- •It is up to me, Artemis realized. To rebuild our fortune and find Father.
- •Vinyaya’s pupils contracted in the light from the projectors. “This is all very pretty, Fowl, but we still don’t know the point of this meeting.”
- •I am losing my composure, he thought with quiet desperation. This disease is winning.
- •Vinyaya drummed the table with her fingers. “No more delays, human. I am beginning to suspect that you have involved us in one of your notorious plans.”
- •Vinyaya interrupted the science lovefest. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight: you shoot these wafers into the clouds and then they come down with the snow?”
- •Vinyaya laughed humorlessly. “Less than forthcoming? I think you’re being a little gentle on yourself, for a kidnapper and extortionist, Artemis. Less than forthcoming?
- •It seemed as though the Icelandic elements held their breath for Artemis’s demonstration. The dull air was cut with a haze that hung in sheets like rows of laundered gauze.
- •Vinyaya snapped her fingers. “Quiet, children. Contain your natural disruptive urges. I am most eager to see these nano-wafers in action before taking a shuttle closer to the warm core of our planet.”
- •Immediately, Holly mounted the crate and apparently punched it into sections.
- •Vinyaya scowled, and her annoyance seemed to ripple the air like a heatwave.
- •Vinyaya paused on her way to the shuttle gangway. She turned, a sheaf of steel hair escaping her hood. “Death? What’s he talking about?”
- •I can’t reach him from this rooftop. Artemis is going to die, and there’s nothing I can do but watch.
- •I’m coming, Juliet, he thought, squeezing the steering wheel as though it were a threat to his little sister somehow. I’m on my way.
- •In trouble, Domovoi. Come alone.
- •It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, little sister.
- •If I have to wear a mask, Juliet had reasoned, it might as well be good for my skin.
- •I think we’re going to make it, he thought in a rare moment of optimism.
- •It doesn’t matter, he realized. We could both be dead long before that happens.
- •I care. Desperate situations call for desperate solutions.
- •I am still healing. I shouldn’t be moving. Gods know what damage I will do myself.
- •It’s almost comical. Almost.
- •I need to breach the line unnoticed. Their default sensor is heat. I’ll give them a little heat to think about.
- •I don’t care what Foaly says. If one of those red-eyed monsters comes anywhere near me, I’m going to find out what a plasma grenade does to its innards.
- •I’m a tree, thought Holly, without much conviction. A little tree.
- •It occurred to her that the flares were lasting well, and she really should congratulate Foaly on the new models, at which point they inevitably began to wink out.
- •I think.” a sudden idea cut through her confusion. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
- •I hope nothing breaks; I have no magic left to fix it.
- •I hate the cold. I really hate it.
- •I would prefer to be with Mulch Diggums.
- •It took Foaly a moment to realize what was happening, but then he too was jubilant.
- •I made them, thought Artemis. I should know.
- •I know that smell, Butler realized, holding on grimly. Dwarf.
- •It was the helmet Butler was after, not the meaty noggin inside.
- •It took mere moments for Mulch to get control of the flight systems and drop the gyro down to scoop up Juliet.
- •Vatnajokull; Now
- •It was true: the increased density seemed to have no effect on the probe’s laser cutters.
- •It went against Holly’s instincts to run. “I feel like we’re deserting those people down there.”
- •It was a tough choice, but there was no time to agonize over it. She felt for a squat metal cylinder in one of the rings on her belt and pulled it out.
- •It’s not actually blurry. My eyesight’s fading.
- •It will be nice for the captain to have friends around him in a time of crisis, he reasoned.
- •If he ever shows the smallest sign of disloyalty, I will have to put him down like a dog. No hesitation.
- •Vishby wanted to be terrified, to take some radical action, but the rune on his neck forbade any emotion stronger than mild anxiety. “Please, Turnball, Captain. I thought we were friends.”
- •It is important because I set it as my ring tone for Mother. She is calling me.
- •If you even think the phrase goodly beast, I am going to kick you straight in the teeth.”
- •I am fifteen now; time to behave maturely.
- •I believed that my own baby sister was in danger. Artemis, how could you?
- •I will not be beaten by this so soon.
- •I can never go back to The Sozzled Parrot again, he realized. And they served great curry. Real meat too.
- •If someone else had said this, it might be considered a joke to lift the atmosphere, but from the mouth of Artemis Fowl it was a simple statement of fact.
- •Venice, Italy; Now
- •It won’t be long now before I am counting my words again.
- •If I get out of this, I will start thinking about girls like a normal fifteen-year-old.
- •I manage to survive a giant squid attack, and now I’m worried about hissing fours. Great.
- •I’ll just fix Artemis quickly. Maybe lie down for a minute, then get back to work.
- •If any of them act up, then use the shocker feature at your own discretion, Turnball had said. And if they try to shoot their way out, make sure we get that on video so we can have a good laugh later.
- •If Butler had been equipped with laser eyeballs, Bobb Ragby would have had holes bored right through his skull.
- •I could undo the spell, he thought. But it would be delicate work to avoid brain damage, and there would definitely be sparks.
- •I am not in pain, thought Artemis. They must have given me something.
- •I can’t even remember normal, thought Butler.
I can’t even remember normal, thought Butler.
“Can I speak to him?”
Here we go.
“Not at the moment. He’s . . . eh . . . sedated.”
“Sedated! You said he wasn’t hurt, Butler. You just said there wasn’t a mark on him.”
Butler winced. “There isn’t a mark on him. Not on the outside.”
Butler swore he could hear Angeline Fowl fuming. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you turning metaphorical in your dotage, man? Is Artemis hurt or not?”
Butler would have much preferred to be facing down a SWAT team than delivering this news, so he chose his words carefully. “Artemis has developed a condition, a mental condition. It’s a little like OCD.”
“Oh no,” said Angeline, and for a moment Butler thought she had dropped the phone, then he heard her breathing, fast and shallow.
“It can be controled,” he said. “We’re taking him to a clinic right now. The best clinic the fairies have. He is in absolutely no danger.”
“I want to see him.”
“You will. They’re sending someone for you.” This wasn’t actually the case, but Butler vowed that it would be, seconds after he hung up the phone. “What about the twins?”
“The nanny can sleep over. Artemis’s father is in Sao Paolo at a summit. I’ll have to tell him everything.”
“No,” said Butler quickly. “Don’t make that decision now. Talk to Artemis first.”
“W-will he know me?”
“Of course he will,” Butler replied.
“Very well, Butler. I’m going to pack a bag now. Tell the fairies to call when they’re ten minutes away.”
“I will do.”
“And, Butler?”
“Yes, Mrs. Fowl?”
“Look after my boy until I get there. Family is everything, you know that.”
“I do, Mrs. Fowl. I will.”
The connection was severed, and Angeline Fowl’s picture disappeared from the little screen.
Family is everything, thought Butler. If you’re lucky.
Mulch stuck his head around the door, beard dripping with some congealing liquid that seemed to have whole turnips trapped in it. His forehead was covered in bright blue burn gel.
“Hey, bodyguard. You better get down to the gymnasium. This jumbo pixie guy is killing your sister.”
“Really?” said Butler, unconvinced.
“Really. Juliet just does not seem to be herself. She can’t put two moves together. It’s pathetic, really. Everyone is betting against her.”
“I see,” said Butler, straightening as much as he could in the cramped surroundings.
Mulch held the door. “It’s going to make things really interesting when you show up to help.”
Butler grinned. “I’m not coming to help. I just want to be there when she stops faking.”
“Ah,” said Mulch, comprehension dawning on his face. “So I should switch my bet to Juliet?”
“You certainly should,” said Butler, and lumbered down the corridor, stepping around a pool of turnip soup.