The Fowl Twins

by Eoin Colfer

  “Capital, my boy,” said Lord Teddy, and he read out his list. It was short, but most specific.

  “We have a hit,” said Douglas some twenty seconds later. “One of the items on your list was ordered from Master Porter in the past hour. A designer store for the more juvenile gentleman. Delivery to be bundled and expedited to a very specific longitude and latitude.”

  Lord Teddy punched the delivery site into his computer and, in moments, the Skyblade had plotted a flight course.

  “And will there be anything else, Your Grace?” asked Douglas.

  “I think that will be all for the moment, Douglas,” said Lord Teddy. “And may I say, you have been most helpful.”

  A number of skull outlines appeared on the windshield. “Thank you, Your Grace. Would you like to leave some Myishi Corporation feedback skulls?”

  “It would be my pleasure, Douglas my boy,” said the duke. He tapped five of the six skulls, turning them gold, and left a comment:

  I found Douglas to be the epitome of efficiency. He has an excellent manner, and I would have no hesitation in recommending him for all your mastermind needs.

  Seconds later, Douglas sent back a thumbs-up emoticon and two smiley faces with hearts for eyes.

  “One has fans,” Lord Teddy explained to the nun in the copilot’s seat. “It’s embarrassing, but one can’t blame commoners for being starstruck, I suppose.”

  The duke is like Myles Fowl: vain, thought Jeronima. A chink in his armor.

  She looked forward to sticking her knife into that chink and twisting the blade.

  The Orient Express

  Some hours later, we find our heroes overnighting on the Verona-bound Orient Express. The tranquillity on board the luxury train was somewhat at odds with the thunderclouds spewing rain from above the hulking ridges of the Swiss Alps. Like the locomotive itself, the Regrettables were in the eye of their personal storm, and Myles in particular was acutely aware that this rest period must be fully utilized to explore their options and assess their strengths—and, for that matter, their shortcomings. To this end, he was examining Specialist Heitz’s equipment, which was more technologically advanced than anything he had ever seen. Which is not to say he did not understand its workings; rather its workings had solved some problems he had been wrestling with. The theory of utilizing carbon-based polymers to form simple circuitry was still in its infancy in human laboratories—except for in Artemis’s lab, where he had managed to employ organometallics to grow a large part of his self-winding rocket engine. But the Fairy People had taken the technique far beyond anything humans could currently achieve and were using it to power and regulate almost every part of the LEP suit. The growth of the circuits themselves could be achieved through solar energy, when available, and, in effect, the circuits and cells became their own batteries. As far as Myles could determine, the operating system was already partially restored after the EMP on Dalkey Island, and he was able to use NANNI’s translating software—which, of course, included Gnommish—to deduce that functions would begin to return in less than a day. NANNI used her final spurt of power probing Lazuli’s systems and then took a nap.

  We’re all running on empty, thought Myles.

  Beckett and Whistle Blower were asleep in the cabin’s top bunk, having nodded off watching ASMR videos on a customer tablet connected to the train’s Wi-Fi.

  It is amazing how many videos of gummy candy those two can watch, thought Myles.

  And as for Specialist Heitz, she was seated bolt upright across the small varnished table, finishing her salad with great deliberation and no obvious relish, as though the food were simply fuel and not something to be enjoyed or dallied over. Without her helmet, the fairy seemed very childlike, and it was all Myles could do not to patronize her, as this was his natural instinct with almost everyone he came into contact with. People thought Artemis was condescending, but Angeline Fowl had once told Myles that he himself was at least five times more patronizing than his older brother, which Myles accepted as fact, feeling neither insulted nor complimented.

  The journey to the Orient Express was uneventful, and so a brisk summary will best serve to illuminate that five-hour ride. Once Whistle Blower had been coaxed into the self-driving car, Myles set about ordering the supplies they would need moving forward. These were to be delivered to Verona, where the Orient Express would make a stop at seventeen hundred hours the following evening. The legendary Express was generally booked up for months in advance, but since the late nineteenth century, when the Fowl family in its entirety had been briefly outlawed by the governments of Germany, Switzerland, and Austria, the family matriarch, Peg O’Connor Fowl (often and quite rudely referred to as Pirate Peg), had paid the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits an extortionate amount of gold to engineer a secret cabin in the rear car that would be made available exclusively and in perpetuity to the Fowl family. In this way Peg could cross Europe in comfort and continue to service her considerable interests in Constantinople. And it had been a simple matter for Myles to dump the self-driving car at Gare de l’Est in Paris and take advantage of Cabin F.

  Artemis had often taken advantage of Cabin F, and Myles had learned the code for the electronic lock when he was four years old. The rest of the passengers and crew believed Cabin F to be part of the engine car, because the door was disguised as a blank panel, but there was a single purser who kept the cabin supplied with food and the tablet device that had lulled Beckett and Whistle Blower to sleep. Unfortunately, clothing-wise, the carriage contained little to help the group blend in, unless they wanted to stand on each other’s shoulders and dress in a Victorian ball gown.

  This time the small refrigerator was stocked with fresh salad, fruit, and a roasted chicken that Beckett and Whistle Blower devoured down to the bones, which the toy troll then crunched to dust. But there was nothing in the way of charging equipment, aside from one European socket that NANNI could leech from but would not provide her with anything close to the amount of energy she required for full functionality.

  It is time for Father to update this train car, Myles thought. At the very least, we need the latest in communications and technology.

  They would have both when they were in Verona.

  Once they reached the northern Italian city, Myles realized, he would have to agree to a fairy extraction. He’d been hoping to wrap this up, the Fowl Twins’ first grand adventure, without involving the LEP, but with that level of pride came an inevitable painful fall. If there had been just one criminal mastermind and one single shadowy organization to vanquish, Myles felt he would have been more than equal to the task, but both together was a considerable challenge, and he would never forgive himself if something were to happen to Beckett.

  Across the small lacquered table, Specialist Heitz finished her last stalk of celery and declared, “I have a plan, human. We will remain on this train until Istanbul, and by then my circuits will have regenerated and I can call in the LEP.”

  “I disagree, Specialist,” said Myles. “If you don’t mind me saying, you seem very young to be devising strategy.”

  Lazuli could not help thinking that this was a bit rich. “I am young? Me? You are a mere child. I am sixty years old.”

  “You do not have the appearance of a sexagenarian,” noted Myles.

  “Species develop at different rates,” explained the pixel. “Most fairies are walking after a week. We can read and write after a year. I finished my law diploma when I was ten. I have three friends, and they are all in steady relationships.”

  “And what is your life span?”

  Lazuli shrugged. “Who knows? I am a hybrid. It could be anything from three hundred years to a millennium.”

  “I envy you that time,” said Myles. “There is so much you could learn.”

  “One of the things I did learn,” said Lazuli, “is how to strategize.”

  It was a valid point, but Myles still felt compelled to disagree.

  “We must disembark at Verona,
” he insisted. “It is dangerous to stay enclosed in this car for too long without secure communications, as we must assume that either the duke or Sister Jeronima will somehow track us down, and we are basically trapped in a steel box. I have chosen a rendezvous point for us to collect our supplies. Once there, I can rig your communicator to a human power source—providing you allow me to examine it—and you may summon reinforcements to evacuate us to safety immediately. Of course, you may stay on the train, but I fancy Whistle Blower will wish to remain with Beckett.”

  Lazuli considered this and had to admit to herself that the human’s plan was sound. It would mean allowing Myles to check out even more of her equipment, but the Fowls were historically friends to the fairy folk, and, after all, humans could be mind-wiped. Ten minutes after Recon arrived, the twins would wake up in their own beds with no idea that any of this had even happened.

  “I agree, human boy,” said Lazuli, undoing the strap on her control gauntlet.

  Myles thought it slightly odd that Specialist Heitz would turn over her computer without objection.

  “My only stipulation,” he said, “is that there be no interference with me or my brother. We go our own way, and that is the end of it.”

  “For now,” said Lazuli, in a way Myles found slightly unsettling. It occurred to him that perhaps the Fairy People might not want more Fowls in their world, and they might decide to do something about it. And so, when Specialist Heitz climbed to the foot of the top bunk and curled herself in a ball at the end, Myles ignored his own exhaustion and, once he had finished examining Specialist Heitz’s gauntlet, he used NANNI’s slightly restored energy levels to study the fairy-related videos left behind by Artemis. Because, as his big brother often said: Know thine enemy, and assume everyone is your enemy, for it is ever true that the world resents genius.

  Words Myles intended to live by, even though they were grandiose and long-winded, like Artemis himself.

  To keep himself amused, Myles edited Artemis’s every speech down to less than a quarter of its original length and saved the edits on a separate file in case he needed references that were a little more concise. While doing so, Myles played Schubert’s Symphony No. 9 in his mind. He chose this particular piece because it was in C major and matched Beckett’s whistle/snores.

  After an hour or so, Myles found the file that might come in especially useful if the fairy folk were not all as friendly as Lazuli.

  Who, in all honesty, was not all that friendly.

  Verona, Italy

  The city of Verona is rightly celebrated for its Roman architecture, most notably the amphitheater of striking pink limestone, which is crammed year-round with opera-loving Italians. It is also known for its restaurants, dozens of which claim to serve the best gnocchi on the continent of Europe. Less celebrated are the seemingly constant road construction projects, which infuriate the local delivery trucks, and the centuries-old drainage system that cannot cope with the winter storms that regularly flood the narrow streets. But perhaps the city’s most celebrated attraction was made famous by an Englishman—that being, of course, Juliet’s balcony, featured in Shakespeare’s tragic love story.

  No one is permitted to stand on the small wooden balcony, as it would have collapsed centuries ago, but the museum in Casa di Giulietta and its small courtyard are an essential item on any tourist’s itinerary.

  But not on this evening, as the piazza was currently off-limits to the public.

  The piazza walls take such a pasting every season from romantics sticking love notes to the brickwork with chewing gum that it is routinely closed for specialized cleaning. Myles Fowl, having checked the schedule, reasoned that this would be the perfect secluded spot and time for his special delivery.

  The building’s security system was hardly state-of-the-art, and Lazuli was able to pick the gate’s lock in a matter of seconds with the blade of her dwarf obsidian knife. The only embarrassing part of this operation was that she was obliged to accomplish this from inside an Orient Express–branded carrier bag, which was slung over Myles’s shoulder. The twins made an odd-looking pair: two shaven humans in jumpsuits, one swinging some sort of mini werewolf-looking toy from his arm, the other with a blue hand snaking from his bag.

  Oddness notwithstanding, the group were inside the piazza by six p.m., barely an hour after stepping onto the Verona train-station platform. Work had finished on the lovers’ wall for the day, and the Regrettables concealed themselves behind a tower of stacked cement bags.

  “When will this package arrive?” Lazuli asked with some urgency. Now that she was exposed in the middle of a crowded city, the pixel was beginning to think that staying on the train would have been the better option tactically. Also, it was certainly undignified to be toted around in a bag. The inside of a steel box was looking pretty good to her now as opposed to trying to hide in what was definitely in the top three of the world’s most famous piazzas.

  Myles automatically checked his wrist, which did not have a watch on it. “Have patience, Specialist. Our supplies will be here momentarily. Then we simply send out a signal to your forces and I imagine they will be here in minutes.”

  “That is correct, boy,” said Lazuli, climbing from the bag. “But I cannot summon them until your package arrives.”

  From outside on the street came the sounds of clinking glasses and clanging pot lids as the area’s restaurants began to fill up with tourists. It was far too early in the evening for Italians, who prefer to eat later and talk into the night. But the Irish and British like their tea at six, and so the local eateries obliged, and were able to fit in two seatings per night. Tantalizing smells drifted over the wall, and Whistle Blower’s stomach growled while he also growled.

  All in all, Myles thought, the sight of a toy troll who was now sitting atop the brass statue of Juliet, complete with the sound of the creature harmonizing with his own stomach, was certainly one of the strangest tableaux he had ever witnessed.

  Lazuli’s uniquely shaped ears detected a whir of rotors within the layers of street cacophony, which she was able to pinpoint as approaching the square from above.

  “Here we go, Myles Fowl,” she said, pointing to an angular shape descending through the rising orange of city light.

  The delivery drone was right on time, as it should have been, considering the exorbitant subsidy charged for an airborne shipment by the popular internet shopping site. Myles himself did not have a credit card—he’d been using Artemis’s number ever since his big brother had blasted himself into space, as he believed that Artemis would expect nothing less.

  The drone lowered an excessively packaged box, which Myles signed for with a forged e-signature that even a handwriting expert would have had trouble distinguishing from Artemis’s own. Whistle Blower ripped the cardboard to chunks and then joined Beckett in stomping on the Bubble Wrap for a delighted minute before Myles scolded them both. Inside the remains of the box lay a Bubble-Wrapped bounty of charging packs, beef jerky, electrolyte tablets, and clothing.

  For Myles, there was one of his signature black suits, and for Beckett, a fencing rig complete with chest plate, which he thought would be appropriate for adventuring. Lazuli was disguised with a toddler’s hoodie that bore the legend TROUBLE COMIN’ THRU and a smog mask that covered most of her face.

  There was also a jumpsuit for Whistle Blower, which Beckett had ordered and Myles had been convinced the troll would never wear. It came as an outfit on an eight-inch doll: a bedazzled white Vegas Elvis suit.

  When Beckett explained the idea to Whistle Blower, the troll stomped the doll to pieces, then claimed the jumpsuit from its shattered body. Once he was dressed, the troll reclaimed his place on top of Juliet’s statue and howled in triumph to the heavens.

  Myles was most disappointed when he realized that the necktie he had ordered was missing from the box.

  Beckett saved the day by offering his goldfish tie. “You may have the honor of wearing Gloop,” he said, taking off the laminate
d fish. “Gold ties are in this year.”

  Myles was touched by the gesture and pulled the elastic over the collar of his crisp white shirt. Finally, he buttoned the black linen-blend jacket across his chest and felt instantly more in charge of the situation.

  It is as Shakespeare said, he thought. The apparel oft proclaims the man.

  And though Myles did not realize it, he was not the only human in that piazza with Shakespeare on his mind.

  Lord Teddy Bleedham-Drye lay on Juliet’s balcony covered by his trusty camouflage veil. Strictly speaking, there was no need for the veil, as he was hidden from the odd group below, but the camo blanket helped Lord Teddy to get into a hunter’s mind-set. The duke was fiercely thrilled that his hunch had paid off and that Myles and Co. had actually materialized at the Casa di Giulietta, and he mentally clapped himself on the back for such foresight. The Fowl boy had betrayed his own position, when all he’d needed to do was lie low.

  Vanity, thy name is Myles Fowl, thought Teddy, though he was perfectly aware that this was a misquote from Hamlet and also ironic, as the duke’s favorite novel was the classic Rogue Male, in which a lone English marksman goes on the hunt for Hitler. It was his favorite mainly because he believed it to be a story about himself that he’d drunkenly recounted to a young writer one evening, so perhaps he too was more than a little vain, but not to the point where it might interfere with a mission.

  Lord Teddy had done more damage to the Casa di Giulietta than the gum-wielding romantics ever would, for he had actually removed one of the balcony’s lower panels so that he could cover the entire piazza with his rifle—surely an act of unequaled vandalism in the eyes of Shakespeare scholars.

  To blazes with those scholars, thought Teddy. Bill Shakespeare never even set foot in Verona.

  It had been the duke’s plan to trap his prey without revealing himself, but he needed the group in a bunch and the blasted troll was running all over the square. It seemed for a moment that he might have his chance when they were changing clothes, but that moment quickly passed and the troll scampered out of danger once more.