by Eoin Colfer
Jeronima noticed a shark’s fin slicing the water off her starboard bow and drew her toes from the ocean.
If this shark does not eat me, she thought, and this chair ridículo reaches the mainland, I will rally the ACRONYM troops and rain down vengeance on the Duke of Scilly.
And though this thought would keep her going through the high seas to come and the single raincloud that seemed to follow her across the channel, it might have given her some comfort to know that the shark would soon grow bored with the ejector seat and turn his dark glittering eyes toward the Scilly Isles.
The Island of St. George, Scilly Isles
Due to a combination of its particular positioning on the southern tip of the Scilly Isles, the prevailing winds, and the unusually high temperature of the land mass itself, St. George was shrouded in ethereal concentric rings of fog for an average of two hundred days per year, and this was one of those days. When St. George was so obscured by what Scilly Islanders referred to as dragon’s breath, there was only one possible landing site for even a small aircraft. This was on what was known, in keeping with the island’s dragon motif, as the Spine, a curved and knobby ridge set back from the western cliffs. It sheltered a flat mini runway Lord Teddy had excavated and hard-packed with gravel with the help of a builder bot that had been supplied, naturally, by the Myishi Corporation. The company was well aware that being a criminal mastermind wasn’t all bang, bang, boom—sometimes there was building work that needed doing; in this case, runway construction. Lord Teddy could have attempted a water landing, but the swell was considerable, and even if he did manage to put down safely, it would mean transporting his live cargo up the three hundred steps from the dock.
I really must get that elevator installed, Teddy thought to himself as he applied the airbrakes and brought the Skyblade to a stop on the runway. But excavating solid rock is so dashed expensive, and regular contractors do not offer the same favorable rates as Ishi Myishi.
The truth was that the duke’s fortune, though still considerable, had dipped to under a single billion, and he had decided to hold off on the elevator until he had earned another seven hundred loyalty points, at which time he would be entitled to an extra discount on his next purchase, which would be the elevator plus installation.
All this was by the by.
The job at hand was to transfer his human and non-human cargo to his laboratory, which was spread across the attic of Childerblaine House for easy connection to the rooftop lightning conductors, which had been quite the style a hundred years ago. Though its location was somewhat impractical, the duke loved his laboratory the way a young boy loves trouble, and he would not have moved it down a few levels even if he could have spared the cash.
Lord Teddy removed his smartphone from its dock on the dashboard and activated the shuttle bots that would ferry his captors to the main house and, from there, upstairs to his laboratory. Upstairs for the magical creatures. The Fowl Twins he intended to stash in his basement dungeon until he could figure out what to do with them.
It struck Lord Teddy suddenly that perhaps he hadn’t cleaned out the dungeon since the mess with the previous occupants, but a quick check on his smartphone’s dungeon cam link revealed no bloodstains on the flagstones and no limbs hanging from the wall manacles.
“Capital,” he said.
Myishi’s bots and drones really were top-class, and unlike the human servants he’d kept for decades, they did not need constant telling in order to perform their functions. All one needed to do was program the little fellows a single time and they would keep going forever.
The duke allowed himself a moment to look seaward and take a deep breath of salty fog. Most people would feel cheated of an ocean view, but Lord Teddy relished the privacy the vapor afforded him. Even satellites couldn’t do much more than pick up a heat signature, and the world’s press were notoriously lazy and would not put in either the effort or expense necessary to take candid shots of the famous duke. Shakespeare had written: Glory is like a circle in the water, but, as far as the duke was concerned, this particular circle of fog and rock in the water was glorious in itself, and so he adapted the quote and said it aloud whenever he returned home.
“Glorious is my circle in the water,” quoth he to the fog, his voice booming into space, and when the echo had faded, Lord Teddy rubbed his hands and walked briskly to the rear of the craft to find that his net had been slashed and his captives were running toward the sheer cliffs, which did strike one as idiocy of the purest form.
Perhaps yesterday Lord Teddy might have snorted in mild frustration that he would have to put in some small unexpected effort to corral his prey, but now he had some notion of the slippery Fowl nature, so he decided to take all precautions. The duke pulled out his smartphone, opened the Myishi app, and woke up the island’s defenses.
The Fowl Twins think they have drones on their island, he thought. I’ll show them drones.
The Regrettables had effected their escape as follows: By the time the Skyblade had touched down, the effects of the knockout mist had largely worn off. Due to her fairy constitution, Lazuli was first awake, and she had reached into her boot and pulled out her knife with its short gleaming black blade of dwarf obsidian, a particular type of volcanic rock found near the earth’s core that dwarves had long favored for their weapons and tools of choice. Specialist Heitz’s obsidian blade was not regulation issue, exactly, but most LEP officers kept a favorite weapon in a fold of their uniform somewhere, and it was tolerated as long as its loss would not compromise fairy secrets if found by a human. In fact, this knife had been a gift from Lazuli’s angel to celebrate her first trip aboveground.
Lazuli had thought of slicing through the net earlier, but she’d held back because:
1. They went too high too fast, and to open the net would have meant certain death.
Plus:
2. Her boot was jammed between the Fowl Twins, and, try as she might, Lazuli could not shift the sleeping boys enough to reach it.
But, as the Skyblade swung into a circular descent, the bodies in the net were shaken loose like prunes in a grocery bag, and Lazuli managed to scrabble her fingers forward until they curled around the knife’s handle. She drew the weapon, sliced through the tarp, and hooked it through the netting.
The sudden shaking also served to waken the boys, and after a groggy moment Myles noticed the knife and read Lazuli’s intention in her face. “Timing, Specialist,” he said, “is paramount.”
He was not wrong. A premature slice would see them all plummeting to their deaths over the cliff edge.
It was ironic, though, that Myles, Mr. Uncoordinated, should presume to offer advice to Specialist Heitz, a trained LEP operative. But it was his nature to lecture, especially when stressed, as most humans would be at this point.
Not Beckett, apparently. Once his mind cleared of fog, the boy pressed his face to the netting, closed his eyes, feeling the air flow, and said two words to Lazuli: “Wait, Laser.”
And for some reason, Lazuli stayed her hand, even though the runway seemed to be rushing up to meet them.
“Wait,” said Beckett again. And then: “Now.”
Lazuli slashed, the net opened like a butchered animal’s stomach, and the Regrettables spilled out onto the runway’s grassy shoulder, rolling to a gentle stop on a patch of dandelions, a handful of which Whistle Blower, who was also apparently awake, promptly ate.
Lazuli was the first one to get to her feet. “That was well-timed, human. You have good instincts.”
Then there was no more time for talk, only escape. Lord Teddy was in front of them and the cliffs were behind. Beckett was pretty certain he could climb down to the dock, but Myles probably could not. Nevertheless, it was toward the cliffs they must go, and Beckett could only hope that Myles’s big brain would devise a genius plan in the few seconds of liberty they would have, and so he took the time to shout one verb at his brother, though it was hardly necessary, as Myles did little else, which was
why he had bad dreams and ground his teeth at night.
“Think!” he shouted, and then he linked his arm with Myles’s so his twin would not stumble while running.
Whistle Blower led the way, scampering like a chimpanzee toward the cliff edge. It had not seemed so high from the air, but now that they were coming up on it, the cliff was obviously as slick as glass, as high as the White Cliffs of Dover, and completely unclimbable.
Even Whistle Blower seemed cowed and he shied back from the edge. The toy troll grunted at Beckett.
“Can’t be done,” said Beckett. “He says we can’t climb it.”
Myles’s eyes were closed and he seemed to be counting. “Sixteen, fifty-nine, thirty-two,” he said.
“Tell your brother,” said Lazuli, “that we need something besides numbers.”
Beckett shook Myles by the shoulders as the cliff yawned before them. “Brother!” he shouted. “Come on! Whip out a genius idea. Something we’ll laugh about in the future. Something we can beam to Artemis in space.”
Myles stopped counting aloud and opened his eyes. “How much do you trust me, Beck?”
Beckett smiled. “How big is the universe?” he said.
Which was an answer he knew Myles would appreciate, because it was science-y.
An army of drones whirred through the curtains of mist, and overland squadrons of robots advanced on multi-terrain tracks, brandishing their guns and blades, all controlled by Lord Teddy’s smartphone, and all bearing his personal logo.
The Regrettables were soon surrounded on three sides by electronic enemies. On the fourth was the cliff. Lord Teddy strode briskly through the tough, scutched grass, looking every inch like the lord of the manor.
Whistle Blower growled and unsheathed his claws, ready for attack, but a grunt from Beckett told him to stay where he was for the moment.
Lord Teddy held up his smartphone. “Do you see this?” he said. “You are already targeted. I can press one button on this phone and you will be cut to ribbons. Not the fairies, though—I will merely incapacitate them with precision laser bursts.”
“What do you want with us, Your Grace?” asked Myles.
Teddy preened. “Finally, someone addresses me properly. To answer your question, child, I want nothing from you. Not a blooming thing. This entire tiresome rigmarole need never have happened. I didn’t even want the blue thing, whatever she is. All I wanted was the troll and the secrets of its venom.”
“And what, pray tell, is special about the troll’s venom?”
Teddy considered whether or not he should answer and decided that he might as well, but briefly. “The secret to eternal life,” he said. “I might have thought that would appeal to you, Myles Fowl. Are you not a scientist?”
“I am,” admitted Myles.
“Well, then, you know what can be achieved with a life eternal.”
Myles felt momentarily dizzy, because he did know what could be done with an extended life span and had often thought about this exact scenario. Imagine all the knowledge he could absorb over many lifetimes. He could be the smartest person who had ever lived. Myles Fowl with the universe at his fingertips.
“Your Grace,” he said, “is there an arrangement that can be reached?”
The duke laughed. “I don’t see how. You have nothing that I need, Fowl.”
Myles tapped his head. “I have this: Experiments can be conducted twice as efficiently with a competent assistant. And I am so much more than competent.”
The duke was amused. “Perhaps. But what would you demand in return for this favor? A box of lollipops, perhaps?”
Myles was not amused. “My family historically does not favor lollipops.”
“Your life, then,” said Teddy. “Would that be fair exchange?”
Myles smiled tightly. “I do find live laboratory assistants to be the best kind.”
While all this negotiating was going on, Myles was wishing that NANNI were awake to hack the duke’s network, which he must be using to control his robotic army.
By the law of great minds, Lord Teddy happened upon the same subject.
“I imagine,” he said, “that you are wishing you had those charging packs now to breathe life into whatever smartphone you have, so it can crack the St. George system. You wouldn’t have much luck anyway, I’ll wager, because, my dear boy, sometimes old-school is best. My system requires actual hard contact for syncing.”
“Don’t worry,” said Beckett brightly. “Myles doesn’t even have the smartphone that he’s always going on about. Or his smartwatch, either. Because the nun kidnapped us before he could take them from the charger. This is not even our first kidnapping this week. Though it was definitely the best. Even Myles with his big brain had no idea what you were doing. But things being done is not his area. Myles calls it our division of labor. He thinks stuff, and I do things.”
This spiel seemed to send Myles over the emotional edge. “You do things, brother? You do things? Let me tell me what you do! You mess everything up. If you hadn’t climbed that rope to the helicopter, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Beckett was confused. “Are we playing a game now? Role-playing to work on my social skills?”
“No, Beckett,” snapped Myles, who apparently had lost it. “This is all too real. All my life you’ve held me back, and now, when I have this amazing opportunity to learn forever, big dumb Beckett is on hand once again to ruin everything.”
Beckett’s eyes were teary. “Myles, don’t talk like that. Why are you being so mean?”
Myles aped his brother’s voice but added a dollop of sarcasm. “Why am I being so mean? Why is Myles so nasty? Don’t you get it? I’m the bad guy. Fowls have always been the bad guys. Except my career has been ruined because I’m too busy taking care of you.”
Lazuli had been following one of the primary rules of contact—that being Don’t give anything away, including the fact that she possessed the power of speech—but she couldn’t help herself. Myles was going too far.
“Human,” she whispered, her face turned from Teddy. “Calm yourself. We are a team.”
This only increased Myles’s fury. “A team? Oh, yes. The Regrettables.” He laughed with bitter contempt. “Regrettable indeed. Do you know what I regret? The past eleven years, being shackled to a simpleton like you, Beckett. And the moment I laid eyes on you, fairy.”
This is quality entertainment, thought the duke. I haven’t seen anything this good since Charlie Chaplin played the West End. But my time is precious.
He tip-tapped through the smartphone’s menu and his finger hovered over FIRE ALL, but he hesitated, for it seemed as though Myles Fowl was herding the others closer to the cliff edge.
Surely not, he thought. No one could be so callous.
Though that wasn’t strictly true.
Lord Teddy had to own the fact that he himself could certainly be that callous when the occasion demanded it, and often when it didn’t.
And these Fowls did have something of a reputation. In spite of his better judgment, Lord Teddy held off from loosing his metal dogs on his enemies.
I’ll give him thirty seconds, decided the duke. To seal the deal before I fire.
Myles did it in twenty-five.
“We need a group conference,” he said, and the others gathered around him on the cliff edge.
Beckett wiped his nose and took Whistle Blower in his arms. “You’re being a bad brother, Myles. Saying stuff about us. You better stop it, or I’m taking a twin time-out.”
Twin time-out was a fancy way of saying that Beckett intended to sulk, which, because of his exuberant nature, he had only ever managed to maintain for five minutes or so.
“We are totally surrounded,” said Myles. “I can get out of this alone, but with Specialist Stupid here and the Terrible Twin, there is no hope.”
“Watch it, human,” said Lazuli.
Myles’s lips moved and it seemed that he was counting. When he was satisfied with whatever number he reached, h
e said to Lazuli, “No, Laser, you watch it.”
And he pushed the little blue fairy over the edge of the cliff.
Lord Teddy was surprised and delighted at this development even though the fairy had possibly been an asset worth dissecting.
By Jove, he thought. The little chap has gumption. He is prepared to do whatever it takes to survive and work on this project.
It would seem that the lure of immortality had been too much for Myles Fowl to resist, for, after he had in effect murdered the small blue creature, there was a snatch of garbled back-and-forth between the two brothers that culminated in some kind of clumsy attempt at a grapple, which ended with the twins bumping wrists. Then Myles snatched the toy troll from his brother’s arms and elbowed Beckett, his own twin brother, over the cliff edge and sent him flailing soundlessly into the mist below.
Well, blimey, thought the duke. Those cliffs have claimed many victims, but never one twin done in by the other.
Myles turned from his grisly work. There were tears on his cheeks but also cold determination in his eyes.
“What do you think now, Your Grace?” he asked steadily, holding Whistle Blower close to his chest. “Do I have what it takes to be your assistant?”
Lord Teddy stroked his beard for a long moment, then stood down his army.
“I have to say that was an impressive interview,” he said. “But let’s not rush into anything. What say you to a probationary period? I shall review your performance on a daily basis, and if you’re a useful little boy then there’s a reasonable chance you won’t follow your twin and…”
The duke did not need to finish the threat, but he did by whistling a long descending note that represented a fall and punctuating it with a splat noise.
Myles got the idea.
“I accept your offer, Your Grace,” he said. “And I present this toy troll as a token of my good faith.”
Lord Teddy Bleedham-Drye laughed long and hard.
“Good faith?” he said. “Good faith, you say? You just killed your brother, boy. The only faith you have is in yourself.”
