“Okay. I’ll sync with the manor systems. Ask Artemis for his password.”
Holly lifted her visor to look Artemis in the eye. “Foaly wants your security password.”
“Of course, of course.”Artemis was drifting, and it took him a moment to remember his own secret word. “It’s CENTAUR. All caps.”
Below the earth’s crust, Foaly stored the compliment in the corner of his brain that held treasured memories. He would take that one out later and gloat over a glass of sim-wine.
“Centaur. Right. I’m in.”
A large plasma television on the wall flickered on, and Foaly’s face appeared, first in blurred bubbles, then sharp focus. The Webcam in Artemis’s hand whirred as the centaur remotely fiddled with its focus motor.
“The more points of view the better, eh?” he said, his voice pulsing from the television speakers in surround sound.
Artemis held the camera before his mother’s face, his arm as still as possible.
“I take it, from Holly’s reaction, that this condition is familiar to you?”
Holly pointed to the sheen covering Angeline’s face. “See the gel, Foaly, from the pores. And the smell of lilies too—there can’t be any doubt.”
“It’s impossible,” muttered the centaur. “We eradicated this years ago.”
Artemis was growing weary of these vague references.
“What is impossible? Eradicated what?”
“No diagnosis just yet, Artemis; it would be premature. Holly, I need to run a scan.”
Holly positioned the palm of her hand over Angeline Fowl’s forehead, and the omnisensor in her glove bathed Artemis’s mother with a matrix of lasers.
Foaly’s finger swished like a metronome as the information was fed to his system. It was an unconscious movement that seemed too jolly for the situation.
“Okay,” he said after half a minute. “I have what I need.”
Holly closed her fist on the sensor, then stood with Artemis, clasping his hand in hers, silently awaiting the results. It did not take long, especially when Foaly had a good idea of his search parameters.
His face was grim as he read the results. “The computer has analyzed the gel. I am afraid it’s Spelltropy.”
Artemis noticed Holly’s grip tightening. Whatever this Spelltropy was, it was bad.
He broke free from Holly, striding to the wall-mounted television. “I need an explanation, Foaly. Now, please.”
Foaly sighed, then nodded. “Very well, Artemis.
Spelltropy was a plague among the Fairy People. Once contracted it was invariably fatal, and progressed to terminal stages in three months. From that point the patient has less than a week. This disease has everything: Neurotoxins, cell destruction, resistance to all conventional therapies, incredibly aggressive. It’s amazing, really.”
Artemis’s teeth were clenched. “That’s fabulous, Foaly. At last, something even you can admire.”
Foaly wiped a bead of sweat from his nose, pausing before he spoke.“There is no cure, Artemis. Not anymore. I’m afraid your mother is dying. Judging by the concentration in the gel, I would say she has twenty-four hours, thirty-six if she fights. If it’s any consolation, she won’t suffer at the end.”
Holly crossed the room, reaching up to grasp Artemis’s shoulder, noticing how tall her human friend was becoming.
“Artemis, there are things we can do to make her comfortable.”
Artemis shrugged her off, almost violently. “No. I can achieve wonders. I have talents. Information is my weapon.” He returned his attention to the screen. “Foaly, forgive my outburst. I am myself now. You said that this Spelltropy was a plague—where did it begin?”
“Magic,” said Foaly simply, then elaborated. “Magic is fueled by the earth, and when the earth could no longer absorb the sheer bulk of pollutants, the magic became tainted also. Spelltropy first appeared about twenty years ago in Linfen, China.”
Artemis nodded. It made sense. Linfen was infamous for its high pollution levels. As the center of China’s coal industry, the city’s air was laden with fly ash, carbon monoxide, nitrogen oxides, volatile organic compounds, arsenic, and lead. There was a joke among Chinese employers: If you hold a grudge against an employee, send him to work in Linfen.
“It is passed on through magic, and thus is completely impervious to magic. In ten years it had almost decimated the fairy population. We lost twenty-five percent of our numbers. Atlantis was worst hit.”
“But you stopped it,” Artemis insisted. “You must have found a cure.”
“Not me,” said Foaly. “Our old friend Opal Koboi found the antidote. It took her ten years, then she tried to charge through the nose for it. We had to get a court order to confiscate the supply of antidote.”
Artemis was growing impatient. “I don’t care about the politics, Foaly. I want to know what the cure was, and why we can’t administer it to my mother.”
“It’s a long story.”