Author's Note: Long time no see. See what I did there? Funny, isn't it? *cough*
So, obviously, that wasn't very satisfying, so here is the first chapter for you. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Eoin Colfer owns all the characters from Artemis Fowl, I only own my imagination and the characters I have created. Like Sofia Massetti and Dmiri Butler. Dima belongs to me. Hehe.
Chapter 1
The muezzin's chants filled the air in Rabat, Morocco's capital. The double-glazed windows of the penthouse, high above any other building, however, muffled most of the sounds. Butler turned away from the views of the river and studied his cousin. Outwardly, Dmitri Butler was calm, almost detached. But that was just a show, as Butler knew. Underneath the stoic surface, a volcano was constantly bubbling away. Right then, it was ready to erupt.
"I don't understand why you didn't call," his cousin said evenly, enunciating every syllable with deliberate precision. His English was flawless—almost. Only the keenest ear would catch the slightly harsher sounding r in his speech. And if Butler hadn't already known his cousin was annoyed, this would have been his next clue.
Dima hated speaking English with a passion. He reserved it for professional settings, where he transformed into an ice king—distant, untouchable.
"We won't be in your way," Butler said, and prayed that it was true. That Artemis didn't have a secret plan he hadn't told him about. The chances were slim, and he sensed Dima thought the same.
"Dima," Butler said quietly, and Dima sighed as he pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. He placed it on the counter, finally meeting his cousin's gaze.
"I am glad to see you," Dima said, switching into Russian. "I really am. It's a shame that you brought the Fowl boy with you."
As soon as the words were out, he lifted his hands. He wouldn't mention it again. He wasn't one for temper tantrums, but even so, Butler knew Dima would never forgive the Fowls for the death of his father, the Major. He would move heaven and earth if the head of the family tried to make him a Fowl bodyguard. His hatred for the Fowls did not relieve him from his other family duties, though. Dima had been made to marry a few months ago. Marriages weren't big events in the Butler family. They were business transactions, only mentioned in passing.
"How is your wife?" Butler asked carefully.
"Elica." Dima shrugged, but his features softened. "Don't judge, but she is actually really nice."
"Oh?"
"Clever, too. Don't get me wrong, the Sergeant is an idiot, but this whole arranged thing is not the worst."
Dima had always been the more pragmatic one of them, too. Butler couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
"Did you..." Butler trailed off, scratching his neck, "you know?"
Dima snickered. "Sex. Did we have sex? You can call it by its name."
Butler chuckled. "And did you? Have sex?"
His cousin grinned, but shook his head. "We talked."
Butler sat down at the massive glass kitchen table. "You talked. About what?"
"Getting to know each other. Considering that we jumped the whole courting phase."
Butler huffed, unconvinced. "Are you going to see her again?"
"What do you think? The family needs fresh meat," Dima said with a snort. "She'll visit next month from Hong Kong."
Butler gave his cousin a once-over, shrugging his shoulders when Dima threw him a questioning look. "She must be something."
Dima crossed his fingers and winked. "And with some luck, your charge will get you both killed, and we're finally rid of them all. I knew you wouldn't let me down, brat."
As if on cue, Artemis stepped out of the guest room and joined the two men in the kitchen.
"Mr Butler, thank you for hosting us."
Dima had the courtesy to incline his head. From the way he was clenching his jaw, Butler assumed he had about a thousand different retorts ready.
"Are you planning on doing some sightseeing?" Dima asked.
Artemis's eyebrow immediately shot into the air.
"No, I hoped you might assist me with a visit to the Institute of Ancient Studies."
"Out of the question."
"Mr Butler, if we don't leave now, I promise you, there will be a burglary in the institute and probably several deaths."
Dima glared at Artemis. "I've put the security system in place myself. Even if it had a malfunction, my team would quickly manage the problem. There will be no casualties today."
Artemis sat down next to Butler with an indulging smile and pulled out a piece of paper. Butler suppressed the urge to groan as the boy spread it out on the table.
"There are currently five people working on a new dig, here in Rabat. Correct?"
"No comment."
Artemis continued as if he hadn't heard it.
"Two people from NYU, one of whom we're acquainted with."
Butler flinched when he realised who Artemis meant. Suddenly he was very much interested in that visit to the institute.
Dima shrugged. "I don't see why that qualifies you for a visit."
"Are you familiar with the Nitokris sect?"
Dima thought about it, absent-mindedly drumming his fingers against his legs. Then he grunted.
"They did the Mumbai attacks in 1999, yes? A terrorist group."
"Indeed. It's not quite apparent what their goal is, but I believe they're a doomsday cult. Hence, I created an algorithm that put together a fictional artifact buried underneath the Chellah that could destroy the world."
Dima stared at the boy.
"And you thought it was a good idea, why?"
Artemis drummed his finger impatiently on the table. Then he sighed.
"I guess honesty is the best policy."
When Dima didn't react, Artemis cleared his throat. Clearly, nobody was interested in a vocal sparring match.
"The Nitokris sect is rumoured to be one of the most dangerous groups worldwide. What better opportunity to bring them to their knees?"
Dima frowned. The explanation didn't convince him.
"And?"
Artemis hesitated. "And they've stolen some of the most valuable treasures in the world. Think the Mask of Agamemnon, the gold of Mansa Musa, the Girdle of Hippolyta. All hidden in a secret lair that no one's ever got to see."
Butler had turned back to the harbour and counted the ships, flinching when his cousin snorted.
"A Fowl through and through," he said with contempt. "Why am I not surprised? So, you're trying to get the Nitokris sect out of hiding to what? Steal their treasure back?"
Artemis shrugged. "I'm a master criminal. It's what I do. Plus, I don't think stealing from another criminal is that much of a crime. Either way, my algorithm seems to have been a tad too accurate since the dig has, in fact, unearthed something. Doomsday artefact or not.
"I'm afraid an attack might be imminent. As for your team, I'm not denying their competency, but I doubt they're trained for what is about to happen."
"So, you are questioning their competency," Dima said through gritted teeth. He got up from his seat. "You can visit the cafeteria while I get the end of day report."
He glared at Butler before he gave Artemis a pointed look.
"The family might serve you, but this is my turf. If you trick me, I'm going to make you pay, Fowl."
Artemis buttoned his jacket as he stood.
"I'm not expecting any less. Shall we?"
Sofia pressed a finger on her chin. She could already feel the slight bump underneath her skin. By tomorrow, her skin would break out in spots. Of course, she had nobody but herself to blame. She knew exactly that she couldn't handle so much sugar.
"But did that stop you?" she berated herself under her breath, forcing her hand back to the keyboard and focussing on the old document lying next to her on the desk. It had been the discovery of the century, hidden underneath Rabat's Chellah, the medieval fortified Muslim necropolis.
A sacrificial bowl, carved from dark stone, was worn and chipped, its surface marked with faint, ancient symbols. Beneath it lay a weathered scroll, its yellowed parchment fragile, ink faded but still hinting at forgotten secrets. What surprised all experts was that the texts on the bowl and the scroll weren't in Arabic, but in an ancient form of Aramaic. Technically, so ancient that Sofia wasn't fully qualified to work on this. The only reason she was sitting here now was Dean Fitz. It had been his obsession in pocketing the discovery for himself that had got his "favourite teacher in Aramaic" a direct flight to Rabat and this office.
Sofia rolled her eyes. As if he even knew her name. She'd be on the first flight home if she didn't deliver. On the bright side, she got to spend some days in Morocco, getting some sun before the winter months in New York.
She pulled her thin cardigan tighter around her shoulders. The cold air from the A/C made her shiver, regardless. Her eyes wandered to the clock above her desk. Another hour of work before she could get back into the scorching heat of Rabat. Sofia curled her toes, wondering if she could leave early. She scowled between the almost empty Word document and the ancient scroll.
A lanky man in a lab coat entered the lab. His name tag read Pierre Leblanc. He grabbed a folder from his desk. Noticing her dark glare, he stopped at the door.
"Are you okay?"
She beamed at her colleague.
"Everything's peachy! Just the translation being a diva."
"I can imagine," he said with a smile. "Listen, I'll do one more X-ray on the bowl. Do you want to go to that food place from last night? They had this amazing tagine."
He paused, then smirked. "But maybe go easy on the baclava."
He tapped the underside of his chin with two fingers and gave her a pointed look.
Sofia's smile became strained.
"Sounds great!"
Pierre closed the door.
"Prick," she murmured and gingerly touched her chin. Didn't feel any different, did it? Her stomach dropped at the thought of the scheduled interview and press conference at the end of this project. It would end up on the university website. Butler would see it. Sofia shook her head, mortified.
It shouldn't matter. If he liked her, he'd like her even with acne and a double-chin, right? Sofia snorted. She hadn't a lot going for her. No money, no connections, no lethal skills like killing somebody with the flick of a finger. If her face ended up on the Internet with a fresh outbreak of acne... she'd die.
She hacked away on the keyboard. She could always skip dinner to—
A crash across the hall made her jump. Sofia frowned. Did Pierre kick over equipment? He wasn't usually that clumsy. The door opened. She looked up, about to ask if he needed some help. Except, it wasn't Pierre. It was someone dressed all in black, their face hidden behind a balaclava. Sofia's gaze dropped to the knife in his hand.
The attacker lunged at her, swinging the knife wildly.
Sofia blinked. And then. Get a weapon. Defend yourself!
Her head whipped around, scanning for anything to ward off the blade. Books, papers, the laptop. Laptop. She grabbed it and yanked it up just as the attacker struck.
Metal met metal with a sickening crunch as the knife buried itself deep into the laptop casing. For a surreal second, Sofia stared at the blade slicing through the screen, the edge glinting under the neon lights — then she wrenched the laptop sideways, twisting the knife from the attacker's grip. She shoved her chair at the masked figure, her heart in her throat. They were here for the scroll! The thought barely formed when she snatched it up—wincing internally at the groan of the brittle parchment under her ungraceful grip—and bolted out of the office.
Sofia ran across the hall to the lab. She had to check on Pierre. He wouldn't be able to fight off any attacker, but he would certainly try. There was nothing holier to a scientist than a newly discovered artefact.
Sofia came to a skidding halt when a man with a long scar across his face left the lab, a wrapped bundle under his arm. The sacrificial bowl, no doubt about it. Sofia opened her mouth to confront him in a moment of mad confidence. Then he pulled a knife from his side, its blade suspiciously red, and Sofia changed her mind.
She turned and fled in the other direction, ignoring the man's shouts. Sprinting across the corridor, she tried to remember which way the exit was. Was she running towards or away from it? The palm trees outside looked all the same to her. She pushed one of the emergency exits open, the Moroccan heat hitting her in an instant.
Weaving her way through the palm trees, she jogged up the gravel path, looking out for the Hassan Tower to orientate herself. She had to call the police. Where was the police? And how would she explain what had just happened? The more she thought about it, the less it made sense. Why would anyone be interested in a sacrificial bowl and an old scroll whose value wasn't even guaranteed? As far as she could tell, they were interesting artefacts, but not rare. There was an entire hall filled with them in the Vatican Museums.
Unless the attackers had wanted to make sure they wouldn't be taken to the US. Sofia had to agree that they belonged to Morocco. What she didn't appreciate was the attack on her life.
She jumped when she heard someone shouting at her in Arabic again. Cursing, she forced herself to break out in a sprint. If she made it out of the campus, she'd be able to lose her pursuer in the crowd.
Sofia allowed herself a satisfied grin as the gate loomed high above her. That had been almost too easy. She threw a glance back, but didn't see anyone behind her. Odd, she thought.
Which was when something very solid slammed into her.
A/N: That was a bit better, wasn't it? Now, you'll have to wait a wee while. In the meantime, if you feel like you want to read a bit more about Dima, you can! Four years ago, I've done a few writing challenges and Dima was in some of them. Mostly when he was still a kid, but perhaps it'll make the waiting easier. I can't post links, so you'll have to go to my profile. You can read "Glimpse", chapter: "The Butlers - The Past" (specifically summer, haze and outside), "The Butlers - The Present" (specifically formal. where the whole marriage thing is mentioned) and "Trust Issues". Until next time, which will NOT be four years. Take care!