Artemis squirmed in his chair. He was hot, and hungry, and the collar of his crisp white shirt itched. He sighed. This was boring.

"Sit still, Artemis," his father hissed out of the corner of his mouth as his eyes scanned the restaurant, his expression still martialed into geniality.

Artemis stopped fidgeting immediately, then sighed. "Father, why must we be here?"

"As I have told you before, Artemis, a rare business opportunity has presented itself. If all goes well today, our fortune will rise to new heights." His father glanced at him, his lips curling into a cool half-smile. "You know, of course, why this is of the utmost importance."

"Aurum est potestas," murmured Artemis dutifully.

"Very good. We command respect due to our wealth, Arty, and we must always set our minds to improving it. Complacency breeds mediocrity, and Fowls are never mediocre. Remember that."

"Yes, Father."

"You will comport yourself well, will you not?"

"Of course, Father."

The half-smile widened. "Good lad." The deep blue eyes turned away, still searching, before seeming to fix on something. Artemis tried to follow his father's gaze, eager to see what could have captured his father's attention so singularly and found himself perplexed. His father seemed to be watching a man two tables over. He appeared, to Artemis, to be utterly unremarkable. He was middle-aged, and rather paunchy, with rough-hewn features set in a florid face. He was seated with two other men, at whom he was smiling rather obsequiously. Artemis cast a critical eye over the man's attire: a cheap suit, with the hems starting to fray, and a scuffed pair of loafers. In any other setting, he would be quite average, but here, he stuck out sorely. He plainly did not have the means to dine at the establishment they were in. Artemis glanced back at his father, who was still watching the man, eyes narrowed. Why was his father interested in this man?

When his father had mentioned a business opportunity, Artemis had assumed he meant a meeting with an associate. He had been delighted when his father had allowed him to come along. At six years old, Artemis had rather well-formed notions about business. His mother still liked to baby him, but he knew his father could see that Artemis was competent and intelligent beyond his years. He had thought this trip would be a beginning: an invitation into the family business. Finally, he would see how his father worked—and hopefully, his father would see what an asset he had in his son. But this was clearly not a business meeting. Indeed, the man in the shabby suit appeared to be entirely unaware of their presence, chatting blithely away to his two companions. Artemis suppressed the urge to scowl. They'd been here for hours. If they weren't here for a meeting, what was all the fuss about?

Artemis Fowl Senior had shifted his attention back to his plate, though he still cast discreet glances towards the other man's table. "Have you purchased your mother's present, Arty?"

Artemis blinked. "Pardon?"

His father raised his eyebrows. "It's Mother's Day. You didn't forget, did you?"

"Oh! No, of course not, Father. I purchased her gift months ago."

"And?"

"Tickets to the opera, immediately following your reservation at The Ivy this evening. They will be playing La Traviata."

Artemis Fowl Senior smiled. "An excellent choice. Your mother adores Verdi."

Artemis ducked his head, trying to suppress his pleased smile. "I do hope Mother enjoys herself."

"I'm sure she will. In fact, I know she'll be delighted, Arty. She will be very happy to know she has raised such a considerate son." Artemis Fowl Senior favored his son with a fond look. "I certainly am proud."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments longer. Artemis had finished his food long since, but his father had yet to clear his plate. No doubt he was prolonging their meal for the sake of whatever he intended to transpire.

"What can you tell me about the woman who just walked in?" asked his father suddenly.

Artemis glanced up, casting his eyes casually toward the restaurant entrance, which was within view of their table. A tall woman had just walked in. She wore a blue silk dress, and her dark hair was pinned in an elegant chignon. At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about her; she seemed exactly the kind of patron who would frequent this establishment. At second glance, however…Artemis turned back to his father, who was waiting, eyebrows raised. This was a game they played. Angeline called it people-watching, and she would join them in it whenever she was there. But Artemis knew better; while his father presented it as a game, it had a more serious purpose. Situational awareness, his father called it. Remember, Arty, you can tell a lot about a person from just a glance. Someday, that glance may save your life—or your fortune.

He began with the superficial. "She's of Caucasian descent, most likely Eastern European. She's in her early thirties, most likely, and in good health. Her clothes and accessories are expensive. Her posture is perfect, and her demeanor indicates a certain confidence. Combined with her appearance, this would suggest that she was born to wealth, like many here."

"But?"

Artemis shrugged. "The way she looked around as soon as she walked in, it reminds me of how the Butlers scan rooms to discern exits and possible threats. Furthermore, she seems a bit unsteady in her heels. And she keeps plucking at her skirt, as if her attire discomfits her. An heiress like the one she portrays herself to be would probably be more comfortable in formal wear. She has scars on her arms, and she clearly has muscles. Combined with her posture and bearing, I would venture to say that she is not an ordinary patron. She has undergone some kind of combat training, perhaps military." As he said this, Artemis's eyes darted to the man in the shabby suit. Two people his father's attention had singled out who were out of place here—one more conspicuously than the other. Was it a coincidence? Artemis doubted it. But what could be the connection?

"Very good," said his father. "I agree with your assessment." He said nothing more, merely turned back to his plate, apparently resolving to finish his meal. Artemis's eyes narrowed. Not a coincidence, then, but his father was evidently not going to elaborate.

He turned back to watch the woman. She was settling into a chair at a table across the room. She did not look their way, either, nor did she look at the man in the shabby suit. What was going on here?

He turned back just as his father called a waiter over for the check. "Are we leaving?"

"Yes," said his father. "Our business here is nearly concluded."

Nearly? Artemis wanted to ask for an explanation, but the grim expression on his father's face made him hold his tongue. He waited silently as his father paid, then rose to his feet as his father stood. He trailed in his wake as his father headed for the entrance. As they walked, the Major appeared beside them, falling into step. He had spent the entirety of the hour standing watch by the far wall. Artemis's own Butler had not come along. For now, the Major was more than enough security for both of them.

His father paused by a passing waiter. "Excuse me."

The waiter glanced up. "May I assist you, sir?"

"Yes." His father motioned toward the Major, who stepped forward, holding a single white rose. "I know it's a bit of an unusual request, but I was wondering if you could take this flower to the lady who just sat down there." He indicated the dark-haired woman sitting alone at the table, her back to them, and smiled disarmingly.

The waiter glanced between Artemis Fowl Sr and Artemis Fowl II, clearly cataloguing how similar they were in appearance. He smiled. "A Mother's Day surprise for your wife, sir? Will you be joining her?"

Artemis Fowl Sr smiled tightly. "Will you do it?"

"Of course, sir." The waiter plucked the rose from the Major's grip.

"Thank you. Here, for your trouble." Artemis Fowl Sr handed over a wad of cash, which the waiter took, beaming, before hurrying off.

"Come along, Arty," his father said. Together, the three of them exited the restaurant. Outside, the sunlight was blinding. Artemis could feel sweat trickling unpleasantly down his spine. His father extracted a pair of sunglasses from his breast pocket and slipped them on, before stripping off his suit jacket and tie and rolling up the sleeves of his white linen shirt. The Major took the jacket and tie, stuffing them into the bag he was carrying.

"Sir," said the Major quietly, "we'll need some distance."

"Of course, of course," said Artemis's father. He reached down and clasped Artemis's hand, and the three of them set off briskly down the street. Artemis knew that a Range Rover would be idling around the corner, waiting for them.

"Father," said Artemis, as he hastened to keep up with his father's longer strides, "may I ask what that was all about?"

His father gave him a side-long glance. "You may ask. I am not, however, obliged to give you an answer."

They had rounded the corner. Artemis opened his mouth, ready to object—but his arguments died in his throat as, suddenly, the air was rent by the sound of screams.

He jumped, twisting around. "What was that?" The sound was coming from behind them. Could it be…the restaurant?

His father's grip tightened on his hand, yanking him forward. They were at the car. Artemis glanced up. His father was wearing the sharp, cold smile he generally reserved for the rest of the world. His eyes seemed far away.

Artemis swallowed, his intuition roaring in his ears. "Father. What—what was that?"

Artemis Fowl Sr glanced down, expression softening. "A necessary transaction—and, hopefully, a problem resolved. More succinctly, a warning. Don't worry, Arty, my boy. Just know that everything went well. I'll explain it all when you're older. You'll see." So saying, he maneuvered Artemis into the backseat, did up his seatbelt for him, and slid in beside him. The Major was already in the driver's seat. Artemis Fowl Sr closed the door, then rapped twice on the roof. The car purred smoothly into motion.

Artemis stared out the window. They drove right past the restaurant. People were streaming out, forming a small crowd in the street. Artemis caught a glimpse of shocked, fearful faces—and then they were blurred and gone as the car sped forward and away. Something twisted in his gut. He glanced at his father, who was sitting placidly beside him and making rather one-sided conversation with the Major, joking about dinner reservations and operas. When you're older, his father had said. His age had long been a source of vexation for Artemis. No one took him seriously, even though he was more than capable. Now, for the first time, he wondered if it wasn't a blessing. Suddenly, growing up didn't seem quite so appealing.

Artemis leaned back against the car seat and closed his eyes. The sounds of the engine and his father's lilting voice were lulling, and he was tired. It had been a long day, and he was only six, after all. As he began to doze, he felt his father's hand come up to stroke his hair.


Artemis Fowl II did not really forget anything, and so he would not forget this day. But in the years to come, he would deliberately avoid thinking of it. When his father disappeared, presumed to have been taken to a watery grave, Artemis would dwell on the happier memories: his father reading to him, listening to his compositions, laughing with him and his mother. That was the father he idolized, you understand. The Fowl Sr in Artemis's mind was crafty and devious, with numerous questionable enterprises, but his soul, and his hands, were not irretrievably stained. It was this sanitized character that Artemis modeled himself on. As such, when Artemis established himself in the global underworld in his father's absence, it must be said that his own notoriety was infinitely less blood-stained.

Perhaps a new era for the Fowls had begun to unfurl even then, all those years ago, before Artemis had known friendship and sacrifice. Or perhaps not. We will never know for sure.