“Absolutely, father,” said Artemis. “Fowls first. But that day will not come for decades.”
Artemis Senior laughed. “Let’s hope not, son. Now, I must be off; look after your mother while I am gone. And don’t let her squander the family fortune, eh?”
The words were said in a lighthearted way, but a week later Artemis Fowl Senior was missing, presumed dead, and those words became the code his son would live by.
Look after your mother, but don’t let her squander the family fortune.
Two months later, and Artemis was back at his desk, staring at the computer display in his study. On screen were the gloomy details of the family finances, which had dwindled rapidly since the disappearance of his father. He was the man of the house now, custodian of the Fowl empire, and must behave as such.
No sooner had Artemis Senior’s ship been claimed by the black Arctic waters than his debtors unanimously defaulted, and his cells of forgers, musclemen, thieves, and smugglers allied themselves to other organizations.
Honor among thieves? reflected Artemis bitterly. I think not.
Most of the Fowl money simply disappeared overnight, and Artemis was left with an estate to run and a mother who was heading rapidly toward a nervous breakdown.
It hadn’t been long before the creditors were closing in, eager to claim their slice of the pie before only crumbs were left. Artemis had been forced to auction a Rembrandt sketch just to pay the mortgage on the manor and settle various other debts.
Mother was not making things any easier. She refused to believe that Artemis Senior was missing and forged ahead with her mission to save the world, hang the expense.
Artemis, meanwhile, was trying to mount expeditions to find his father. This is difficult when you are ten years old and not taken seriously by the adult world in general, in spite of various international art and music prizes, not to mention more than a dozen lucrative patents and copyrights filed worldwide. In time Artemis would build a fortune of his own, but in time was not soon enough. Money was needed now.
Artemis wanted to put together a proper situation room to monitor the Internet and world news channels.
That would take twenty computers at least. Also there was the team of Arctic explorers waiting in their Moscow hotel for him to wire the next portion of their payment. A payment that he didn’t have.
Artemis tapped the screen with an elegant finger.
Something must be done, he thought.
Angeline Fowl was crying on her bed when Artemis entered the bedroom. His heart lurched at the sight, but he clenched his fist and told himself to be strong.
“Mother,” he said, waving a bank account statement. “What is this?”
Angeline dried her eyes on a handkerchief, then rose to her elbows, slowly focusing on her son.
“Arty, little Arty. Come and sit with me.”
Angeline’s eyes were ringed with black mascara tears, and her complexion had faded to a white that was almost translucent.
Be strong.
“No, Mother. No sitting and talking. I want you to explain this fifty thousand euro check to a wildlife center in South Africa.”
Angeline was bewildered.“South Africa, darling? Who’s gone to South Africa?”
“You sent a check for fifty thousand euros to South Africa, Mother. I had that money put aside for the Arctic expedition.”
“Fifty thousand. That figure is familiar. I’ll ask your father when he gets in. He had better not be late for dinner again today, or I’ll—”
Artemis lost his patience. “Mother, please. Try to think. Wedo not have spare funds for South African charities. All the staff have been let go except Butler, and he hasn’t been paid in a month.”
“Lemur!” shouted Angeline triumphantly. “I remember now. I bought a silky sifaka lemur.”
“Impossible,” snapped Artemis. “The Propithecus candidus is extinct.”
His mother was suddenly passionate. “No. No, they found little silky in South Africa. They don’t know how it managed to get there from Madagascar, probably on a poacher’s boat. So I had to save it. It’s the last one, Arty.”
“In a year or two it will die,” said Artemis coldly. “Then our money will have been wasted.”
Angeline was horrified. “You sound just like . . .”
“Father? Good. Someone has to be rational.”
Artemis’s face was stern, but inside he quailed. How could he speak to his mother like this, when she was literally driven demented by grief?
Why have I not fallen to pieces? he wondered, and the answer came to him quickly. I am a Fowl, and Fowls have always triumphed in the face of adversity.
“But fifty thousand, Mother? For a lemur?”
“They may find a female,” argued Angeline. “Then we will have saved a species.”
There is no point in arguing, thought Artemis. Logic cannot prevail here.
“And where is lucky silky now?” he asked innocently, smiling as a ten-year-old should when discussing a small furry animal.