I will have this posted before next Monday! I will, I will!

Also, I would just like to take a minute here and point out that, hints though there might be, there's is absolutely 100% no romance in this story. Aren't you proud of me? Go on, you know you are. I'm a recovering addict, I am...

Ilex-ferox rocks my socks.

January 7th, 2011, Greensgate Lane, South Killingholme, England

Holly eyed Mulch over her barely-touched mug of cider. 'You don't mean who I think you mean.' She paused, 'Do you?'

'Well, I dunno. Who do you mean? I'm talking about a pale, scrawny human about 5 foot 7, weighing in at an unhealthy nine stone, bags under his eyes like a middle aged office worker.'

'I'm talking about Artemis.'

'Yeah, that's who I said, innit?'

'Mulch,' Holly's voice was repressive, 'Artemis has been wiped. He has no memory of us.'

'Well, technically speaking ...' Mulch cleared his throat, 'to be perfectly precise, he may have planted something on yours truly thus enabling him to–'

'Trigger complete memory recall,' Holly finished for him.

'In a manner of speaking.'

'Mulch, you didn't.' The look on Holly's face was a mixture of agony and hilarity.

The dwarf looked rather proud of himself.

'When?'

'Last weekend. Didn't know, of course, that you would be landing on my doorstep so soon afterwards but, all in all, I think that's for the best. What can I say? My mother always said I had impeccable timing.'

'I can't believe you, Diggums. You are in so-o much trouble if the Council ever catches you.' She smiled. 'Thank you. Thank you so much. If anyone can get us out of this, it's Artemis.'

'Excuse me? Us? Honey, this is all you. For once I kept my fingers to myself.'

'I suppose there's a first time for everything,' Holly shot back.

Mulch grinned, unrepentant. 'I've got something else for you, you want to hear it?'

'What is it?' Holly raised wary eyebrows.

Going over to the supposed dinner table, Mulch rifled through a mess of dirty dishes and paperback mystery novels until he found his mobile. Scrolling through the call history, he selected a message and held the phone out to Holly. 'He asked after you.'

Tentatively holding the mobile to one pointed ear, Holly's eyes widened as she recognised the voice.

"Mr. Diggums, I presume? It's Artemis. Artemis Fowl. I suppose it goes without saying that I have received your letter. It was quite ... ah ... informative. Thanks are in order, apparently. You have done me a great service."

There was a change in tone; more self-assured.

"I hate to presume,' A snort from Holly, 'but would you mind meeting me for tea, say, tomorrow or sometime this weekend, perhaps, to discuss possible, mm, business ventures? I should think the time more than ripe for a cooperative effort from us. However, business aside, it would be nice to ..."

A pause. Another change in tone.

"It would be nice to re-establish contact. I do hope that ... that my erstwhile companions are still as ... boisterous as ever, and that Ho– that Captain Short is in good health. I would ask you to pass on my regards, but I fear that would have unpleasant consequences. I look forward to hearing from you, Mulch."

Holly handed back the phone.

Mulch grinned at her. 'So, Ho– Captain Short, how are you feeling? In good health?'

'Look here, convict–'

'Oooh, be careful there, Holly; takes one to know one!'

Holly inhaled sharply through her nose, swearing that she would hide that precious tinfoil hat of Foaly's somewhere he'd never, ever, find it.

January 7th, 2011, Fowl Manor, Dublin, Ireland

Artemis sat in a heavily embroidered William Morris armchair: his elbows on the oak desk before him, his fingers steepled, his lips resting on his index fingers. Through the tall, stained glass windows of his study, he watched the rain whip through the willow trees that bordered his mother's new water feature. He was also, though it didn't show, thinking furiously.

His mind was operating on several levels. One, the most practical, was rapidly listing various museums, library archives, banks and corporate headquarters which he could, with his new acquaintance, gain entrance to.

The second level, less practical but more concrete, was busy detailing all the possible ways for this to be an elaborate hoax. It was, surprisingly (though to no one but itself), finding this rather difficult. His younger self had explained everything, from those mystery mirrored contact lenses to the CCTV network Artemis did not remember setting up in the old, equally unremembered basement cell.

A third was still churning through his new memories, separating them into digestible morsels, ready to be psycho-analysed, categorised and filed away for further reference.

A fourth was trying to cope with the melting pot of emotions that had been giving him indigestion for nearly twenty-four hours now.

Artemis had always prided himself on being a man apart. He cared for precious few people. His mother. His father. Butler, he supposed. Maybe even Juliet, Butler's gadfly sister; if only because Juliet was simply too alive not to elicit some sort of emotional response from everyone and anyone.

Four people. Two of whom loved him because he was their child: the bond between them purely biological, their love a result of evolution and the desire to see their offspring succeed in life. Butler – well - Butler was his employee. Artemis wouldn't lie and say that the hulking Eurasian didn't care for his charge, or vice versa, but it was still a friendship built on a master-servant relationship. Hardly voluntary. And Juliet, well, even a corpse would find her endearing, in an exasperating sort of way. Artemis did allow, however, that his fondness for Juliet could be a by-product of his natural (if severely repressed) hormones. Though, he could say, with complete honesty, that his regard for Juliet was wholly platonic; especially since she had taken to wearing those ridiculous wrestling outfits.

Now, however, he realised that there were people he did care for and who - well, two at least, it could be argued - cared for him. Not only that, he realised that his attachment to Butler, even to Juliet, was much deeper than he had thought. The idea of Butler lying dead ...

Artemis shuddered, shunting that particular memory to the side.

The real conundrum was, he decided, that, after all these years of cultivating a distinct disdain for his fellow creatures, he found himself wanting to believe all of these new memories. They gave him access to people he hadn't even known he missed, access to a him that he hadn't known he missed.

He badly wanted, he discovered, to see the People again.

The rain was dying down, drops sliding down the leaded panes of his windows. The howling sound of the wind faded away. Artemis sat for a moment, enjoying the absence of noise.

He jumped, banging his shins, when the sound of his mobile broke the silence.

January 3rd, 2011, Operations Booth, Police Plaza, Haven City, The Lower Elements

Root's fingers were drumming a tattoo on one of Foaly's stainless steel desks.

'Can you keep in contact with her?' he asked at last.

'Mm, more or less,' Foaly replied. 'I can put calls through to a messaging service, where she and Mulch can pick them up. Pretty much untraceable, unless Investigations know Mulch's above ground mobile number, which, by the way, they don't. And that's if they realise Mulch is involved which, once again–'

'They don't. I get it, Foaly, you're terribly clever.'

The centaur preened. 'Well, I don't want to toot my own horn or anything, but ...'

'You? No, never!' said Root, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

January 7th, 2011, Fowl Manor, Dublin, Ireland

'Fowl speaking,' Artemis answered his mobile.

There was a guffaw on the other end. 'Right back at you, Artemis,' said Mulch. 'I got your message.'

'Mulch. Excellent. I don't suppose–'

'There's been a complication.'

Artemis frowned. 'What kind of complication?'

'A small, highly-strung, and very violent one,' Mulch replied. Artemis thought he could make out an indignant shout in the background.

'I'm afraid I don't follow.'

'Your favourite LEP Captain arrived on my doorstep this afternoon. She's on the run from the law. Ironic, no?'

'Holly? But that's preposterous!' He paused, then asked, 'Was it for speeding?'

Mulch laughed. 'You've only remembered her for a day and already you talk like you know her! You're right of course, it's ridiculous. Though she claims she didn't do it.'

Another indignant shout.

'Just what exactly is it that she didn't do?'

'Rob a museum of some fairy gold. And, seeing as that's rather your specialty, I thought perhaps ...?'

'That I could be of assistance.'

'Exactly. Now, don't get me wrong, I'd much rather be tunnelling a lot of jewels out of Buckingham Palace, but Holly's got just such a cute little face, you know? How can you say no to a face like that? Not to mention such a fantastic right hook.'

Artemis smiled. He lifted his fingers to his face in bemusement, feeling the strange new lines of his mouth. 'I think you mean the Tower of London,' he said, buying time to compose himself.

'What?'

'You'd rather be tunnelling jewels out of the Tower of London, that's were all the particularly good pieces are. Not to mention a fair few ravens.'

'Huh, you don't say. Jewels and a light lunch. Now there's an offer if ever I heard one.'

Artemis' smile grew. 'Mulch ... may I ... may I speak with her?'

Mulch laughed, not at all thrown by the sudden change of topic. 'Sure.'

A short pause and the sound of the phone changing hands.

He could hear her breathing but he waited for her to speak.

After a moment, she did. 'Artemis?' Her voice was quiet.

'I'm afraid so.'

A half-chuckle. 'It's good to hear your voice again, Mud Boy.'

'The same to you, Captain.'

A swallow. 'Will you help me, Fowl?'

'Dear me, the cop coming to the robber for help. There's so much irony here, I could write a poem,' he quoted.

He could hear her breathe in sharply through her nose, getting ready for a fight. He let his head fall back, resting on the armchair. Her anger and frustration comforted him: it felt like a home-coming.

'Of course I'll help you,' he waited a beat, 'Holly.'

It was incredible, really, what mobile phones picked up these days. Across several hundred kilometres, Artemis swore he could hear the elf smile.

Two hours later one exhilarated elf, and one very disgruntled dwarf, landed on Artemis' balcony. Butler opened the French windows to let them in.

'Butler!' Holly unclipped a green-tinged Mulch from her belt and launched herself at the big man.

Unhesitatingly, the bodyguard scooped her up, giving her a bone-crushing hug.

'You remember me!' Holly grinned at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Mulch struggled to his feet, coughing. 'Hey, what am I? Chopped goblin? Don't I get some love?'

'Not on that shower regime, you don't.' Butler told him, setting Holly down and clapping an enormous hand on the dwarf's shoulders. Mulch could have sworn he heard his kneecaps crack.

'I just bathed!' he argued.

'Yes,' Holly nodded solemnly, 'it was his traditional one bath of the year. A sacred event.'

Over Mulch's protests, she caught Artemis' eye and winked. The boy held out his hand to her. She walked towards him, looked at his proffered hand and raised an eyebrow. Butler and Mulch went quiet.

Without a word she fell forward, hugging him tight. 'You've grown,' she accused, her words muffled by his shirt.

He shrugged, letting his arms settle on her shoulders, 'I'm afraid I had a growth spurt during my sixteenth year.'

Holly sighed, breaking away from him. 'I'm sorry I missed that.'

He nodded. 'There wasn't much choice.'

'Are you – are you angry with me?' she asked. On the flight over she had nearly chewed through her lip: worrying that he would blame her, that he would hold her responsible for his memory loss. Very deep down, she felt as though she should have prevented it. Which was silly because, of course, they hadn't even been friends, had they? Not really. And yet here they were, hugging like long-lost family ...

She realised, then, just how much she had missed Artemis Fowl and Butler.

'Angry?' Artemis paused, thinking. 'No. I accepted the terms. I knew it was coming. I can hardly blame Commander Root for wanting to protect his citizens.'

Holly nodded, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

'Well, I don't know about you guys, but all this lovey-dovey stuff really makes me hungry. How about you show me the extent of your undying gratitude, Artemis, and introduce me to your fridge?'

Artemis wanted to feel irritated by the dwarf's brashness. Instead, he found himself laughing.

'All right; but then we must get down to business,' he warned.

'Whatever you say, Mud Boy.'

A roast chicken, three heads of broccoli, a salmon and two pints of organic ice cream later, they did get down to business. However, they didn't get far before:

'Wait, stop a moment. Holly, you're being accused of stealing Brísingamen?' Artemis repeated incredulously.

'That's what I said, isn't it?' Holly frowned. 'Freya lost it to the banks in the divorce and then it disappeared for about two and a half thousand years until–'

'What divorce?' Artemis interrupted again.

Holly sighed. 'I'm going to have to start at the very beginning, aren't I?'

'No,' said Artemis, irked by her school-teacher tone. 'I know who Freya was and I know the story of Brísingamen.'

'Well, I don't,' Butler pointed out.

'All right,' Holly held up her hands to forestall further interruptions, 'Freya is, according to human legend, the Norse Goddess of beauty, fertility, war and wealth. She's also one of the Valkyrie but, like the LEP, that's just a job. Of course, she isn't exactly a goddess, just a member of the Frond family. She comes from really old blood which is the reason she's still around today. And, to be fair to the Scandinavians, she's certainly beautiful, fertile and wealthy. Not to mention she has a temper to match Root's. As to the divorce, she and her husband Odin finally gave up the ghost around ... well, by your calendar, the 1990s, right after he caught her in bed with Loki. At least, according to the tabloids, that is. Of course, Odin was hardly monogamous himself. Anyway, Freya lost Brísingamen to pay for her lawyers. She may still be alive and kicking but, sadly, her money's not. The necklace disappeared for, as I said, quite a while, until, just last month, it was rediscovered in a warehouse of illegal imports during an LEP raid. It was put into the Haven Museum of Modern History because, technically, it no longer has an owner. All clear?'

'Er,' began Butler, 'well, what exactly is Brísingamen?'

The two fairies stared at him in disbelief.

'What planet are you from, anyway?' asked Mulch, dumbfounded.

Artemis answered the question. 'If the human legends are correct, it's a necklace. Made by four dwarf brothers for Freya. It was supposed to make her irresistible. In return, she had to spend a night with each of the four dwarves–'

'Which didn't help her marriage, I'm sure,' interjected Mulch.

'No doubt,' Artemis continued. 'Its name means "flaming ornament", Brísinga being –'

'So it's flaming necklace?' Butler interrupted. 'Wouldn't that be kind of uncomfortable?'

'Well, it's not actually on fire, per se,' said Holly. 'It's made of gold, see, with eight opals hanging from the chain. Opals, flaming, you know. Though, for a while, there was a rumour that it was made with amber,' she added as an afterthought.

'Opals,' repeated Artemis slowly.

'Yes, Artemis, opals.' Holly shot him a speculative look. Then, in a resigned sort of way, she asked, 'What do you know, Mud Boy?'

'Could one of you, by any chance, draw the necklace for me?'

Since Mulch had never been a deft hand with a pencil, Holly did the honours on a nearby notepad.

Butler caught his breath. Artemis frowned.

'Well,' he said, turning to his bodyguard, 'that is interesting.'

'Interesting is certainly one word for it,' Butler agreed. 'You had better show them.'

Artemis nodded and went upstairs to fetch the fragment of necklace he and Butler had inadvertently stolen from a safe-deposit box in Munich, two days earlier.