Hey! It's rogue posting time!
Woo!
Just a few house announcements...
Yep, I've just come back from a tour of Europe, thus I am extremely hyper and feeling (probably delusionally) cultured. Basically saw a shed-load of posh stately European houses, came home, ditched my bag, and wrote this entire chapter in one go. Apologies if it's mental/unpunctual("fiction is never on time!") /unenjoyable...
Enjoy, my lovely, lovely readers!
WARNING - LOTTA SWEAR WORDS IN THIS ONE! But hey, if you're at this point then you're probably used to it.
'What are you doing up here?"
'Because it apparently requires full use of both hands to get an armchair on the roof.'
Disclaimer: yeah, you know there would have been a nuclear holocaust if I were Eoin. Everything Opal-related explodes in the Mud Man world? And no mention of nukes? A-hmm? You knows it.
Chapter Fourteen - Hope You're Happy Too
The season had changed by the time Holly's vision cleared. The sun outside the window was harsher, the trees healthier, their shadows darker: almost bible-black. The boy had become paler, if possible, his blue-veined hands crossed and pulled tight behind his back. He was pacing, waiting, but not for much longer.
Annie Shinner's head swung into view at the top of his window.
"Hey!" she said, beaming. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her long hair swinging down to kiss the wood of the sill below.
"You are late." His voice was cold, clipped. "Twentyminutes late to be exact. And must you always insist on hanging from the features like a primate escaped from its handlers?"
Annie's smile dropped. She gripped a piece of stonework between her hands and lowered her legs carefully down.
Artemis held back the already tied curtain as she clambered into the room. "There," he said primly. "Two feet on the floor again. Isn't it nice to consort yourself like a homo sapien?"
Annie clapped the dirt from her hands. "Happy birthday by the way, and yes, I'm fine, thanks for asking."
"I hadn't asked."
He shut the window with a snap, muffling the birdsong outside.
It was September the second, the day following Artemis Fowl's fourteenth birthday: what had been a none-day in his opinion. His parents had made an effort, admittedly. He had received the symposium tickets he had asked for (which he could just have easily have purchased himself, of course, but by his parents gifting them they were consequentially giving him permission to travel to Hong Kong during a school week – one less argument and deception he would have to construct) and he had been taken for lunch to his favourite restaurant: a small rotisserie on the east coast that served the best seafood dishes outside of Hong Kong. He had endured the inane small talk of his mother and the hearty 'you're almost a man now' comments of his father without too many problems. At one point Butler had bent to his ear and told him not to clench his jaw so, but apart from that…
Today he would have spent catching up on the lost work of yesterday.
Would have.
"You ready then?" asked Annie, braving a smile. "Got your folks sorted out?"
"Yes," said Artemis, remaining decidedly mardy. "Both of them are asleep. Butler too. We have a window of eight hours, just as you requested. Well, seven hours and thirty-eight minutes due to your lapse in punctuality."
"And you–?"
"No, I have not checked the security cameras, also as you requested."
She snorted. "Liar."
He at least had the decency not to meet her gaze. He picked at his shirt sleeve instead, adjusting the line of his French cuffs. "I have not checked them since four pm."
"Half a truth then. I suppose that'll have to do."
Then her hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist.
"Excuse me!" blustered Artemis as she dragged him forward, causing his feet to stumble. "But what do you think you're–?"
She flung the window open.
"I said," – She let him go and pushed herself up onto the sill – "What do you think you're–?"
She looked back at him. "Don't you trust me?"
He was momentarily flustered. The birds outside were chirping louder than ever. "Well- well yes," – She smiled to herself and rose to her feet – "but that still doesn't explain what you are doing."
She gave an exasperated sigh and held her hand back out to him. "Being a primate escaping from its handler. Come on, we're heading up in the world."
Artemis took a sharp step back. His bedroom was on the second floor, a full twenty seven metres from the ground due to the vaulted ceiling of the ballroom beneath him. "No," he said bluntly. "No, I am not going out there. My guardians are incapacitated, wherever you want to take me we can get there via the main entrance."
"I… beg to differ."
He folded his arms.
No way.
"Fine." Annie raised her hands, finding her grip on the stonework. "Then you just don't get your present." She heaved herself up. Her legs flailed for a moment, circling in thin air, before finally being wrenched out of sight.
Artemis hurried to the window sill, looking up after her.
"Annie!" he cried. "Annie!"
She looked down. Her feet were braced against a pair of gargoyle heads above. "You rang?"
"Annie, I…" He seemed almost angry now. "Annie, I can't. I can't… climb."
"How would you know? You've never tried."
"It is preposterous. This is a house, not a jungle gym."
"Well, your present's up here so…"
He grinded his teeth and pushed off from the window sill.
"Stupid," he muttered, stalking back towards his bed. "Why would I have expected anything less? Putting my gift on the roof of my own house. Thirty metres up for Heaven's sake…"
There was a muffled thump and Annie landed, crouched, on the window ledge.
"Art," she said seriously. "Do you really think I'd ever let you fall?"
He scowled. "Well why plan something which involves the risk?"
"There isn't a risk. I'm not going to let you fall. You go I go, remember? And that roof is fucking high."
He didn't laugh. He just looked at her. Annie stretched out her hand.
"C'mon."
He didn't move.
"C'mon, I'll help you."
He still didn't move.
"Artemis…" She wiggled her fingers. "Art, c'mon. You did say you trusted me…"
And she had him. He gave her his dirtiest look yet, hesitated, then marched stiffly towards the window ledge. His hand gripped hers; he could feel the grit scratch between their palms.
"This," he said, struggling to get a foot up onto the ledge, "had better be worth it."
She only smiled, then braced her other hand on the window frame.
"Okay," she said, keeping a grip of his fingers whilst leaning out a little. "Your best bet is going out the side. There's a nice track of gargoyles–"
"They're not gargoyles, they are grotesques. Gargoyles spout water–"
"–ugly stone monster things that you can climb up. They're spaced pretty evenly apart so…"
She put a hand on his waist and gently swapped their positions, keeping him on the inside of the window.
"There," she pointed a hand around the outside of the frame. "You see."
He swallowed. "Yes."
"Get your foot on that."
"My right?"
"Yeah. Go on, I've got you."
He glanced back at her once. Then looked quickly away. "Don't let me go."
"I won't. Go on."
It was a shaky ascent, plagued with slips and the occasional terrified gasp, but true to her word Annie did not let Artemis fall. Holly found herself almost hovering beside them, weightless, untouched by the Spring-time winds. She watched Annie's hands pushing Artemis's feet into place, Artemis's hands, white against crumbling granite, his face drawn but determined. They soon reached the top. Artemis had to belly-flop over the edge, scagging his trousers on a loose nut protruding from the guttering. Annie stepped neatly up after him.
"Well done that Fowl!" she cried. "See? No problem."
Artemis had shut his eyes, indulging in a few breathing exercises.
Annie bent over him. "Don't you want to see what you came for?"
The boy shook his head.
"Just open your eyes."
He shook his head again.
"Art…"
It was her tone that made him do it; open his eyes to the endless, blushing, sky. It had been a clear day and a half-bitten moon was already visible high in the heavens. Night was beckoning. He sat up slowly and drank it in, breathed in ripe, evening air. The countryside stretched on as far as he could see, rolling, heaving hills of it, woods and fields that melted into streams, their waters glinting bright white in the last rays of the shying sun.
"Pretty, isn't it?" murmured Annie.
Artemis was about to reply when something caught the corner his eye. "Is that a Caravaggio?" he blurted.
A few metres from him, on a flat expanse of slated roof, a blanket had been laid out. It was patch-worked, familiar; a picnic blanket his mother had been fond of when he'd barely been able to walk. There were cushions scattered across it, silken and woollen, antique and designer couture, all recognisable as coming from inside the manor sitting rooms. Two winged armchairs, their leather soft and worn, were arranged together on the left-hand corner, a low table placed between them, several pots of beluga caviar placed atop that. An old gramophone, its needle raised but ready, was cushioned on a crate just off the blanket, a box of paper-cased vinyl records set, waiting, beside it. All was softly lit by lamps; solar lanterns strung up on poles, planted in pots of dark, deep soil. They cast strange shadows, stippled dim purples, golds, tainted by stained glass. Between them, on the vines of wire, streamers had been hung.
No, thought Artemis, not streamers.
Money. Notes of a dozen currencies: yen , rubles, dollars, pesos, euros, rupees, francs, kunas, kronas, pounds: they were all there. Artemis touched a dangling dram and gave a brief, disbelieving laugh.
It was the perfect nest, set high above the manor and its grounds; untouchable. Artemis had never made forts as a child, dragged the cushions off sofas and sheets from the beds to make soft, closed hide-a-ways padded and safe. He had an office. He had a seven foot manservant. He had riches. His mind. Here…
That armchair is from the Crimson Room.
It was his favourite chair. And rooftop life seemed to suit it, paint the old leather in light and heat, like an old man basking in the sun. And the music in the vinyl boxes. He could see the top of David Bowie's Diamond Dogs Live album just poking out.
The Caravaggio was propped up to his right. It was small, compared to the master's other works, and framed in gilded oak. Artemis approached it, almost reverentially, and brushed a finger along the antique wood.
"Boy Peeling Fruit," he whispered.
"It reminded me of you."
The boy spun around.
Annie blushed and smoothed a palm down her newly-donned dress. It was knee-length and ill-fitting, one spaghetti-strap already beginning to droop from her shoulder. The material was cheap, a dulling white cotton tied at the waist by a sash that was fraying at the ends. If Angeline Fowl had seen it, she would have burnt it. None of the girls in Artemis's society would have been caught dead in it.
"I…" Annie broke his gaze. She took a sharp breath and then tried again. "I just thought I'd make an effort. You always look so smart and I'm always… well…"
Artemis stared at her a few moments more before flushing and looking at his feet. "Did you… Did you er… just get changed up here?"
"Yeah." She fidgeted with a loose thread of her skirt. "There's a chimney stack over there and you weren't looking…"
"And where did you… Where did get this" – he gestured weakly about him – "all from?"
"The painting? Oh, I just called in a few favours."
"And the chairs? The cushions?"
She looked suddenly sheepish. "Nicked them from your house."
He gave a short laugh, quickly stifled, and shook his head. "How…?" He swallowed. "And how did you get this all up here? Exactly?"
She smirked. "Carefully."
"Well, well yes, I would have… Of course."
"Do you like it?"
"Yes." He met her eyes sharply. "Yes, of course. You've… You've thought of everything. All my favourite things… All my… my girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes."
She flicked the navy tie at her waist. "Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes."
She laughed and Artemis's expression suddenly sobered.
The sun sank a little lower. The light played in the studs on one of Angeline's cushions and played rainbows across Annie's face.
"you okay?" she asked softly.
Then Artemis was frowning.
"I must…" He stepped away from her. "I must retrieve something. I have something–"
"What–?"
"Damn it. It is in my room."
She frowned. "I'll get it. What is it?"
"No, you can't–"
"Seriously, I'll be much quicker. What do you want?"
He hesitated. "There is a package in my third safe, the one beneath the cistern."
"Nice."
"You'll need the combination."
"I know it."
"You can't know–"
"I know it."
And she was gone. Artemis sighed. Holly stood beside him, scrutinizing his expression.
It was still for a moment, unreadable, and then suddenly he realised a sharp exhale of frustration.
Idiot, he cursed. You've done this too soon. You were going to wait.
His brow furrowed. It was four months now since that awful night with the vodka. The night he'd–
He shut his eyes tight.
You must speak to her about it.
But what to say? Something had… something had changed… he supposed, but…
Idiot.
He actually pressed a palm to his brow. Then he spotted the pair of champagne flutes Annie had placed on a side table. He quickly snatched one up.
You must do this. Four months is much too long; you should have broached the issue sooner instead of letting it… fester.
He took a deep breath.
Compose yourself. It is Annie, for God's sake. And judging by the pupil dilation and the slight tremor in both her hands when she sees you, she most probably feels a similar attraction to you.
It was that or a brain tumour.
When Annie climbed grinning over the parapet, a scuff of brick-dust clearly visible down one panel of her dress, she found Artemis stood on the centre of the picnic blanket, his black brogues un-laced and placed neatly together beside the Caravaggio. Music was playing softly from the gramophone.
"Miss Shinner," he said formally, holding out a pale hand. "Would you care to dance?"
Annie's smile wavered. "You having a laugh?"
He sighed and walked forward to take the flat, brown package she had retrieved and set it down on a side table.
"I said…" He held out his hand again, keeping his nerve. "Would you care you dance?"
"I can't dance posh."
"How would you know? You've never tried."
"Artemis–"
But he stepped closer, a slight smirk playing about his lips. He drew her to him by her hands, adjusted them, guided them, just as she had done to his when scaling the wall; he placed one palm on his shoulder blade and clasped the other in his.
"There," he murmured. "Well done that Annie."
She tried to smile but it was a shaky effort. He felt her heart beat raging through his shirt.
"I thought you couldn't dance either," she mumbled.
"Ah, well that is one of the advantages of being me, you see…" He pulled her to the left, slowly, gently. "I can do anything I want to…"
She smiled uncertainly and allowed herself to be guided. At first she looked at her feet, occasionally glancing up at the boy in her arms, for assurance, for a look.
"Good," he murmured. "You're doing well."
She snorted. "Shut up ya patronising arse."
He simply smiled and drove them into a turn.
The sun soon fell below the horizon, like a tired child finally dropping back into their bed, leaving Annie and Artemis to waltz in their lamp light. Holly sat on one of the unoccupied armchairs, her chin cupped in her hands, watching them swirl, slowly, often clumsily, but always with undeniable beauty. He was humming now, murmuring along with the song seeping from the gramophone.
"Hope you're happy, hope you're happy too…"
Annie closed her eyes. He tipped his chin against the top of her head.
"Art…?"
"Hmm…?"
"What did I fetch from your safe?"
He seemed to stiffen a little at that, tense, though no-one but a person resting in his arms would have been able to know it.
"It… it is your birthday present."
"What? My birthday is three months away."
"I… I guess I could not wait."
She looked up at him. "What have you got me?"
He looked solemn now, hesitant.
"What is it?"
"You shall have to open it."
She narrowed her eyes at him, unwound her fingers from his. He watched as she padded, bare foot, across the blanket and crouched down upon a cushion. She looked at him as she took up the thin brown package, slid a finger under the sealant tab.
"I ordered them months ago," he said. "They arrived last Tuesday and I've been checking them over, waiting for the right time to give them to you–"
Annie tipped the envelope and a small, green booklet fell first into her hands.
"What is this?" she whispered.
Artemis watched her, his heart in his throat.
"I wasn't sure when to give them to you."
Annie thrust her hand into the package pulling out more papers, documents.
"I just wasn't sure how you would react. I– I didn't want to–"
"What is this?" she demanded again, fisting some of the papers in her hand.
He took a breath. "That, specifically, is a certificate of primary education. The second is a duplicate of your medical records. The original is currently in a central practice in Dublin, close to your brother's house. I thought that would be most–"
"And this?"
"Your birth certificate."
"This? This?"
"Dental registration, inoculation records… and your passport."
Annie's chest was heaving. She knelt amongst the debris of her paper identity, her face pale, her thoughts reeling.
"Where… Where did you… Have you been keeping this from me?"
"No." He dropped to his knees, eyes wide, hands trembling. "No, I would never –"
"Then what?" she spat. "Where did this come from? Where did you get this?"
"I…" He hesitated. "I created it."
Her stomach dropped. "You faked–"
"No." He shook his head sharply, willing her to understand. "No, none of this is counterfeit." He picked up a stray paper half-concealed beneath a cushion. "This, this here, this is the paper that will allow you to go to school. It came straight from the Dublin County Council, perfectly legal, perfectly sound. Here, this –" He picked up a second document. "This is your birth certificate. Your mother's name is on it, and your father's, as it should be–"
She snatched it from his hand, read the name in the centre.
"Annie Fowler," she whispered.
Artemis had frozen. He felt as if his whole world was balancing on a knife-edge, the handle of which Annie was holding in her shaky, shell-shocked, grasp.
"Fowler?" she repeated.
His eyes were pleading. "I… I presumed you would not wish to take your Father's name. Your mother… I should have given you your mother's name. I'm sorry, I… I…"
He swallowed.
"We are the same," he suddenly blurted. "We are… family. But then… not. I…" He swallowed again. "I did not presume so much as to… to remove the suffix. However..."
He trailed off and Holly caught something about compass hands.
Annie's voice was soft, nigh inaudible. "Look at me."
He did as he was bid, eyes red, thoughts unsteady.
"You…" Her gaze dropped again to the records, her old life, new life, scattered about her legs. "You did…" Her voice broke. Her head dropped forwards. "You've given me…" She could speak no longer.
Artemis reached for her just as Annie collapsed, curling sideways into the cave of his body. He cupped himself over her, bowing his head, covering her. For some reason, the position was familiar.
"Get off me!"
"No, Annie –!"
He squeezed his eyes shut. Annie was shuddering beneath him.
"Oh my God!" she sobbed. "Oh my God!"
Artemis rocked her, held her. Her warmth, her tears sank through him like a balm.
It is alright. She is alright.
This was joy - their joy. Annie Shinner had lived thirteen years in a world where technically she didn't exist. But now... School. Doctors. Dentists. Holidays.
Perhaps I have done her an ill thing in registering her for secondary education. All those children. Awful.
He smiled.
And after several minutes of crying, shaking and heavy sniffing, he saw her pale, shaking hand stretch out from her torso and clutch a small envelope that had so far remained unexamined from the package. His own writing was looped across the front. He squinted through sore eyes but couldn't quite make out the lettering. Annie turned it over and slit it open. Out fell a small, golden object.
Artemis felt a strange buzzing at the base of his skull.
"A little something to remind you."
"Remind me of what?"
"Annie…" His voice trailed off.
The girl had wriggled out from beneath him, the object held tight in her palm. Artemis got to his knees.
"Annie." He coughed. "May I see that for a second? It… I don't know how it got in there."
"It's mine." She wiped a sleeve across her face, looped the leather tie around her neck. "It was in the package so it's mine."
"Annie, please. It wasn't meant to be in there. Just for a moment–"
She dropped the golden something beneath the neckline of her dress. Artemis stared at the spot for a second, his mind still inhabiting some half-hazed place in some half-hazed time… Then he realised what he was doing and flushed.
Annie smirked and helped him to his feet. "Yes, you can see it," she told him, her voice hoarse. "But you'd have to fish it out–"
"No," he blurted, his cheeks reddening all the more.
"Didn't think so." She smiled, sniffed again, and held out her hand. "C'mon, Mister Fowler, I want another dance."
He took her fingers again, feeling heavy, but the feeling of her hand once more in his was already pushing away all thoughts of the mysterious coin. "But I thought you couldn't dance."
"Ah, well, that's an advantage of being a Fowl, see." She smiled, though Holly could see the panic, the tenseness, behind her eyes. "I can do whatever I want..."
Tuley answered on the second double chime.
"Yes?"
"It's me," said Artemis, his feet shifting slightly on his seat. "Are you free to talk?"
"Just about. The nurses check on me every twenty minutes but the last one just left."
"Good."
Artemis was nested on a wrought-iron garden chair, acquired by the Fowl family circa 1920 and currently unadorned with padding. His legs were curled up tight beneath him, the bottom of the over-sized hoodie he was wearing pulled over them to form a large, prism-shaped bulge. His stump was resting in the valley of his legs and stomach, his left hand clasping his mobile phone through the elbow of the sleeve. The hood was pulled up over his hair, the cloth turned the colour of wet elephant skin with the drizzle.
"How much information do you have?"
"Hmm, well, perhaps as much information as you'd expect having been lying unconscious in my car and then a Parisian hospital for the last eleven hours."
Artemis didn't reply. There was silence, then a rush of static: a sigh.
"The Neck targeted seven: a child for every member at the meeting who refused him. So that's you, me, Volga–"
"And amputated an appendage from each?"
"The next thing I remove is the Neck. Of a sorts. We got off comparatively lightly."
"Explain–"
"Volga has been scalped. Callum Shinner's little girl has lost both her eyes."
Artemis felt his stomach sink.
Baby Anna.
He rested his head against his phone for a moment before putting it lethargically back to his ear. Tuley was still talking.
"…what has happened to the Singapore boy. Positively demonic. But no action has been taken yet. My mother is on a flight to Moscow; she wants to meet with the Boujinskys. After that, I believe she wanted to contact your father. What is your old psychopath up to by the way?"
"I don't know," sighed Artemis. "I have also been unconscious. He is also not answering any of my calls…"
"And what are you going to do?"
The teenager laughed weakly, and rain dripped into his already soaked hoodie. He licked his lips.
"I am barely lucid, Tuley."
"You're lucid enough to be talking to me now."
"Indeed. No, I am leaving this to my father… I... at least for now."
His thoughts were beginning to waltz again.
"Well I, for one, am getting a rifle in my hands as soon as they discharge me from this God-forsaken hole. I will make the one who did this to us wish they'd been born both without nerves or limbs."
Artemis smiled grimly. "And I shall be there to applaud you in your success…" He glanced at his right, empty, sleeve. "Or perhaps not."
"Good night, Art."
"I shall call again soon, Tuley."
The handset disconnected.
"Artemis?"
The teenager didn't bother turning around. "Butler."
"What… What are you doing out here?"
Artemis sighed. "Because it apparently requires the full use of both hands to get an armchair onto the roof," he said matter-of-factly. "This was the next best thing."
Butler stood silently for a moment, just taking that comment in. But after five seconds there was still no sense to be had so the manservant walked forward through the open French doors and onto the balcony.
"You're soaking," he grunted, picking up the teenager, chair, hoodie and all.
"My bandages are protected," said Artemis mildly as he was carried inside.
Butler hefted him across the room and lowered the boy's make-shift litter towards the large, four-poster guest bed. Artemis half stepped, half rolled off the chair and onto the covers. He lay back and stared at the crimson canopy above.
"You should get out of those… clothes." The manservant's eyes narrowed at the expanse of grey. "Where did you get that from?"
"The jumper?" asked Artemis. "An old friend left it to me when she died."
"An old friend? What?"
The boy closed his eyes, shook his head. "It is of no matter. It doesn't have buttons you see. Or laces. Laces and buttons have become my two new enemies. That and clapping."
He snorted.
"Okay, Artemis," said Butler softly. "Let's get you ready for bed."
He unzipped the hoodie, finding his charge bare-chested underneath. He was still wearing the boxer shorts Butler had put on him after the very careful shower they had braved a few hours ago, but not the pyjama bottoms, and only one sock was still on his feet. Butler pulled it off and dropped it, sopping, to the carpet. He lifted the covers over him.
"There," he murmured, "now sleep."
Artemis buried his nose in the pillow and, with one last breathy giggle, obeyed.
Holly only had to blink before the roof was gone. Then she was back in Artemis's room, with weak, winter sunshine spilling through the antique glass of the window. For once the window was closed. The boy himself was sat in his usual office chair. But there was nothing on the desk before him. He was staring at the leather inset with bruised eyes, the bags beneath them dark and somehow dangerous; like storm clouds on a dawn horizon. His shoulders were tensed, his legs hanging loose beneath him like beaten draught excluders. His breath was slow, even.
There was a tap at the window.
The boy didn't react.
There was another tap, then another three in quick succession.
"Art!" called a voice, muffled by the glass. "Art! Come on! Let me in!"
There was a thump and a muffled curse.
"Art!" screamed Annie. "Art, fer feck's sake!"
He wrenched himself out of his chair and strode to the window. Annie fell inside and landed hard on the shag-pile carpeting. She swore as she got up, looked up expectedly to see his usual helping hand. It wasn't there.
"Jaysus," she spat, pushing herself to her feet. "What were you playing at, Art? You know how high that fucking window is!"
He stared at her, his lips a thin line.
She swore again and brushed at her coat, put a hand to her mouth and pressed tentatively to the metal wires now stretched tight across her teeth.
"Fucking hurts if you knock this thing," she said thickly. "Only had it in on Wednesday."
He still stared.
"What?" she barked finally. "What is your problem? Have some of your stocks fallen through or–?"
"I know," he said quietly.
Annie was confused, impatient. She rolled her eyes and reached down to slap some gutter-slime from the knees of her jeans. "You know what? How many squirrels it would take to get to Jupiter? How to make a nuke from a toaster? What do you know now?"
He didn't answer. His lips were dry, his heart was ramming inside his chest.
"What?" she yelled at him, thrusting her hands out.
And then he was rocketing to his feet.
"Fairies!" he bellowed. "Sprites, nymphs, dwarves, kelpie, p'shog, ka-dulan, fadas, whichever language you prefer! I know fairies!"
There was a moment of silence. Artemis's chest was heaving, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles looked in danger of breaking through skin.
Annie was unmoved. "Oh."
Artemis snorted, half laughed. "Oh? Oh? Is that really all that you have to say?"
"Calm down."
"No, I shall not calm down!" His face was red, his suit rumpled. "No, I shan't– I cannot! What do you have to say for yourself?"
Annie's face hardened. "Calm. Your. Shit."
He made a noise like a lion being strangled and slammed the flat of his hand into his bedroom door. Holly felt her heart rate increase as Annie's did.
"Artemis–"
"No." He whirled around. "I could have died. People have died. I have just come from the worse… a nightmare of a situation, which could all possibly have been avoided if you… you…" He trailed off, having just seen her roll her eyes. "You dare," he spat, "you dare–"
She scoffed at him. "Yes, I fucking dare!" she shouted. "Don't you dare speak to me like that! Look at yerself fer fuck's sake! Get a grip!"
"Get a grip–?"
"What are you? A fucking parrot now? Yes! Get. A. Grip."
He struggled to control his breathing, to swallow back the emotions in order to speak.
"I want to know… why," he said eventually, hoarsely, levelly. "Why–?"
"If you just went off with them and nearly died again then that's your fault."
Artemis closed his eyes, tried to still his shaking. "You have no idea… what you are talking about."
"If it's to do with fairies then it is your fault. "You were the one fucking stupid enough to get involved in all their shite in the first place."
Holly felt the anger rise off him in waves of heat. He was shaking from head to foot with a rage she had never seen him possess, not with Spiro, not with Kronski, not even with Opal… And then she realised that it wasn't rage.
Artemis, she thought, as tears suddenly burnt in her eyes.
"You promised me!" he screamed.
"I promised you nothing," spat Annie. "I took fucking pity on you; that's what I did... Fucking fairies."
Artemis's mask was slipping now; the anger soon wouldn't be enough to cover him.
"Pity? What are you talking–?"
"Honestly, Art, if you'd have seen ye." Annie shook her head as if remembering something past and unpleasant. "Thinking yerself some kind of hero just because you'd fuck off with them every few months and escape reality for a while!"
He steeled himself. "And what reality would that be, pray tell?"
"The one where yer not a lying, stealing, murdering fuck case! Believing yer Dad, dribbling all his bullshit in yer ears. Be a hero, Arty! Like me! Even though I've murdered about two hundred people!"
"Shut up," spat Artemis, his features twisted with venom. "You shut up."
"No, you!" she shrieked. "You who've killed people! Robbed innocent people! Bet ya didn't tell all your little fairy freak friends about that, did ya? When you shot my da? Your da's only still about because he managed ta fucking survive you. Twice–"
"I shot him to save him!"
"You shot him to play roulette with him! It was 50/50 whether that plan would work – you were testing the feckin fates! You're a sadistic mental case, just like the fucking rest of us!"
"You know nothing!"
"I know everything! And you think a few days doing stuff with those fuckers can wipe out what you are? Well, I've watched you fool yourself about your da! Even your mental case mum, who frankly couldn't give a flying fuck about you! Your dad feckin dealt with that, Art! Years ago. The only thing she thinks about is him!"
Artemis turned away, actually raised his hands to his head as if her words were missiles he could deflect with skin. Annie strode forward and grabbed his wrists, shouted in his face.
"You were being pathetic!" she screamed. "Fooling yerself! Putting yerself in danger over a feckin fantasy! Your little escape! What about my escape, Art? But hey, you can do whatever you want to do can't ya? Fix yer parents. Fix me. Annie's got a fucking dental record now, so everything's grand! Perfect! Let alone all the years you knew I was getting shit off my dad and ya still did nothing! Let me climb up to your window in the shittiest clothes while you lounged in your suits and your feckin money. In your perfect little castle–"
He pushed her away, hard, and fell back himself. They faced each other, panting. Annie swallowed hard.
"And you know what?"
"Shut up."
"You know what, Art?"
"Stop it."
"I've something for you here, something from your fairy fuck friends." She unzipped the top of her coat and pulled a leather tie over her head. "Here." She tossed the coin onto the rug. "It's yer one spark of decency, remember? Enjoy it."
She rose to her feet. Artemis was left on the floor, his legs unable to move.
"You can go back to them now," said Annie, from above him, "keep on tricking yerself. But someone had to tell you the truth o' things."
"Get out," he croaked. "Get out." He staggered to his feet. "Get out. Get out!"
Annie was out the window and out of sight in three practiced moved. Artemis slammed the glass shut behind her. A few of the panes shook and shattered in his hands. Glass rained onto his legs and feet but he either didn't care or didn't notice as he collapsed to his knees in the shards.
"Get out. Get out," he sobbed.
He tipped sideways, the glass tinkling and cracking under his legs.
"Get out… Get out…"
His hands reached up to trap his battered head.
"Get… out."
Artemis woke with the switching on of a lamp. He groaned, rolled over, tried to block out the blinding light. And trapped his stump beneath him.
"Ah!"
"Artemis! Artemis, roll back."
He did as he was told with a shaky breath. "Butler…?"
"I'm sorry to wake you."
"Is… Is everything alright? Are you alright?" The few hazy memories of his last visit to consciousness floated to the forefront of his mind. Artemis shut his eyes tight. "Oh… I apologise for my previous behaviour… the balcony… with all the drugs, you see. My mouth…"
"I do. Don't worry about it."
Artemis opened his eyes again.
"How is the pain?" asked his manservant. "Do you need more drugs?"
The teenager shook his head. "No. Thank you. I would rather… have full grasp of my wits for a time."
"Artemis, you won't be allowed out of this room for a good while. The doctor's and my orders. If you need relief then have it."
The boy looked about him. He was in the spare room, the Orpheus suite judging by the emerald silk damask papering the walls. His laptop was still in his own bedroom. He cursed silently.
Butler would not fetch it if I asked and I am in hardly a state to retrieve it myself.
He slumped back into the pillows again.
"Alright," he said, "I shall stay. But no drugs. I may not be able to move but I can certainly think."
Butler frowned but knew that he'd won at least a minor victory with Artemis consenting not to leave the bed. Whether that consent would last he did not know.
"Anyway," said the boy, sounding more himself than he had in hours. "I'm assuming there was a reason for you to disturb me?"
Butler features hardened. "Yes. Your father has discovered a few leads in Kilderry to do with the Neck. He is dispatching me tonight to perform a reconnaissance."
"Tonight?" Artemis was surprised. "But the attack was only a few hours ago. Surely the manor security needs you."
"I know." The words were spoken through gritted teeth. "But he has been quite in insistent despite my… counter advice."
"So what exactly are these leads?"
"Your father has spoken with Sheila Brannagh, who has apparently gained information from the Boujinskys that the Neck's head of operations is in Ireland."
"In Kilderry?"
"I'll try and confirm that tonight."
Artemis fell silent.
Kilderry? Really?
Then his head throbbed painfully. He needed to go to sleep again, and soon.
"Are you taking anyone else?" he managed. "You are hardly inconspicuous. Everyone in the old families knows a Butler when they see one."
"But the Neck is not from an old family."
Artemis sighed. "Go then. If that is what father deems to be a good plan... I suppose that the Neck has made his move now – he shall be waiting for ours. Be careful."
"I shall be." Butler rose from the seat beside his young charge's bed. "I've put the manor security team on full alert. If anything should happen then they'll be ready."
The teenager managed a smile. "Good luck, old friend."
Butler nodded. He crossed the room and as he reached the threshold looked back one last time. Artemis's eyes had already fallen closed again, his mouth slack. The manservant bowed his head, frowned… and left. Never to reach Kilderry.
Annie took Holly gently by the hand. Her face was as broken as the elf's. She dragged a pale sleeve across her white face and pulled her onwards.
"Almost there, Holly," she croaked. "Our penultimate act."
Holly could barely hold her head up. The fourteen-year-old Artemis still knelt in the cracked glass of her mind, bleeding, broken.
"I don't want…" she managed to say. "I can't… I don't want to watch you… destroy…"
Annie shook her head and then she was gone. Holly was stood in a kitchen. A gigantic kitchen with three stoves, fifteen metres of worktop space and an eight-person breakfast island complete with high stools and two humans; a big one and a littler one.
The littler one was playing with the biscuit on the side of his coffee saucer. "We need to go to Sicily."
The big one looked unamused. "How soon?"
The littler one stretched his arm out, causing his sleeve to rise up and a wristwatch to be revealed. Butler groaned and Artemis felt a little prick of amusement.
"Don't check your watch, Artemis. Check the calendar."
"Sorry, old friend," said the teenager, certainly sounding amused now (as much as the boy ever did). "But you know time is limited. I can't risk missing a materialisation."
Sicily, of course, thought Holly. The opera.
"Foaly was wrong," continued the fourteen-year-old. "He missed a few new factors in the temporal equation."
"Which you just so happen to know?"
"But of course."
Butler sighed and scraped his stool back across the terracotta tiles. "Alright, I'll put a call back in to Dublin and tell them to fill up the Angeline."
"Good, good," said Artemis, hopping down off his own chair. "Take your time; I have a few matters to take care of before we depart."
"More demon issues?"
The boy's face darkened as he exited the kitchen, Holly trailing behind him. "Of a sort."
The Fowl gardens were blooming. They were a summer-lit menagerie of colours and smells, all pruned and mown to perfection; award-winning perfection as a matter of fact, as Angeline had been delighted to receive first prize in the national rose-garden competition earlier than month. It was this famed rose garden that Artemis and Holly were headed towards now; weaving their way across the wooden slats of the rock garden, past the nineteenth-century folly and the miniature lake which it so stoically presided over; through the daisy meadow, over the five stepping-stones that spanned the overflow river; a small foot path, down a pebbled avenue flanked by rows of bone-straight penny bushes, up a small, dandelion-dotted hillock and… there was Annie, looking as if she had just dragged herself out of the river Styx.
"Artemis!" she cried, almost screamed, as he walked into her presence. "You came. You came."
Artemis said nothing.
She tried to smile at him then but her mouth couldn't quite manage it. She looked away. She tugged at her wet clothes instead, half laughing.
"Look at me," she said. "Fell in that fucking– I mean silly river. Lost my footing."
He still said nothing. Annie swallowed.
"This… This is a nice garden. I've been… I've been sat on the bench. It's lovely… It's…"
Then she looked at him, her eyes wide, and Artemis could smell the smoke.
Annie.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I… I really didn't mean any of it."
Holly closed her eyes.
"I was angry. Just… I hadn't wanted you to have found out about them. We were… We were going so well."
"You lied to me," he said.
Her eyes widened. She hadn't heard a sound from him in almost six months. "No," she breathed. "No, I never did. I just… I wanted to protect you. From them. As I… As I said before, you always nearly die with them. I couldn't have you die–"
"You said you would reverse the mind wipe. I explained to you how much it meant. You kissed me and said you would do it."
"I just wanted you. I just wanted you… and I wanted you to want me. Not them. Not the… The perfect life you'd built. Your dad, your mum. I was jealous. There I was, left behind. I was scared."
His face remained unmoved. "When have I ever left you? I killed for you."
"I climbed into your window. Your window all those years–"
"You didn't want me to come to your home!"
"I was ashamed!" she screamed. And then she choked, dissolved into a fit of coughing.
Artemis looked away.
"No!" she gasped. "Don't! Don't!"
"Do you have anything else to say to me?"
"Artemis. Please. I'm sorry."
"Excuse me, I have other matters to attend to."
"No!"
She lurched forwards, scraping her knees on the stone paving. Her bony fingers wrapped around his ankle, her too-long nails digging into his sock. A memory flashed in Artemis's mind.
"No… Please. Annie… I need you."
He felts his hands around her ankle, her belligerent face scowling down at him.
It gave him strength.
"Get off me."
"Please! Please, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Get off me!"
"No! No!"
He wrenched his leg away and she fell back to the ground. She remained there. Her long hair hiding her face, the palms of her hands bleeding into the flagstones.
"Just give me the words," she whispered to the stone. "Please, just give me the words."
"Words?" he spat, turned from his path, unbelieving. "I should say that you are the mistress of words, Annie! A practical protégé of lexis and syntax!"
She didn't flinch.
"I want the words… to make you love me again."
He half laughed, half choked, pressed the palms of his hands to his forehead.
"You…" He took a hard, shaky breath. "You…" He shouted down at her. "I trusted you!"
"Then trust me again." She pushed up, looked at him through her dripping fringe. "You are my soul too, Art. And this hurts too much. I cannot… be… without you."
He is crying now too.
Stop it! Stop it now! You promised yourself that you would not return to this state! Never again! No-one can make you feel anything without your consent!
And like that, with a few hard sniffs and a dozen blinks, he recovered.
"No," he said, with a tone of absolute finality. "You are the… the product of a poisonous, toxic relationship that has been allowed to continue for far too long. I was infatuated with you, I admit it. But I have finally come to my senses."
Annie closed her eyes. She was numb now, unfeeling to the sodden material clutching to her back, legs and arms. She couldn't feel the ground beneath her. It was too much. Far too much. She was in a dream surely. Any moment she was going to roll over and wake up, preferably next to Artemis. They had had one of their rare sleepovers. She was dressed in his pyjamas, laid back against one of his four-hundred-euros-a-pop pillows.
"Good morning, Star Shine," she would sing. "The earth says hello!"
He would roll over, groan, and hide his face in the sheets; pretending to be grumpy. "Never." He would say. "Take up singing as a profession."
She would smile. "Why? Because I'd bankrupt all the other singers with my amazing talent? You could make a bomb as my manager."
He would pretend to be asleep again. She would sigh and cup herself behind him, worm her hand beneath his ribcage so she could wrap her arms around him.
"Annie…"
"A-hmm?"
There would be a pause. He wouldn't want her to let go… but then again he was him so he would want to complain anyway.
"Do you want me to sing to you again?" she would offer.
There would be another pause… and then he would launch himself from her, attempting to escape in mock horror. She would laugh and yank him back to the mattress; he would fall back far too easily.
"Hope you're hap-py! Hope you're hap-py too-oo-oo!"
"Please! Stop!"
After a short struggle she would acquiesce and they would settle down again, the morning light dawning lazily onto their faces through a gap in the velvet drapes.
"Alright… but only if you sing to me."
"No."
"Go on! I saw you in Bartleby's! You were well into it."
He would sigh. "It was all in Latin. You didn't understand a word."
"It still sounded nice. Go on, do it again."
Another pause. Their lives are always full of pauses, periods of absence. It has always made their time spent together that little bit more precious. In the future there would be no more pauses. She would 'remove the suffix' and they would live their lives in a stream of time rather than the usual spurts and starts.
"Alright… But not Latin. French. I know you know a little French."
She would stay as still as possible, determined not to give him any excuse to stop. He would close his eyes. Then the humming would start, the slow, time-keeping movement of the hand not touching her back. He would conduct the entire introduction, the strings; the lonely, melancholy flute.
"C'est Lindor, c'est Tirics et c'est tous nos vainqueurs…" He would breathe."C'est Myrtille, c'est Annie–" She would giggle. "–Les reines de nos coeurs…"
She would know nothing but his voice. Nothing but his warmth. Would never want anything but his voice, his warmth.
But when she opened her eyes again, he was gone.
"Artemis," she whispered, her stomach dropping. "Artemis?"
But the wind rushing and bustling through the rose petals was her only reply.
She got to her feet, pushed against the blood-stained stone. "Artemis!"
She ran. The world was a blur of leaves and corners. Rocks, tree trunks, thorns, trips, flowers – maybe. She couldn't be sure.
"Artemis!"
She screamed his name again, again. It was all Holly could do to keep up.
"Artemis!"
Then suddenly she was back at the beginning. She was outside the house she had arrived at when she was seven years old, when she had been marched inside to meet the boy–
My soul.
She whirled around her. There was a faint smell of fumes; a car had driven off from here not so long ago. She looked up. The house was on top of a hill, it looked over the grounds, the expanse that was the Fowl estate. She could see the Bentley winding its way away from her, along the drive and into the distance.
"Can I help you, Miss?" asked a plummy, distasted voice from behind her.
She wheeled around to find herself face to face with a red-nosed footman.
"Miss?" he asked again, his brow furrowing.
Annie shook her head, scrabbled for a footing on the gravel driveway, and fled, broken, shattered, into the night.
Hmm... Yep. May have just beat the last chapter on 'sadness rating'. Jeez... The song(s) Artemis sang were 'Ashes to Ashes' by the indomitable Mister Bowie and part of Gabriel Fauré's 'Pavane' (one of the songs to which I thought of this story's plotline, actually). The theme song for this chapter was 'Love The Way You Lie (part II)' because the lyrics at the start just fit to an absolute 'T' - whatever that actually means.
As always, please be kind and leave a review :)
As always, I've fucked up the length estimates with this thing so I currently stand at... two chapters to go? Yeah?
And my speed, as usual, depends on motivation from you! My poor readers :(
Btw guys - 20 reviews for the last one (and only the one weird one from a person who had only read the first chapter and last...hmm...) was BLOWN away by that response.
THANK YOU!
HolidayBoredom