It was his father that came down the stairs the following morning, a hardcover book, wrapped in muslin under one arm.

The bundle came full into Artemis's sight as it was set it on the counter, just beyond his breakfast.

"As I understand it, I'm to tell you you're in charge of this."

Artemis pulled aside the cloth reading the tile silently: Breviary Treasures, Odes of Anacreon Anacreontics.

Anyone besides his grandpa would've gotten a first edition that someone had actually heard of.

"Where's Gran?"

I wouldn't know, you know how he is."

Artemis knew what his father thought he was referring to.

His grandfather's wandering mind had been taking on physical forum more frequently lately,

what compelled the old man to go god only knew where at all hours of the day and night was anyone's guess.

Artemis only half heard as father wrote the behavior off as the beginning stages of a mental disorder.

He'd have to deal with that later, before his Grandfather's rebelliousness got him shipped to some retirement home in Hedgerow.

Because he did, in fact, know how his Grandfather was.

This was another test for him, and the old man had no intention of providing him with the answers.

"That's all he left then?"

His father nodded, "I'm sure you could leave it for another time Artemis."

The patronizing tone made Artemis slightly ill, he knew his father was the current patriarch of the Fowl family, but his Grandfather still had the right to be taken seriously.

Artemis inflicted his voice with a restrained astonishment, keeping his eyes on his meal, his eyes always gave him away.

"I take he didn't tell you what this is?"

"I don't like to interfere with my father's business. You tell me."

Just then a manservant appeared at the top of the stairs, the elder Fowl held up one hand, keeping him silent.

"Quickly would be best."

He met his father's eyes with a hint of defiance, "Newly uncovered letters from John Mitchel."

The revolutionary's name had the desired effect, the man's eyes went wide for a millisecond, exposing thinly veiled astonishment.

"I'm glad to see that he's taking himself seriously again."

He didn't sound glad. "You can handle this on your own?"

"I was given all the details while he was he was working. I'm perfectly capable." His tone was dismissive.

"Anyone who declares themselves capable usually isn't Artemis. I wouldn't make it it a habit."

/

Artemis was on on edge, despite himself, like he was going to get in trouble at any second.

He sat in a leather office chair carefully going through the lower drawers of the heavy oak desk.

His fingers barely brushed over files, office supplies and old paper back books, in a strange combination of trying to find what he needed and avoiding moving anything more than was absolutely necessary.

Finally he found it, behind a stack of manila envelopes, two rows of index card boxes, each stacked two high.

He pulled away two from the top row, glancing at the handwritten tabs that alphabetized them,

and quickly discovered that labeling the actual notes had been the summit of his Grandfather's organizational achievements.

The first box contained C through G the second skipped right to M through Q.

By the time he located the box with H's about half of the set was on the desktop.

So much for not moving anything.

Actually, finding Gavin Herner's information was proving even more unnerving than going through the desk had been.

Largely due to the fact that, mixed among the bright whites of the newer index cards, were the faded yellows of contacts from his grandfather's youth.

They didn't look a day younger than the perfectly aged letter ironed between the pages of that book, and seemed to Artemis just as likely to crumble at a careless touch.

He dialed the number absently with the tip of the ink pen, oblivious to the small black marks this action left behind,

as he skimmed his notes for maybe the sixtieth time in the last three minutes.

Seconds ticked by between rings on little black clock on the desk, but the odd whitespace seemed to stretch on for minutes at a time.

Ring

Ring

Click.

"I'd like to speak to Mister Herner. Please tell him it regards Dimitry Fowl."

Several moments later someone else took the line, it was clearly Herner's voice, somewhat rough but holding an unmistakable cultured authority.

"Yes, who am I speaking to?"

Artemis kept his voice even, friendly, but clear that he was not intimidated.

"Mister Herner. This is Artemis Fowl, I would have clarified that before, but I thought we should both be spared the time your people would've spent trying to find my name among the list of callers you'll take personally."

"Oh, hello...er, Artemis. You'll have to forgive my oversight, I think this is the first time Dimitry has had anyone else contact me. But I know why you're calling, your grandfather is held over from attending the auction handling the estate of Michel Brair correct? We spoke about it shortly before he left."

Artemis put a quick check next to the part of his note that covered the auction.

"That's actually why he asked me to contact you Mister Herner." he gave what sounded like a thoughtful pause.

Making Herner request information would start to set his thinking to the idea that he was to be a part of this.

"Yes?"

He acquired a book, damaged, but noted as having several unknown pieces inside of it...apparently the price didn't merit the risk for anyone else. But you know how impatient he can be, he's sent it ahead to me with instruction to ask you to if you would take a look at it."

There was a pause.

Artemis presumed it was caused by Herner deciding whether or out he was going to keep allowing them to believe his status as a gallery curator enabled him such expertise.

Apparently so.

"Could you have someone bring it to me?"

"I don't think he would approve of my letting someone else handle it Mister Herner, but I'd be glad to deliver it."

Now that Artemis had himself thoroughly cast as the subordinate, he added to the man's false confidence:

"Where would it be convenient to met?"

"Do you have plans for lunch?, I have a table reserved at Bewley's for three today, you could join me if you'd like."

"That would be fine Mister Herner, thank you."

"One question though?" The words came swiftly, before he could hang up the receiver.

For half a second, Artemis's heart seemed to halt in his chest, and he internally damned himself for being so cocky.

He managed to say the next words without letting the feeling into his voice: "Yes Sir?"

"What's keeping Dimitry in England?"

Artemis's eyes searched the scrawl of his notes frantically.

Realizing, horrified, that he hadn't anticipated this.

"He ran into an associate at the auction, who insisted he say on for a few days visit."

The lie came smoothly.

"Anyone I might know?"

He flipped desperately to the next page on the pad looking for anything helpful and found one of the yellowed cards had slipped into it.

Aware that he was running out of time to provide an answer, the read the name off.

Calvin Thomas, I believe." he silently prayed it was the name of some obscure drinking buddy and not an underworld celebrity he had never heard of.

Herner sighed, " I should introduce him to an archivist I know that lives out that way. He could have saved himself all this trouble."

He's using it as an opportunity to talk about his contacts, that means you're still in the clear.

It was all Artemis could do to suppress a sigh of relief.

"Alright then, three."

Goodbye, Mister Herner."

He hung up the phone, adding another note to the pad:

Handling the Herner deal myself.

For now you're still held over England visiting with a friend, (Calvin Thomas, I was in a rush.) so stay out of sight.

That should take care of his wandering for a while at least.

Also if Dad brings it up, you're working on Nationalism.

He added the last four words with a flourish.