Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer [80]
Butler nodded. Things were getting clearer, in a roundabout sort of way.
“So my theory was that the only way to escape the time-field was to simply fall asleep. Our own consciousness was all that kept us imprisoned.”
“You risked an awful lot on a theory, Artemis.”
“Not just a theory. We did have a test subject.”
“Who? Ah, Angeline.”
“Yes. My mother. Because of her narcotic-induced slumber, she moved with the natural order of time, unhindered by the time-field. If she had not, I would have simply surrendered to the LEP and submitted to their mind wipe.”
Butler snorted. He doubted it.
“So, because we could not fall asleep naturally, I simply administered us all a dose of Mother’s pills. Simple.”
“You cut it pretty fine, though. Another minute . . . ”
“Agreed.” The boy nodded. “Things were tense there at the end. It was necessary in order to double-bluff the LEP.”
He paused so that Butler could process the information.
“Well, am I forgiven?”
Butler sighed. On the chaise lounge, Juliet snored like a drunken sailor. He smiled suddenly.
“Yes, Artemis. All is forgiven. Just one thing . . .”
“Yes?”
“Never again. Fairies are too . . . human.”
“You’re right,” said Artemis, the crow’s feet deepening around his eyes. “Never again. We shall restrict ourselves to more tasteful ventures in the future. Legal, I can’t promise.”
Butler nodded. It was close enough.
“Now, young Master, shouldn’t we check on your mother?”
Artemis grew paler, if that were possible. Could the captain have reneged on her promise? She would certainly be entitled to.
“Yes. I suppose we should. Let Juliet rest. She’s earned it.”
He cast his eyes upward, along the stairs. It had been too much to hope for that he could trust the fairy. After all, he had held her captive against her will. He berated himself silently. Imagine parting with all those millions for the promise of a wish. Oh, the gullibility.
Then the loft door opened.
Butler drew his weapon instantly.
“Artemis, behind me. Intruders.”
The boy waved him away. “No, Butler. I don’t think so.”
His heart pounded in his ears, blood pulsed in his fingertips. Could it be? Could it possibly be? A figure appeared on the stairs. Wraithlike in a toweled robe, her hair wet from the shower.
“Arty?” she called. “Arty, are you there?”
Artemis wanted to answer, he wanted to race up the grand stairway, arms outstretched. But he couldn’t. His cerebral functions had deserted him.
Angeline Fowl descended, one hand resting lightly on the banister. Artemis had forgotten how graceful his mother was. Her bare feet skipped over the carpeted steps and soon she was standing before him.
“Morning, darling,” she said brightly, as though it were just another day.
“M-Mother,” stammered Artemis.
“Well, give me a hug.”
Artemis stepped into his mother’s embrace. It was warm and strong. She was wearing perfume. He felt like the boy he was.
“I’m sorry, Arty,” she whispered into his ear.
“Sorry for what?”
“For everything. For the last few months, I haven’t been myself. But things are going to change. Time to stop living in the past.”
Artemis felt a tear on his cheek. He wasn’t sure whose tear it was.
“And I don’t have a present for you.”
“A present?” said Artemis.
“Of course,” sang his mother, spinning him around. “Don’t you know what day it is?”
“Day?”
“It’s Christmas Day, you silly boy. Christmas Day! Presents are traditional, are they not?”
Yes, thought Artemis. Traditional. San D’Klass.
“And look at this place. Drab as a mausoleum. Butler?”
The manservant hurriedly pocketed his Sig Sauer.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Get on the phone to Brown Thomas. The platinum set number. Reopen my account. Tell Hélène I want a Yuletide makeover. The works.”
“Yes, ma’am. The works.”
“Oh, and wake up Juliet. I want my things moved into the main bedroom. That attic is far too dusty.”
“Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”
Angeline Fowl linked her son’s arm.