Stroke one was that the lemur was suddenly up for grabs. Stroke the second was that while his young nemesis had chosen to follow the silky sifaka directly up the pylon the animal was scaling, he himself could go up the adjacent pole, which just happened to be the service pylon.
Artemis reached the pylon’s base, which was secured by a cage. The heavy padlock submitted instantly to a quick jab from the omnitool, as did the steel equipment locker. Inside were various tools, walkie-talkies, and a Faraday suit. Artemis tugged on the heavy overalls, wiggling his fingers into the attached gloves, tucking his long hair inside the hood. The flame-retardant and steel-thread suit had to completely enclose him to act as a protective Faraday cage. Otherwise he could not venture out on the wires without being burned to a criminal-mastermind cinder.
More luck. An elevator platform ran along the side of the pylon. It was locked and key-coded. But locks quailed when faced with an omnitool, and a key code was of little value when it was a simple matter to unscrew the control panel and activate the pulley manually.
Artemis held tight to the safety rail as the tiny elevator shuddered and whined its way into the night sky. The valley spread out below him as he rose, and a westerly wind crept over the hills, tugging a strand of hair from his hood. Artemis gazed north, and for a fanciful moment imagined he could see the lights of Fowl Manor.
Mother is there, he thought. Unwell now and unwell in the future. Perhaps I can just talk to my younger self. Explain the situation.
This thought was even more fanciful than the last. Artemis had no illusions about what he had been like at the age of ten. He had trusted no one completely but himself. Not his parents, not even Butler. At the first mention of time travel, his younger self would have his bodyguard shoot a dart first and ask questions later. A lot of questions and at great length. There was no time for explanations and debate. This battle would have to be won by wits and guile.
The elevator grated into its brackets at the top of the pylon. A skull and crossbones sign was riveted to the tall safety gate. Even if Artemis had not been a genius, the sign would have been difficult to misinterpret, and just in case a total idiot did manage to scale the pylon, there was a second sign depicting a cartoon man being zapped by electricity from a cartoon pylon. The man’s skeleton was clearly visible, X-ray style.
Apparently electricity is dangerous, Artemis might have commented had Butler been by his side.
There was yet another lock on the safety gate, which delayed Artemis about as long as the first two. Outside the safety gate was a small platform covered with wire mesh, with twin power lines humming directly beneath.
There are half a million volts running through those lines, thought Artemis. I do hope there are no rips in this suit.
Artemis squatted low, peering along the line. The lemur had paused halfway between the two pylons and was chattering to himself as if weighing up his options. Luckily for the small creature, it was only touching one line and so no current flowed through its body. If it put so much as a toe on the second line the shock would spin it a hundred feet into the air, and it would be stone dead before it stopped revolving.
On the far pylon, Artemis the younger scowled at the animal while simultaneously trying to tempt it back with his bag of paste.
There is nothing to do but go out on the wires and bring the lemur back yourself.
The hotsuit was equipped for moving across the wires. There was a safety cord wrapped around his waist and a lightning rod in a long pocket on his thigh. Below the platform was a small sled on insulated runners that the engineers used to hand-crank themselves between pylons.
Brains count for little now, he realized. What I need is balance.
Artemis groaned. Balance was not his forte.
Taking a deep breath, he crouched low and drew the lightning rod from his pocket. Almost as soon as it cleared the material, jets of white-hot sparks jumped from the power lines connecting with the tip of the rod. The stream buzzed and hissed like a neon snake.
You are equalizing voltage, that’s all. The electricity cannot hurt you.
Perhaps not, but Artemis could already feel the hair standing on his neck. Was that anxiety, or were a couple of volts sneaking in somewhere?
Don’t be absurd. If there is a hole, all the volts will worm inside, not just a couple.
Artemis was vaguely familiar with the technique for wire-walking, as the national broadcasting service had done a news special on the high-wire daredevils who risked their lives to keep the lights of Dublin burning. It wasn’t so much wire-walking as wire-crawling. The cables were extremely taut, and the maintenance engineers clipped on their safety lines, lay on the sled, then turned the winch until they reached the maintenance site.
Simple. In theory. For a professional on a calm morning.
Not so easy for an amateur in the dead of night with only the stars and the ambient light of nearby Dublin to guide him.
Artemis sheathed his lightning rod and gingerly clipped his safety line to one of the cables.