The Fowl Bentley was parked in the prestige level of the short-stay car park. Butler slotted his new phone into the car kit and tried Artemis again. No luck. But when he remote accessed the mailbox at Fowl Manor, there was one message. From Artemis. Butlers grip tightened on the leather steering wheel. Alive. The boy was alive at least.
The message started well enough, then took a decidedly strange turn. Artemis claimed to be unhurt, but perhaps was suffering from concussion or post-traumatic stress, because Butlers young charge also claimed that fairies were responsible for the strange missile. A pixie, to be precise. And now he was in the company of an elf, which was apparently a completely different animal from a pixie. Not only that, but the elf was an old friend who they had forgotten. And the pixie was an old enemy who they couldnt remember. It was all very strange. Butler could only conclude that Artemis was trying to tell him something, and that hidden inside these crazed meanderings was a message. He would have to analyse the tape as soon as he returned to Fowl Manor.
Then the recording became an unfolding drama. More players came within range of Artemiss microphone. The alleged pixie, Opal, and her bodyguards joined the group. Threats were exchanged and Artemis tried to talk his way out. It didnt work. If Artemis had a fault, it was that he tended to be very patronizing, even in crisis situations. The pixie, Opal, or whoever it really was, certainly didnt take kindly to being spoken down to. It appeared that she considered herself every bit Artemiss equal, if not his superior. She ordered Artemis silenced in mid-lecture, and her command was obeyed instantly. Butler experienced a moment of dread, until the pixie stated that Artemis was not dead, merely stunned. Artemiss new ally was similarly stunned, but not before she learned of their planned theatrical demise. Something to do with the Eleven Wonders, and trolls.
You cannot be serious, muttered Butler, pulling off the motorway at the exit for Fowl Manor.
To the average passer-by it would seem as though several rooms in the manor at the end of the avenue were occupied, but Butler knew that the bulbs in these rooms were all on timers and would switch on and off at irregular intervals. There was even a stereo system wired to each room that would pump talk radio into various areas of the house. All measures designed to put off a casual burglar. None of which, Butler knew, would put off a professional thief.
The bodyguard opened the electronic gates and sped up the pebbled driveway. He drew up directly in front of the main door, not bothering to park it in the shelter of the double garage. He pulled out his handgun and clip holster from a magnetic strip under the drivers seat. It was possible that the kidnappers had sent a representative who could already be inside the manor.
Butler knew as soon as he opened the main door that something was wrong. The alarms thirty-second warning should have begun its countdown immediately, but it did not. This was because the entire box was covered in a case of some shiny, crackling, fibreglass-like substance. Butler poked it gingerly. The stuff glowed and seemed almost organic.
Butler proceeded along the lobby, sticking to the walls. He glanced towards the ceilings. Green lights winked in the shadows. At least the CCTV cameras were still working. Even if the manors visitors had left, he should get a look at them on the security tapes.
The bodyguards foot brushed against something. He glanced down. A large crystal bowl lay on the rug, the remains of a sherry trifle slopping in its base. Beside it lay a wad of gravy-encrusted tinfoil. A hungry kidnapper? A little way on, he found an empty champagne bottle and a stripped chicken carcass. Just how many intruders had been here?
The remnants of food formed a trail that led towards the study. Butler followed it upstairs, stepping over a half-eaten T-bone steak, two chunks of fruit cake and a pavlova shell. A light shone from the study doorway, casting a small shadow into the hall. There was someone in the study. A not very tall someone. Artemis?
Butlers spirits rose for a second when he heard his employers voice, but they sank just as quickly. He recognized those words: he had listened to them himself in the car. The intruder was playing the taped message on the answering machine.
Butler crept into the study, stepping so lightly that his footfalls would not have alerted a deer. Even from the back, this intruder was a strange fellow. He was barely a metre tall, with a stocky torso and thick, muscled limbs. His entire body appeared to be covered with wild wiry hair that seemed to move independently. His head was encased in a helmet of the same glowing substance that had incapacitated the alarm box. The intruder was wearing a blue jumpsuit with a flap in the seat. The flap was half unbuttoned, giving Butler a view of a hairy rear end that seemed unsettlingly familiar.
The taped message was coming to an end.
Artemiss abductor was describing what lay in store for the Irish boy. Oh yes, she said. I had a nasty little scenario planned for Foaly, something theatrical involving the Eleven Wonders. But now I have decided that you are worthy of it.
How nasty? asked Artemiss new ally, Holly.