Chapter Text
Saint Bartleby’s School for Young Gentleman
Butler had been in Artemis Fowl’s service since the moment of the boy’s birth. He had spent the first night of his charge’s life standing guard on the Sisters of Mercy maternity ward. For over a decade, Butler had been teacher, mentor, and protector to the young heir. And though things had changed since Orion’s existence had been revealed when she was moved to the manor, the pair had never been separated for more than a week. Until now. It shouldn’t bother him, he knew that. A bodyguard should never become emotionally attached to his charge: it affects his judgement. But in his private moments, Butler couldn’t help thinking of the Fowl heir as the younger brother he never had. As for Orion, well she got along with and was too much like Juliet for her own good.
Butler parked the Bentley Arnage Red Label on the College Avenue. If anything, the Eurasian manservant had bulked up since midterm. With both Artemis and Orion in boarding school, he was spending a lot more time in the gym. Truth be told, Butler was bored pumping iron, but the college authorities absolutely refused to allow him a bunk in Artemis’s room. And when the gardener had discovered the bodyguard’s hideout just off the seventeenth green, they had banned him from the school grounds altogether. Ryn had been howling for days.
“Freeeedooom!!” Ryn yelled, practically skipping through the school’s gate.
Artemis followed just a few steps behind her, Dr. Po’s comments still in his thoughts and being aggravated by his cousin’s cries.
“Problems, sir?” said Butler, noticing his employer’s sour expression as Ryn tumbled into the Bentley’s wine-colored leather interior.
Artemis ducked in behind her, selecting a bottle of still water from the bar.
“Hardly Butler. Just another quack spouting psycho-babble.”
Butler kept his voice level. “Should I have a word with him?”
“Don’t bother, if their sessions keep up he’ll be gone by the end of the week.” Ryn quipped, resting her feet on the back of the passenger seat.
Artemis sighed heavily. “What news of the Fowl Star?”
“We got an e-mail at the manor this morning. It’s an MPG.”
Artemis scowled. He could not access MPG video files on his mobile phone.
Butler pulled a portable computer from the glove compartment.
“I thought you might be anxious to see the file, so I downloaded it onto this.”
He passed the computer over his shoulder. Artemis activated the compact machine, folding out the flat color screen. At first he thought the battery was dead, then realized he was looking at a field of snow. White on white, with only the faintest shadows to indicate dips and drumlins.
He glanced over to see if Orion had any intention of watching the video over his shoulder, though her sudden silence hadn’t escaped his notice. The girl was staring blankly out the window, her headphones stuffed into her ears and blasting absurdly loud music into the small space.
Looking back to the screen, Artemis felt uneasiness rolling in his gut. Funny how such an innocent image could be so foreboding.
The camera panned upward, revealing a dull twilight sky. Then a black hunched object, in the distance. A rhythmic crunching issued through the compact speakers as the cameraman advanced through the snow. The object grew clearer. It was a man sitting on, no, tied to, a chair. The ice clinked in Artemis’s glass. His hands were shaking.
The man was dressed in the rags of a once fine suit. Scars branded the prisoner’s face like lightning bolts, and one leg appeared to be missing. It was difficult to tell. Artemis’s break was jumpy now, like a marathon runner’s.
There was a sign around the man’s neck. Cardboard and twine. On the sign was scrawled in thick black letters: Zdravstvutye syn. The camera zoomed in on the message for several seconds, then went blank.
“Is that all?”
Butler nodded. “Just the man, and the sign. That’s it.”
“Zdravstvutye syn,” muttered Artemis, his accent flawless. Since his father’s disappearance, he had been teaching himself the language.
“Should I translate for you?” asked Butler, also a Russian speaker. His accent, however, was not quite so sophisticated. He had picked it up during a five-year stint with an espionage unit in the late eighties.
“No, I know what it means,” replied his young employer. “Zdravstvutye syn: Hello, son.”
Butler pulled the Bentley onto the divided highway. No one spoke for several minutes, only listened to the vague lyrics of Ryn’s music. Eventually Butler had to ask.
“Do you think it’s him, Artemis? Could that man be your father?”
Artemis rewound the MPG, freezing it on the mysterious man’s face. He touched the display, sending rainbow distortion across the screen.
“I think so, Butler. But the picture quality is too poor. I can’t be certain.”
Butler understood the emotions battering his two charges. He, too, had lost someone aboard the Fowl Star. His uncle, the major, had been assigned to Artemis’s father on that fateful trip. Unfortunately, the major’s body had turned up in the Tchersky morgue.
Artemis regained his composure. “I must pursue this, Butler.”
“You know what’s coming next, of course?”
“Yes. A ransom demand. This is merely the teaser, to get my attention. I need to cash in some of the People’s gold. Contact Lars in Zurich, immediately.”
Butler accelerated into the fast lane.
“Master Artemis, I have had some experience in these matters.”
Artemis did not interrupt. Butler’s career before his current charge’s birth had been varied, to say the least.
“The pattern with kidnappers is to eliminate all witnesses. Then they will generally try to eliminate each other, to avoid splitting the ransom.”
“Your point being?”
“My point being that paying a ransom in no way guarantees you father’s safety. If indeed that man is your father. It is quite possible that the kidnappers will take your money and kill all of us.”
Artemis studied the camera screen. “You’re right, of course. I will have to devise a plan.”
Butler swallowed. He remembered Artemis’s last plan. It had almost gotten them all killed, and could have plunged the planet into an interspecies war. Orion’s most recent plan had similar effects, having gotten her entire school evacuated and quarantined for two days straight, and nearly drawing the Fowls into legal complications that could last decades. Butler was a man who didn’t scare easily, but that spark in either child’s eyes was enough to send a shiver crackling down his spine.
Artemis was bouncing ideas off Butler, a technique he often used when trying to come up with a plan. After all, if anybody was an expert on covert operations, it was his bodyguard.
“We can’t trace the MPG?”
“No, Artemis. I tried. They put a decay virus in with the e-mail, I only barely managed to get the film on disk before the original disintegrated.”
“What about the MPG itself? Could we get a geographical fix from the stars?”
Butler smiled. Young Master Artemis was starting to think like a soldier.
“No luck. I set a shot to a friend of mine in NASA. He didn’t even bother putting it into the computer—not enough definition.”
Artemis was silent for a moment.
“How fast can we get to Russia?”
“You.” Ryn said, apparently more vocal now that the topic had shifted off the Fowl Star. “How fast can you get to Russia?”
Butler snickered slightly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “It all depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“ON how we got, legal or illegal.”
“Which is quicker?”
“I’m going with the one with no screenings or lines.” Ryn chimed. “But, you know, that’s just a guess.”
Butler laughed, something you didn’t hear very often. “She’s right, illegal is usually faster. Either way is going to be pretty slow. We can’t go by air, that’s for sure. The Mafiya is going to have foot soldiers at every airstrip.”
“Are we sure it’s the Mafiya?”
Butler glanced at the rearview mirror. “I’m afraid so. All kidnappings go through the Mafiya. Even if an ordinary criminal managed to abduct your father, he would have to hand him over.”
“Ugghh, why do criminals even have bureaucracies? That’d be the one benefit of becoming one,” Ryn interrupted. “Also, what’s the difference between a mob and a mafia anyway?”
Artemis rolled his eyes. “Wo we will have to travel by sea, and that will take a week at the very least. We could really use some help with transport. Something the Mafiya won’t expect. How’s our ID situation?”
“No problem. I thought we’d go native. Russians arouse less suspicion in Russia. I have passports and visas.”
“Good. What is our cover?”
“What about Stefan Bashkir and his Uncle Constantin?”
“Perfect. The chess prodigy and his chaperone.”
“Alright, so unless Stefan has an older sister no one know about, I’ll be staying home. Doing whatever my unsupervised little heart desires for the next five days.”
Artemis glared at her. “You are not older than me.”
“I’m taller than you, which is better.”
Artemis glared harder before turning back to Butler. “How soon can we leave?”
“Almost immediately. Mrs. Fowl and Juliet are in Nice this week. That gives us eight days. We can mail the school, make up some excuse.”
“I daresay Saint Bartleby’s will be glad to be rid of me for a while.”
“I know Saint Eunice’s is glad I’m gone.”
Butler decided to continue his line of thought. “We could go straight to the airport from Fowl Manor, the Lear jet is stocked. At least we can fly as far as Scandinavia, and we can try to pick up a boat from there. I just have to pick up a few things at the manor first.”
“Yeah I can imagine,” Ryn said as she leaned forward in her seat. “By the way, where do you keep your ‘things’? I already know they’d attract a lot of attention in a room, can you show me?”
“Not if you’ll be left home alone.” The manservant answered baroquely.
“Well, the sooner we leave the better. We’ve got to find these people before they know we’re looking. We can monitor e-mail as we go.”
Butler took the exit for Fowl Manor.
“You know, Artemis,” he said, glancing in the mirror. “We’re going up against the Russian Mafiya. I’ve had dealings with these people before. They don’t negotiate. This could get bloody. If we take these gangsters on, people are going to get hurt. Most likely us.”
“I like and appreciate that you’re attempting to talk up your trip to a frozen wasteland,” Ryn said. “But I’m still staying at the manor.”
One of the few things Ryn actively studied during her time at St. Eunice’s was the history of the Fowl family. Her dad had never gone into detail about, she guessed that was because he had no interest in it when he was growing up here. Ryn would die before she’d admit to it, but she was fascinated in her family history. Especially when it went back five hundred years further than she expected.
What she’d learned was that the original Fowl castle had been built by Aodhán Fowl in the fifteenth century overlooking low-lying country on all sides. This was a Norman tactic: never let your enemies sneak up on you. Oddly enough, Ryn found the idea therapeutic. Over the centuries, the castle had been extensively remodeled until it became a manor. But all her time with Butler had taught her that the attention to security remained. The manor was surrounded by three-foot-thick walls, and wired with a state-of-the-art security system.
Her family had used deadbolt locks and set of carefully-laid smoke traps she’d set up when she was nine.
Butler pulled off the road, opening the estate gates by a remote control. He glanced back at his employer’s thoughtful face. Ryn understood that look. Being at different schools put her at a disadvantage when it came to finding Artemis friends. Especially since he was…unnaturally stubborn about it.
“We could bring a couple of those fairy blasters,” he said.
Artemis nodded. “Good idea, but remove the nuclear batteries and put them in a bag with some old games and books. We can pretend they’re toys if we’re captured.”
“If that’s your plan you might want to change clothes,” Ryn said. “No way anyone’s gonna believe a thirteen-year-old who wears a black suit plays with toys.”
The Bentley Red Tag crunched up the driveway, activating the ground’s security lights. There were several lamps on in the main house. Ryn had since learned that these were on randomly alternating times.
Butler undid his seat belt, stepping lithely from the Bentley.
“You need anything special, Artemis?”
Artemis nodded. “Grab some caviar from the kitchen. You wouldn’t believe the muck they feed us in Bartleby’s for ten thousand a semester.”
Ryn gaped at him. “Okay. First, what planet are you from? Second, you’d never call that stuff muck if you went to my old school.”
Ryn was still in the car with Artemis, fiddling with her left shoe while he composed an e-mail on his laptop. The shoes were the one part of her uniform that she hadn’t been able to modify, they were the same brown loafers Aunt Angeline had bought for her all those weeks ago. Ryn wanted to be rid of them ASAP.
She was busy stuffing the pair into her already-overfilling backpack when Butler opened the driver’s door, slipping into the seat after a moment.
Artemis folded his phone into its wallet, Ryn decided to follow suit and put her bag on the floor.
“Captain Short, I presume. Why don’t you stop vibrating, and settle into the visible spectrum?”
Holly speckled into view. There was a gleaming gun pointed at Artemis in her hand.
“Really, Holly, is that necessary?”
Ryn turned her head to look at him, almost in slow motion. “I don’t know whether to smack you for having to ask that question with kidnapping, bodily harm, extortion, and conspiracy to murder under your belt, or be insulted that I don’t get a gun pointed at me.”
“Thank you Ryn,” Holly said.
Artemis sighed, and then smiled persuadingly. “Please, Captain Short, I was young and selfish. Believe it or not, I do harbor some doubts over that particular venture.”
“You’re deeply disturbed if you think that’s the principal difference between 12 and 13.” Ryn piqued.
“And I take it there’s not enough doubts to return the gold?” Holly interjected.
“No,” Artemis admitted. “Not quite.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“You kidding me?” Ryn said, “Butler came back without getting the stuff from the house he went to get, that a red flag all by itself. Plus, he left the car door open for almost ten second, the mark of very bad security, which he’s not.”
“Butler also didn’t conduct his usual bomb check under the car.” Artemis continued, “I also detected a slight haze as you entered the vehicle. Elementary, really.”
Holly scowled. “Observant little Mud Kids, aren’t you?”
“I can’t say for Ryn, but I know I try.” Artemis said, “Now, Captain Short, if you would be so kind as to tell me why you are here.”
“As if you don’t know.”
“That’s probably true,” Ryn continued while her cousin thought. “Though he would never involve me in one of his little schemes, at least not if he knows what’s good for him.”
“Nice try Ryn, but I’m not letting you leave,” Holly replied.
Artemis interjected, “I would guess that something has happened. Obviously something that I am being held responsible for.” He raised an eyebrow fractionally, the most intense expression Ryn had ever seen him make. “There are humans trading with the People.”
“Very impressive,” said Holly. “or it would be, if we didn’t both know that you’re behind it. And if we can’t get the truth out of you, I’m sure your computer files will prove most revealing.”
“I can give you his passwords if that’d help,” Ryn said as Artemis closed his laptop.
“Still not letting you leave.”
“Captain,” Artemis interrupted, “I realize there is no love lost between us—”
“Keep telling yourself that, it can’t possibly make a situation worse.”
“But I don’t have time for this now. It is imperative that you give me a few days to sort out my affairs.”
“No can do, Fowl. There are a few people underground who would like a word.”
Artemis shrugged. “I suppose, after what I did, I can’t really expect any consideration.”
“If you did you’d be even dumber than I initially feared,” Ryn replied, seeming to admit defeat on leaving the car.
Artemis, as usual, ignored her. “Shall we go?” his tone was meek, which automatically got Ryn’s attention. Only he could make meek sound indisputably suspicious.
“Why not?” Holly turned to Butler. “Drive south. Stay on the back roads.”
“Tara, I presume. I’ve often wondered where exactly the entrance to E1 was.”
“You really need a hobby.”
“Enough,” muttered Holly. “You two sleep. All that bickering is wearing me out.”