This chapter is dedicated to chaos0marine, who kicked my butt and got me writing.
Today is Lá Fhéile Pádraig, or St. Patrick's Day. Hence, because of that absolutely ridiculous tradition of wearing green on St. Patrick's Day, I am wearing green, on Sana's extremely persistent suggestion. Moreover, Sana insisted on a bright shade, so I have become the human version of that absurd frog in 'The Muppets'. If anyone, outside my immediate family circle, should ever see me in this preposterous outfit, my reputation as heir to the Fowl Empire will be ruined! I am quite pleased that Juliet left early this morning to go watch a St. Patrick's Day celebratory wrestling competition. I shudder to think what she would say or do if she saw me…
Now that I think about it, why do I always do what Sana tells me to do? I got dragged to participate in her redecorating retail therapy session three days ago, I got forced to help repaint her walls, remove carpet and stir concrete. Because of my help, albeit unwillingly, I was inflicted with cramps down my right leg due to overuse, my arms still feel painful if I lift them to a height higher than my shoulder, my clothes were dyed yellow, AND I lost a day's worth investigating Artemisium (which I have determined that it should be placed between nitrogen and oxygen on the periodic table, becoming the new No. 8). Why can I not refuse her? From what I can remember, I have never refused her. Why is that? She is younger than me, albeit only six months younger, so she should be the one obeying my every wish, but that has never happened. At times, it can be quite mortifying. I have studied the human mind extensively for the past few years, but my subjects have always been other consciousnesses, never my own mentality. Maybe, instead of inspecting other minds, I should examine my own first…
School will resume again tomorrow. I will be trapped, once again, with a bunch of imbeciles who can't tell their droite from their gauche. I will, once again, be subject to learning stuff that I learnt two years ago. The only consolation for me will be to experiment with the chaos theory again. One thing I have learnt at school is that teachers are wonderful subjects to test that theory on. They are so stressful that subjecting them to the chaos theory may help them reduce their stress levels. I shouldn't complain, however. The Fowls have always attended primary school at St. Barnaby's School for Young Boys, secondary school at St. Bartleby's School for Young Gentlemen, and tertiary courses at Oxford or Cambridge. However, even though the McEwan family have an empire, second in size only to the Fowl empire, in areas such as architecture, art and the performing arts, they have always encouraged children in their family to interact with the public. Which means that, compared to Sana in her public school, I am the one to be envied. Not that there's much to envy in a school full of eejits.
I wonder how Sana would react when she has a chance meeting with one of her relatives. I know, from what I have gleaned over the years from Mother's hints, that Adam was estranged from the rest of the family when he married a lawyer. Do they ignore each other? Or do they treat each other civilly? I am quite curious as to how people interact with one another. Perhaps I should study this as my next project after Artemisium instead of examining my mind. After all, I hardly need to examine my own thinking, since the cure is to simply say no.
Artemisium is, so far, my greatest project yet. I highly doubt that any other ten year olds in the world, let alone Ireland, can discover a previously unknown element. I expect to win the next Nobel Chemistry prize for it. However, I plan to exceed my achievements soon, as a genius such as I could never be satisfied intellectually for extended amounts of time. Mother, though, she does not understand this challenge. She is forever urging me to spend my time 'like a kid'. She does not understand that I am not just a 'kid'. I am a genius. An intellectual who needs mental stimulus, not physical activity. The physical activity is undertaken by one such as Butler, who is renowned for his ability to move swiftly and strongly. My capabilities lie elsewhere. Mother needs to understand this.
Father is leaving today for a business venture into Russia, importing Coca Cola into the market. This transaction is completely legitimate, and he and Major are to accompany the cargo ship, completely 'green', obviously, into the country. As Father has invested a lot of money into this venture, I presume that he finds it with much potential for increasing our family fortune. Because of this, I have decided to learn Russian, so I can go there in the future to handle the situation, when I have become head of the Fowl empire. Father predicted that this business opportunity will only take him a few weeks to finalise and settle, which limits the time in which Fowl family enemies can revenge themselves or if the Mafiya want to abduct him. In that area, they will have an even lesser chance of succeeding as Major, one of the world's best martial artist, will be accompanying and protecting him. What could possibly go wrong?
Fowl Manor, Dublin, Ireland
"Goodbye, Angeline."
Artemis Fowl Snr held his wife perfunctorily. His eyes were unfocused, his consciousness calculating the risks and ways to prevent those risks. He disengaged himself from Angeline, trying to understand why she was clinging onto him so tightly, but his mind was too preoccupied by the Russian project. Artemis moved on to the next person in line. Sana. She knew his son better than he did.
"Goodbye, Sana. Look after Artemis for me." She nodded.
Now for his son. Artemis shook Artemis Jnr by the hand. "Look after your mother for me."
With that, Artemis drove off with Major, down the driveway, through the gates, little knowing that one of them would not be coming home again.
Wicklow Primary School
Sana approached her school gates, riding hard on her bike. The school was quite far from where she lived, and living with the Fowls didn't really change the time needed except for the three minutes needed to get out of the main gates. She swept wildly into the gates, just in time to hear the bell ring for the start of school. Yes! She had made it in time! It wouldn't be good to start school late, would it? She locked her bike and hurriedly ran into her classroom, barging through the door just in time to hear her teacher say,
"Everybody, settle down. Get out your maths book, we'll be starting revising long division today." Seeing Sana, she smiled and said quietly, "Welcome Sana, I'm sorry about your parents. I'll try to keep it quiet among your peers. I'm glad you're not late, but could you please try not to break the door?"
St. Barnaby's School for Young Boys
Artemis the Second sighed and exited the Bentley. His father had driven off in the Ferrari yesterday, but he preferred the more spacious and inconspicuous Bentley. Artemis looked resignedly at the 'St. Barnaby's School for Young Boys' school plaque at the gates, then slowly walked up the stairs and into the school, in time to witness a brawl developing between two boys over some score in football. At least primary school isn't boarding school. For one point five more years, I will be able to cultivate my intellect at home, but after that, it will become imbecileland except for holidays and weekends
Bay of Kola, Murmansk, Russia
Artemis Fowl Snr stood portside, on the deck, staring over the approaching land. He thought of all the work that he had put in to get to this stage. His criminal empire was already far-reaching, so if he had a few legitimate business transactions to fund those activities, then Artemis wouldn't have to worry about funding from his son's inheritance anymore.
A speck of light, immediately snuffed out, attracted his attention. What was that? A minute later, a gunshot shattered the night time silence, immediately followed by the explosion of the engine. The ship began to burn. For an instant, a silhouette of a large object could be seen against the flames. Artemis Snr crashed into the freezing ocean, the impact largely absorbed by Major's large frame. As the cold set it, Major issued his master his first and last command.
"Crawl onto this piece of metal." Major hefted his boss on to the flimsy piece of debris, then sank, his body succumbing to the cold he had been bravely fighting off. Artemis wanted to shout for someone to save the man who had saved him many times, but his voice did not, could not, work. As he drifted off into a mind-numbing coma, Artemis whispered three syllables into the cold, unforgiving night. Angeline.
Fowl Manor, Dublin, Ireland
Sana stretched luxuriously. Putting down her pen, she surveyed her just-finished homework. Satisfied with what she saw, she jumped over her bed with its new bedcovers, made by a maid in the house, over to the window, framed by curtains she had made herself. Sewing made her happy, reminding her of the times when Sana would sit by her mum, who would then teach her how to use a sewing machine, how to use a pattern, etc. Sana had always been interested in craft and the arts, and Rowan was delighted to have a daughter who was willing to learn everything she had to teach. She gazed out of the window, a large, perfect full moon illuminating everything outside, washing everything with a layer of pale silver.
"Look Mum, isn't the moon pretty?" Sana tugs on her mother's sleeve, pointing up at the moon. The smell of grass blends with the soothing scent of oak sap. Leaves crunch under their feet.
Rowan smiles down at her daughter. "Yes. It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Sana smiled in remembrance of those peaceful walks outside under the moon. Her mother's peace always seemed to envelope her every time she saw the moon. She closed her eyes. The peace she felt infused in was today tinged with a peculiar, tingly energy that she always felt when a full moon came up. Sana opened her eyes to see a police car driving up to the Manor, dismissing all those thoughts out of her mind. She ran downstairs, where Artemis and Angeline were already standing.
Sana cocked her head questioningly at Artemis. Angeline was too tense and too worried looking to be pestered by questions.
Artemis, interpreting her look correctly, answered, "We don't know yet. The only fact they have informed us on is that it is, as you would say, bad news."
An officer knocked on the door. Butler opened the door to reveal Hilly, who greeted Sana sombrely.
She then faced Angeline. "I'm terribly sorry to be the one who always tells you these things," she croaked, "but we have just been informed of an accident about the Fowl Star, which we know as the ship your husband was on. There have been no survivors found, and the court has declared him dead." Angeline turned pale.
"Continue," ordered Angeline, her voice betraying her emotions.
"The facts we know is that they arrived into the Bay of Kola, Murmansk, but then something must have happened, because the fuel tank exploded, the ship caught on fire, and then sank after 10, 15 minutes. No survivors have been found. I'm truly, terribly sorry." Hilly turned away, shoulders bowed, and walked away. Angeline, shocked, was oblivious to everything around her, not noticing Butler leading her towards her room, not noticing Sana's concern, not noticing the sudden resolve and the growing coldness of her son. Without changing, she crawled into bed, and lay there, shocked, until a small being with long brown hair crawled into bed next to her, looking at her concernedly with luminous eyes. Drawing comfort from Sana's presence, the dam walls broke, and, holding Sana tightly, Angeline cried herself to sleep.
My father is not dead. I refuse to believe it. I am now head of the Fowls, with control and power over the assets my father had built and owned. And I will use every single one of those resources to find him. No matter what I have to sacrifice, I. Will. Find. Him.
Hi people!
We are now, finally, about to enter the series of adventures that are outlined in the actual books. So keep reading, keep reviewing, keep kicking me in the butt to get me writing please.
Thanks for giving up your time to read a few humble lines from the ravings of a mad writer.
Et-R
