stared back at him. She scooped up an oddly shaped mushroom and said, "You know, Trubs, sometimes I think this commander thing is starting to go to your head. If I were Nº1, I'd throw a few words out there. Bossy. Controlling."

Trouble tried not to grin, but failed. "That's what Grub says. Everyone else calls it a natural gift for leadership."

"That's what they say to your face," Holly said. She paused, eyes drifting down to her plate again, then looking back up. "But speaking of the LEP," she said, and her expression was a touch more serious. "You never did tell me about the emergency."

Trouble nodded. "Right." He suddenly looked incredibly tired, his shoulders slumping, head bending as thought under an incredible weight. "I didn't tell you before because I made up my mind to say what I did tonight, and I wasn't going to give myself any more excuses. And the Council ordered me not to take any action until they could bring the matter before a meeting tomorrow, so there's not much to do except sit back and hope our team on the surface shapes up. But...it's bad, Holly."

Trouble looked almost as pale as he had when Turnball Root had once forced him to enter a human dwelling uninvited. "That thing with the goblin and those demons," he began. "I got a message from our team on the surface that one of our officers made contact with the goblin. And some new evidence has come to light that these fairies haven't just been running amok wreaking normal havoc. In fact, it seems there have been...attacks."

A stillness seemed to have fallen over the room. "Attacks," she said at last. "What kind of attacks?"

"Murders," Trouble answered grimly. "That's what our perps have been up to all this time. An officer doing a routine manual sweep of the area happened in on the goblin while he was doing his work, and caught him in the act. Pure dumb luck. From what we can tell, this has been going on for awhile. Dead Mud Men everywhere, and all their doing."

"And we aren't noticing this until now?" Holly said, incredulous. "Mysterious murders going on all around the place, and the team on the surface didn't make the connection?"

Trouble shook his head. "That's where this gets bizarre. The goblin and demons haven't been obvious about what they're doing. They've been covering their tracks very carefully. The human found dead in his apartment, the one where the officer had a confrontation with one of our criminals, didn't have a thing on him that would have helped us link his death back to fairies. He was an addict, and when the humans finally found him, he was marked down as dying from an overdose."

Holly didn't know what to think. "So...this goblin shot the human up with his own drugs to avoid drawing suspicion, rather than kill him in a more normal way."

Trouble nodded. "Looks that way."

"Seems a little too calculating for a goblin," Holly said. "But how do you know the goblin killed the human? Maybe he just happened to be there. Wrong place at the wrong time."

Trouble shook his head. "The goblin got the jump on our officer the moment he saw him. But before he knocked him out cold, the officer heard the goblin say something like, 'I will cleanse the human scourge.' The human's death was no coincidence. And Foaly did some research on death rates in Dublin where we've been hunting these fairies, and they went up by nearly twenty-five percent, at almost exactly the same time these fairies escaped. The deaths don't appear connected in any way—car accidents, serial murders, gang violence, you name it—but the humans have started commenting that perhaps the fabled luck of the Irish has taken a turn for the worst."

Holly shook her head. There was a mystery here, but the clues all seemed so meaningless. Random Mud Men murders? Elaborate coverups? A goblin idealist set to take out humans, perhaps influenced by his demon compatriots, who didn't want anyone to know what he was doing? It was less like something out of a Sherlock Holmes than a hodgepodge of facts thrown together by a third grader.

"Maybe someone's just playing a game with us," Holly said.

Trouble snorted. "Oh, someone's undoubtedly playing games. But it's not the goblin, at least, not on his own."

Holly leaned forward. "How do you know that?"

Trouble tapped a finger against the table. "When we first heard about these murders, we thought this might be a band of pleasure killers. Demons murdering Mud Men for a buzz, and a goblin just going along with the pack, as goblins usually do. But there's a problem with that theory."

Trouble made a sound that was half growl, half sigh. "We didn't get a single image of the goblin. The officer had his helmet camera pointing right at him, but all we got was white noise. In other words, he had a solinium emitter of some kind on him, to wipe out video feed."

"Pretty high-tech for a goblin," Holly noted.

Trouble nodded. "When our officer came to, he said the goblin was outfitted with what looked like a new jumpsuit, and as much equipment and advanced tech as an LEP operative. We know that there's plenty of old LEP junk circulating on the black market, but this was new, state-of-the-art weaponry and defenses. Somehow, this goblin, and we should probably assume his demon friends too, have access to some serious resources. Resources a normal, slum-bred goblin wouldn't have access to."

Holly thought about that. "So you think there's someone else involved. A mastermind who's controlling this goblin and the demons, and furnishing the equipment."

Trouble folded his arms. "That's the only explanation. The real question is, why? What does he have to gain?"

They were both silent then. Holly stared down into her water for a long time. She had wanted to avoid this, but she couldn't help it. She would have to say something.

"Or she," she said. "Actually, I mentioned the goblin and demons to Artemis yesterday when I saw him, and he had a theory. He thought there might be a mastermind too, since these fairies seemed a little too adept at evading us. If that's true, then the real purpose might just be to distract us from whatever the mastermind is really up to. Maybe the crimes themselves aren't anything but a ruse to draw the LEP's eye. For instance, say Opal from the past—"

"—who was already sent back to the past, as you well know," interrupted Trouble.

"That doesn't mean she didn't leave something behind," Holly argued. "Opal could have set something up that will allow her present self to escape. Past-Opal could have pre-orchestrated all this. You have to admit, something that diabolical wouldn't be beyond her."

"And why, if it was a distraction, would the mastermind have his—or her—pawns intentionally cover up half the distraction?"

Holly didn't know how to answer that. "I don't know. We didn't know about that when we were talking. But there has to be some reason. Maybe it's not supposed to make sense. Maybe that's part of her strategy, to confuse us so we can't get a handle on anything."

Trouble was gazing at her intently. "So, you talked to Fowl," he said in a low, carefully even voice. "And what else did Fowl have to say?"

Holly didn't like the look Trouble was giving her, and her eyes dropped to the table. "Nothing," she muttered. "Nothing that I remember."

Trouble's expression was cool. He sat up a little straighter, his shoulders back, and Holly knew he was about to speak, not as a friend, but as a commander.

"This is an order," he said. "You will not speak to Fowl again regarding LEP affairs, not until this matter is dealt with."

Holly had been expecting this, but not the ice in his face and voice, and she felt her natural sense of defiance rise.

"Everyone knows about what's been going on, I heard Frond making an announcement on PPTV just today. Besides, if it is Opal, Artemis may be the best chance we have. He can help us." As a resentful afterthought, she added, "Sir."

Trouble stared back at her, mouth set in a hard line. "We know someone very clever is behind this, Holly. Think. If it isn't Opal, who would be the next prime suspect?"

Holly froze.

Trouble went on, "Holly, I told you before that I've always respected you, and thought highly of your abilities. You're not just good with a gun, you're perceptive too and you've got more common sense than the entire Council put together. But look at yourself right now. When it comes to this human, recently you haven't been acting like you. Holly, you more than any fairy have reason to be wary of him. But, correct me if I'm wrong, it looks as though you've been...drawn in."

"Artemis Fowl is our ally, he's proved it over and over," Holly returned heatedly. "He might be a human, but—"

"He's different from the others?" Trouble guessed. He shook his head and sighed slightly. "Look, Holly. I'll grant you Fowl has done a few things for the People from time to time. But that's because our interests have coincided. We can't know what will happen when that changes and he has something he wants from us again. He has too many of our secrets, he's a danger to all of us. I know you like to think you've become friends, but if you stop to think like an officer for a moment, you'll realize we can't trust him."

Holly didn't look at him. She glared at the table. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she kept them in, trying to reign in her rising temper.

"He has been a criminal," she said evenly at last. "But he's changed. And even if he hasn't, he was always just a thief. Never a murderer. He could never be behind something like this."

Trouble stared at her hard, unblinking. "He's a human, Holly. He was just a thief—if you can call kidnap and extortion of an entire race under threat of a global war just thievery—when he was a child. He's nearly fully grown now, and in my experience, criminals don't grow out of being criminals, they get worse. Especially ill-natured creatures like the Mud Men. You dig deep enough, you'll find they're all cold-blooded killers at their core."

Holly blinked. A distant memory flickered at the back of her mind.

"I am nothing like Jon Spiro. He's a cold-blooded killer!"

"Give yourself a few years. You'll get there."

I said that, Holly thought. A few years ago, she would have sided with Trouble in this argument. So what made her so certain now? What had changed?

"Artemis has done a lot of good for the People," Holly said in a low voice. "And he has the potential to do a lot more. He's seen what he used to do for what it really is. That's why he's so sick now."

Trouble's expression was flat and unyielding. "You don't get it, Holly. Fowl is a liar. You're convinced he's changed, but that's just what he wants you to think. He'll stab you in the back first time it's convenient. That's what Mud Men do."

Holly didn't answer. She didn't raise her eyes, only sat where she was, unmoving. Something was building in her chest. A burning, a searing heat that wanted to rise up her throat and shoot out her mouth.

Trouble added a little more kindly, "Come on, Holly. Be smart. Be the officer I know you are."

A dead silence filled the room. Holly listened to the sound of the vents blowing cool air from the ceiling, and the distant voices of other patrons. They all sounded condescending and manipulative to her ears. She was used to being manipulated. Just not by Trouble Kelp.

Eyes still on the table, Holly slowly rose, pushing back her chair.

Trouble blinked, startled. "You're leaving?"

Holly wordlessly turned her back to him.

Trouble let out a frustrated sigh. "Don't just walk out. You don't want to talk about Fowl, we don't have to. I think you're making a mistake, but that's your concern. Only not if you keep going to Fowl and getting him wrapped up in our business. Just promise you'll stop going to tell him every little thing the LEP is doing, and we can talk about something else."

Holly walked slowly, deliberately to the exit. However, as she reached the door, she paused and turned to look at Trouble over her shoulder. She looked him directly in the eye, and for a moment, even Commander Trouble Kelp was frozen where he was, a touch of ashen gray in his normally healthy brown complexion.

"You'll put the People at risk," he warned one last time.

Holly turned away again, opened the door, and was gone.

Holly stalked down the long ornate hallway. She passed the sprite who was their server, and he opened his mouth as though to say something, but, seeing her expression, seemed to think better of it, and instead concentrated on staying as far out of her direct line of sight as possible.

Holly was seething. What do you know, Trubs? she thought as she cut across the main dining area, passing scores of other patrons who shot curious glances at her as she went. What do you know about anything?

Holly pushed open the glass exit doors with such force they trembled in their cradles as they swung closed behind her.

Holly stood where she was a moment, staring straight ahead, her face like stone. However, at last she slumped and sighed deeply.

A picture of Artemis was playing in the back of her mind. What he might have said if he had been here.

"Perhaps that is true, Commander. Perhaps I am guilty as charged, and I am the conspirator behind this entire affair. Although you would have to wonder how I've managed it, locked up in my cell and under close LEP scrutiny day in and day out as I am. I am flattered by your immense faith in my abilities." She imagined his almost disdainful smile.

What's wrong with me? she wondered. Trouble isn't saying anything different than he usually does. Artemis wouldn't have let himself get so bent out of shape if he'd been listening. So what's going on with you, Short?

Holly pressed a hand to her forehead, and wiped away sweat. Perhaps it was the wall—the wall of careful defenses she knew Artemis had laid between him and everyone else, and the weakness she knew lay behind the wall. The invisible barrier that put her so on edge every minute of the day.

Holly started walking, and as she did her mind drifted back to Orion's book. An image of the final battle between the great warrior and the noble knight played through her thoughts.

The great warrior, whose skill was, after all, so far superior to that of the courageous youth, stepped forward a final time, and drove his blade forward, straight through the young knight's heart.

It's sick, Holly thought. A sick book.

But as the knight fell dead to the unforgiving stone, and his great sword dropped with a resounding clang, the cold heart of the great warrior was stirred. As he gazed upon the lifeless form of the young man, he saw a strength that far surpassed his own, and knew he had done a terrible thing.

For the great warrior knew, as he had always known, that his tremendous skill concealed a weakness, an infirmity of the soul. His had been a life led in fear, a fear of living without being great, a fear of never achieving the power he sought. This noble youth—he had lived without fear.

And so, the great warrior took up the slain knight's fallen sword and, raising it to the light, saw etched into the steel in burning letters: Only he of noblest heart may wield this blade.

"This is the sword of the greatest warrior," he said. "For the greatest of warriors is not he with the strongest blade—but he with the strongest heart."

A/N: So, if chapter 4 was for setting up the literal plot of the story, this one's mostly for setting up thematic plots. (Well, some aspects of the themes, at least.)

Well then, thank you all so much for reviewing last chapter, I really appreciate it! If you get the chance, please leave a comment and let me know what you think.

And once again, thanks so much to levina for putting in another stint in NH-betaing boot camp, trying to work out the innumerable awkward or incomprehensible phrases, and hidden grammatical errors. (I hope you feel like I do that we conquered Crime and Punishment together. (; )

Posted 7/2/13

Edited January 2015: Did quite a bit of rewriting and slicing things out to get this down to a more manageable size, and make the flow feel more natural. (Went from approximately 12,400 words to about 6,900, so just about chopped it in half.) The same ideas are there, just without a lot of the padding, of which there was much in almost every section. The feeling coming away from the chapter (for both scenes) may be somewhat different from before, but nothing that in any way affects later chapters.

I'm working hard to improve my writing. Believability! Natural Flow! Conciseness! Those are a few of the things the beta in my head (who has a voice very much like yours, levi (; ) is constantly advising. And I find going over my old writing for rewrites helps me build up momentum.