Butler heaved off the lid, and what he saw inside took his breath away, even though he had been expecting it. Artemis’s clone lay inside a transparent tent, breath fogging the plastic.
“Artemis,” he said. “It’s him exactly.”
“I had to play with the hothousing,” said Foaly, unhooking the clone from its life support systems. “And I didn’t have access to my own lab, so he has six toes on his left foot now, but it’s close enough for a backstreet job. I never thought I’d say it, but Opal Koboi made good tech.”
“It’s…He’s fifteen now, right?”
Foaly ducked behind a twist of nutrient pipes to hide his face. “Actually, the timing got away from me a little, so he’s a little older. But don’t worry, I gave him a total makeover. Skin shrink, bone scrape, marrow injections—I even lubed his brain. Believe me, his own mother wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”
He rubbed his hands and changed the subject. “Now, to work. Show me where Artemis died.”
“Down there,” said Holly, pointing. “By the…”
She had been about to say tower, but her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the incredible roses that grew in thick curved bands, emanating from the exact point where Artemis had collapsed.
The Fowl Estate roses were something of a sensation, blooming as they did in a perfect spiral at the foot of the round tower, where no roses had been planted. Their unusual burnished orange petals made them visible from the other garden plots, and Juliet had been assigned the task of ensuring that none of the villagers helped themselves to as much as a single stem.
Because of recent little people rumors, the garden workers had taken to calling the flowers fairy roses, which was a better name for them than even they suspected.
Butler carried the enclosed clone in his arms, and he was suddenly reminded of a night years ago when he had carried someone else through a field, watching the tall grass swish in Artemis’s wake.
Except, that time I was carrying Holly.
Foaly interrupted his thought. “Butler, you must place the body in the roses. At the center of the spiral. Without life support we only have minutes before degeneration begins.”
Butler laid the clone gently inside the spiral, on a soft patch where there were no thorns to pierce it.
Holly knelt to open the tent’s zipper. She pulled the flaps apart, and inside lay Artemis’s new body in a hospital gown, its breath coming in short gasps, sweat sheening its forehead.
Foaly moved quickly around the clone, straightening its limbs, tilting its head back to clear the airways.
“These roses,” he said, “they are a sign. There’s magical residue here. I would bet this formation is pretty much the same shape as Bruin Fadda’s original rune.”
“You’re pinning your hopes on a flowerbed sprouting in the meadow?”
“No, of course not, Butler. Bruin Fadda’s magic was powerful, and someone with Artemis’s willpower could easily last a few months.”
Butler held his own skull. “What if this doesn’t work, Holly? What if I let Artemis die?”
Holly turned quickly and saw that Butler was emotionally stretched. He had been hiding behind denial for half a year and would blame himself forever if Artemis didn’t come back.
If this does not work, Butler may never recover, she realized.
“It will work!” she said. “Now, less talk and more resurrecting. How long do we have, Foaly?”
“The clone can survive for perhaps fifteen minutes away from the life support.”
Butler knew that the time for objections was past. He would do whatever was necessary to give this plan a chance to succeed.
“Very well, Holly,” he said, standing to attention. “What should I do?”
Holly squatted three feet from the clone, fingers wrapped around rose stems, oblivious to the thorns piercing her skin. “It is all done now. Either he appears, or we have lost him forever.”
I think we will have lost something of ourselves, too, thought Butler.
They waited, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. Birds sang, the hedgerow bustled, and the sound of a tractor engine drifted to them across the fields. Holly squatted and fretted, dragging flowers out by their roots. While she worried, Butler’s gaze rested on the clone’s face and he recalled times past spent with his principal.
There never was anyone like Artemis Fowl, he thought. Though he didn’t make my job any easier with all his shenanigans. Butler smiled. Artemis always had my back, even though he could barely reach it.
“Holly,” he said, gently. “He’s not coming…”
Then the wind changed, and suddenly Butler could smell the roses. Holly stumbled forward to her feet.
“Something’s happening. I think something is happening.”
The breeze scooped a few rose petals from the flowers and sent them spinning skyward. More and more petals broke free as the wind seemed to curve along the orange spiral, quickly stripping each flower. The petals rose like butterflies, flitting and shimmering, filling the sky, blocking the sun.
“Artemis!” Butler called. “Come to my voice.”