Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer Page A

a facsimile of his father, constructed from the morning suit he’d worn on that glorious day in Christchurch Cathedral fourteen years ago. The clothes were padded with tissue, and atop the dress shirt was a stuffed pillowcase with lipstick features. It was almost funny. Artemis choked back a sob, his hopes vanishing like a summer rainbow.
    “What do you say, Papa?” said Angeline in a deep bass, nodding the pillow like a ventriloquist manipulating her dummy. “One night off for your boy, eh?”
    Artemis nodded. What else could he do?
    “One night then. Take tomorrow, too. Be happy.”
    Angeline’s face radiated honest joy. She sprang from the couch, embracing her unrecognized son.
    “Thank you, Papa. Thank you.”
    Artemis returned the embrace, though it felt like cheating.
    “You’re welcome, Mo—Angeline. Now, I must be off. Business to attend to.”
    His mother settled beside her imitation husband.
    “Yes, Papa. You go, don’t worry, we can keep ourselves amused.”
    Artemis left. He didn’t look back. There were things to be done. Fairies to be extorted. He had no time for his mother’s fantasy world.
    Captain Holly Short was holding her head in her hands.
    One hand to be precise. The other was scrabbling down the side of her boot, on the camera’s blind side. In actuality her head was crystal clear, but it would do no harm for the enemy to believe her still out of action. Perhaps they would underestimate her. And that would be the last mistake they ever made.
    Holly’s fingers closed around the object that had been digging into her ankle. She knew immediately by its contours what was concealed there. The acorn! It must have slipped into her boot during all the commotion by the oak. This could be a vital development. All she needed was a small patch of earth—then her powers would be restored.
    Holly glanced surreptitiously around the cell. Fresh concrete, by the looks of it. Not a single crack or flaky corner. Nowhere to bury her secret weapon. Holly stood tentatively, trying out her legs for stability. Not too bad, a bit shaky around the knees, but otherwise sound enough. She crossed to the wall, pressing her cheek and palms to the smooth surface. The concrete was fresh all right, very recent. Still damp in patches. Obviously her prison had been specially prepared.
    “Looking for something?”said a voice. A cold, heartless voice.
    Holly reared back from the wall. The human boy was standing not two feet from her, his eyes hidden behind mirrored glasses. He had entered the room without a sound. Extraordinary.
    “Sit, please.”
    Holly did not want to sit, please. What she wanted to do was incapacitate this insolent pup with her elbow and use his miserable hide for leverage. Artemis could see it in her eyes. It amused him.
    “Getting ideas, are we, Captain Short?”
    Holly bared her teeth, it was answer enough.
    “We are both fully aware of the rules here, Captain. This is my house. You must abide by my wishes. Your laws, not mine. Obviously my wishes do not include bodily harm to myself, or your attempting to leave this house.”
    It hit Holly then.
    “How do you know my—”
    “Your name? Your rank?”Artemis smiled, though there was no joy in it. “If you wear a name tag . . .”
    Holly’s hand unconsciously covered the silver tag on her suit.
    “But that’s written in—”
    “Gnommish. I know. I happen to be fluent. As is everyone in my network.”
    Holly was silent for a moment, processing this momentous revelation.
    “Fowl,” she said with feeling. “You have no idea what you’ve done. Bringing the worlds together like this could mean disaster for us all.”
    Artemis shrugged. “I am not concerned with us all , just myself. And believe me, I shall be perfectly fine. Now, sit, please.”
    Holly sat, never taking her hazel eyes from the diminutive monster before her.
    “So what is this master plan, Fowl? Let me guess— world domination?”
    “Nothing so melodramatic,” chuckled