Sorry for taking so long to submit! Have school and all that stuff. Sorry for such a confusing chapter! You'll hopefully understand as the story goes on. This sounds rushed, because I've got to go catch an appointment. Apologies and thanks for reading. If you like it review! Thank you dear readers!
.Number three
Perhaps it's time for some background information before we move on.
St Bartleby's is tactfully described by the Fowls as 'family tradition'. Simply put, it means that generation after generation of Fowls - even before the times of the infamous Lord Hugo de Folé - attended the school (and bear in mind that they were all males. The linage seems to have some trouble producing a female for reasons unknown - and I wouldn't wish to tell you anyway, even if I did know; because then I would only have to change the rating.)
Anyhow, records say that St Bartleby's was initially built as the holiday home in Ireland for the rich Englishman Bartleby Belet. Nearing the end of his, dare I say it, do-gooder life, he declared that he wished for his supplementary home (which he had built so many attachments on over the years that is was nearly double the size it was before), to be turned into a school to, as he put it, 'educate the promising young gentlemen in generations to come'.
No one important outwardly objected, so henceforth, plain old St Bartleby's holiday house was magically transformed into St Bartleby's School for Young Gentlemen, minus the magic.
Oh, I know what you are thinking. It's not exactly a glamorous background for our more-than-glamorous protagonist, young master Fowl, but in those days, being classed as a 'Saint' was what you would refer to now as being, how should I put it;- 'awesome', as much as I despise to use such street talk.
Nonetheless, it would do you no harm to know that St Bartleby's is located in Wicklow, just South of Dublin. I will do my best to describe the scenery to you, but describing true beauty so well is beyond my capabilities; especially now that it is summer.
So now, we will start.
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Trees flashed by.
Artemis stared out of the window of the Fowl Bently. Butler sat opposite him, checking to see if all his weapons were still intact, as he had done every five seconds for the last hour of the drive. He sat next to his mother, who was fussing over the state of Artemis's shoes, which, as always, were spotless and so smoothly polished, that one looking at the shoes would wonder if such a ridiculous thing as dirt existed. Obviously Angeline Fowl considered it not enough and wanted all the onlookers, who had such ignorance to dare look at the shoes to be blinded and swept away by the sheer force of the shine.
Nerves, decided Artemis. The same thing that is making Butler and myself so restless. Butler is checking his weapons, as he always does before a fight, perhaps to take his mind of things, and I am exaggerating everything in such ridiculous detail.
Tactfully dropping the matter, Artemis let his gaze sweep lazily over to the front of the Bently, where undoubtedly his father was apparently 'having a casual chat' with the driver. (His mother was still raging in the background, but Artemis decided it was best not to interrupt her rant, if it made her feel better to rant, then so be it.)
Artemis nearly rolled his eyes - at his fathers statement, of course, not his mothers rant - the driver was an ex-worker going under another opposing company, which if Artemis remembered correctly, was called 'Landers' Industries'. The two major companies had been at each other's throats for months, and the Fowls had no clue why the Landers' Industries employee had decided to take up work as a driver for them, as it certainly meant demotion.
His father was trying to get every piece of information out of him, inconspicuously, and while he was driving. And he should be safe, his father was known for taking precautions, and besides, he had the Major with him, so what could go wrong?
Artemis nearly winced. Bad question.
He sighed, and returned to staring out of the window.
He was nervous. He didn't know why, but he was extremely nervous. Ever since his mother had brought up the notion of sending Artemis away early, for school - no, sending him to St Bartleby's, he had a sense of unease nudging at him. Something didn't add up. Something didn't- No.
Artemis dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand to punish himself for thinking in such a way.
Nerves make me jump to conclusions, he decided; even nerves with unknown symptoms. This year, I am six. I have never been to a school before, and the idea of boarding must make me feel uncomfortable. It is understandable for me to feel nervous to going to a new place, plus I rarely meet with boys my own age. I am already so much more superior than many of my elders, after all, and allegedly, a person can't be perfect in every way. He watched coolly as one of the footmen accompanying them ungraciously spilt a jug of Darjeeling tea on the expensive floor rug. Well, maybe I can, thought Artemis with distaste, looking away.
He was dressed in the customary uniform: a black tail suit, with pinstripe dress trousers. The letter sent over had also requested that the student would also wear a top hat, but Artemis profoundly refused. Juliet had told him that he looked cute with the top hat, causing Artemis to enthusiastically throw the top hat out of the top window of the Manor and into the small woodland next door.
Naturally, there was no complaint. No one orders a Fowl around.
Artemis was jolted out of his train of thought, when his mother took hold of his arm, hard, her nerves getting the better of her.
They weren't doing too badly before, either, contemplated Artemis.
"We're here." She announced; her eyes on the view outside.
Artemis followed her gaze…
… And was met by the most alluring building he had ever set eyes on - and he had seen quite a lot (but only in books, of course). Tall towers lined the edges of the building, an orchard and garden was in sight to his left and a the sudden sweeping view of the different colours and textures of the fields in the distance gave for a heart wrenching composition.
It lay in the shallow dip of a large valley, surrounded by a large, well-kept field. The path leading to the gated entrance was dirt red, and bordered by identical looking round, green trees. But as beautiful as it was, the sun was now consistently glaring down at them, now that they were out of the cover of the woodland and Artemis, who was not one for the likes of 'fresh air' suddenly had the urge to wind the window down. His mother beat him to it, and the Bently was suddenly filled with the warm summer air, mixed with the enticing smell of flowers in new bloom, and rich tones of honey. It smelt delicious.
But all too soon, it came to an end. The car slowed to a stop, and a smooth turn brought them to the formidable black iron front gates of the school.
A click sounded, and the gates slowly swung open, and the car began to move again.
He tore his eyes away from outside, and began to pick up his bags, suddenly unsure. He raised his head, and locked eyes with Butler. He looked wary, for some reason Artemis couldn't fathom.
Butler gave a small, tight smile, and pocketed his Sig Sauer that he was inspecting.
The car stopped. Angeline Fowl breathed out deeply. Butler quickly took in his surroundings.
Artemis tried to shake off the increasingly confusing sense of usease.
Something isn't right.
Something isn't-
We're here, mouthed Butler with an expression that said that he didn't know what was going on either.
FAQ - (for questions people surely will ask)
Why is Artemis so stuck up?
Ans: Because he was a kid then, and remember, kid Arty was so obnoxious and full of himself! Hopefully, throughout my FanFiction, you will gradually see some change. J
Why does he have maids and footpeople?
Ans: Because he had them before the Fowl empire squafoodled and so.
Why is there no plot?
Ans: THERE IS! I'm just getting to it! The plot is already beginning to build here in this chapter!
When is the next time you will update?
Ans: Once I finish all my homework, pass all my tests, and shizz. Soon.
You are so old?
Ans: I know, don't rub it in.