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It was a sharp, bitter December night, with a full moon balefully glaring from the sky and a river lapping gently against a hill. A mountain of the man crested the hill, a bulky bag swung over his shoulder, to find his ward peering at the surface of the water, fingers splayed inches from the water, staring deeply. An ancient oak rose from the ground, tall and imposing, gnarled, leafless branches groping the sky. Someone more prone to flights of fancy might look and appreciate the myths of dryads, the stories of sacred trees and forest guardians, of things that animate to destroy the unworthy.
Butler was more concerned with his charge. The current of the water looked calm in a way that could only be deceptive, and Artemis could hardly stay afloat in a calm pool.
“Sir.” Butler shifted the bag on his shoulder securely.
Artemis only jerked his head in perfunctory recognition, fingers moving softly in the air, as though playing a piano only he could see, hitting chords incomprehensible to any other mind.
“We should set up.”
Butler was closer now, close enough to hear Artemis’s absent-minded “Yes, yes.” Close enough to glimpse Artemis’s always-hungry eyes reflected in the water—surely the moon was not bright enough, bright though it was, and the water not still enough, still though it was, to catch his eyes in such detail—close enough to notice the way he leaned ever-closer to the water, something keening and voracious in the slant of his shoulder, to read some flash of intuition that came from living with someone their whole life.
Close enough to grab his shoulder as Artemis plunged his hand suddenly in the water, like a crocodile lunging out of a calm pool and striking an antelope or a wildebeest, sharp and needy and binding, and close enough to follow his employer into the sharp moonlit water, pouring like mercury into the water, close enough to disappear, equipment bag and all, without even a ripple.
In this world, the moon shone silently. The ancient oak rattled as the wind blew through its empty branches, whispering promises to the sky it didn’t intend to keep. And miles away, Angeline Fowl cackled and cringed and waited for her husband to come home. In this world, even farther away, her husband’s breaths grew shorter and shorter, the spaces between them longer and longer. The Russian Mafia boss punished his minders when he died, but not as harshly as he might have. No one had expected the Irishman to survive.
In another world, though, Butler hoisted a sputtering, dripping twelve-year-old out of the water several hundred meters from where they fell in—the current was swift, as Butler predicted. He did not do any of the things he half wanted to do. He did not shake Artemis a little, nor demand to know what he had been thinking, nor even pull him tightly to his chest until his body accepted that Artemis was still breathing.
He did watch out of the corner of his eye, with practiced stealth, as he pulled dry clothes for both of them, closed away in vacuum-sealed bags, from the bag which had somehow stayed on his shoulder, along with the equipment needed to complete their mission—hunting blind, rifle.
He watched as Artemis shifted from peculiarly vulnerable, bewildered and young and lost, to his detached, business-like focus that always left Butler feeling lacking, deficient, inadequate for his employer’s grand plans.
He watched because Butler had been there on the day Artemis was born. He had held Artemis when he scraped his knee and cried, when he came out of his father’s office and didn’t cry, held him until Artemis wouldn’t let him.
He watched because, for just a moment, he had seen—thought he’d seen—an amber glint in the eye of Artemis’s reflection.
They captured a fairie, much to Butler’s surprise, who thought that the ultimate failure of Artemis’s plan would provide closure, and her eyes were that same amber. Butler tried to squish the twinge it gave him down into the same place he kept his conscience at times like these. It didn’t work.
Fowl Manor was blue-rinsed. Goblins rebelled, Artemis’s father was recovered—in more ways than one—Opal was imprisoned, Butler killed, Butler brought back to life. Minds were wiped, Commander Root killed and not brought back. Memories were recovered, Opal was imprisoned (again), a demon was captured, and Butler was left behind as Artemis and Holly flew off into Taipei to defuse a bomb.
Artemis slid out of the time stream like mercury out of a palm to find himself, not with his friends, in a time that wasn’t their own, but alone, in a world he had abandoned.
In this world, authorities had declared Angeline Fowl officially insane and committed to the most excellent mental institution money could buy, where she would die six years later of a tumor in the brain. Juliet Butler, the closest one to “next of kin” the court found, inherited everything on the condition that Artemis Fowl the Second was never found, failed out of Madame Ko’s, sold Fowl Estate to pay the debts that haunted the home like bitter, ancestral ghosts and moved to Cancún, Mexico, to pursue a career as the Jade Princess. When Artemis gave her no leads to her brother’s whereabouts, raving intelligently about fairies and demons and magic until he realized that this was a place where fairy tales were tales and nothing more, Juliet began looking for a place for him to stay, a place where neither of them would be preyed on by the shadow of Butler looming over their shoulders.
She found it in Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children.
When Eleanor West told her it was an elaborate delusion, that time could help to heal it, Juliet nodded. “He’s always been a genius, always been obsessed with the impossible,” she confided. “Just before he disappeared, he was trying to catch a fairy! Can you believe it?” When Eleanor patted her on the shoulder comfortingly and said that she understood how hard this must be, that it wasn’t her fault, that she’s been handling this marvelously, Juliet started crying. “I’m not ready to be a parent,” she confided. “He looks almost like he’s the same, and yet he’s so different. I can’t look at him without seeing my brother, who disappeared with him. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the sane one, for not believing him when he talks about—demons and pixies and things like that.”
Before the hour was out, Artemis had been signed up for an indefinite stay at Eleanor’s school. Juliet silently rejoiced that she was free from an unexpected burden and felt guilty about cutting loose the boy she had known for years. Eleanor silently rejoiced that she could help another child, and didn’t feel guilty at all.
Though the sun was bright and low in the sky, glinting off the tinted windows of a black car, storm clouds bunched at the horizon, promising the clear weather would not last. The car drove through the gate and along the driveway, pausing in front of the elegantly charming manor house long enough to deposit a sharp boy in a crisp black suit and his smart black suitcase in the veritable Eden of the grounds, and then slithered back out onto the road as though it had never been there. Juliet and Artemis had both agreed this was better. She could mourn again for her brother’s disappearance, and heal wounds opened by Artemis’s arrival. Artemis would have a place to scheme and gather funds and resources with the authorities off his back, assured that he was undergoing “therapy.”
Artemis had been cold, once, before the river and the fairies. He had been ruthless and haughty and severe, and he would be so again. Regretfully, Artemis touched his chest where a coin hung against binder and bare skin, under his shirt and jacket and tie, and pushed every lesson he ever learned from the fairies and Butler into the back of his heart and locked it tightly. He had taken the minds of every single person who had tried to analyze him and broken them, utterly. No one would take the world of Haven or its inhabitants from him.
He was Artemis Fowl the Second, and he would return.
Clutching the strip of paper in his pocket, with Eleanor West’s handwriting authorizing him to enter the building—he’d requested that specifically—he pulled his suitcase up the few steps, opened the door, and closed the door silently behind him.
The sign over the porch fluttered in the wind: NO SOLICITATIONS, NO VISITORS, NO QUESTS.
Standing in the foyer, Artemis examined the place he had agreed to live for a time. Though Artemis doubted the furniture was as old as it looked, they were tastefully chosen and of high quality. The whole room possessed a sense of understated elegance to it, which, though inferior to the aesthetic and grandeur of Fowl Manor, had its charm.
Don’t think about the Manor, he reminded himself, adding thoughts of his home to the shell which held the better person he had become. That was another reason he hadn’t wanted to stay with Juliet—even in a world that he rejected—knowing that the Manor, a constant, a sanctuary, across realities, was no longer his, filled him with a wordless, keening ache. It fit neatly in its place beside the similar pains for Butler, Holly, Root, his mother and father, for the cheerful Juliet he knew that was so different from the anguished, sullen Juliet of this world, happy only in the ring.
Instead, he wrenched his eyes away from the glass chandelier towards the soft footsteps tapping down the stairs.
The decor matched what the few pictures of Eleanor West he found on the internet led him to expect—a dignified woman in her late sixties, dressed in formal greys and lilacs, a steady, reliable sort of woman. The real Eleanor West, or at least the one coming down the stairs, wore bright orange and purple nebula corduroy pants (Artemis hadn’t known those existed) and an electric blue knit sweater. The real Eleanor West did not look dignified, or respectable, or stable. The real Eleanor West looked like someone quietly hoping everyone would look past the fact her birthdate—not easy to find, that—was nearly one hundred years ago, and even more quietly making sure they did.
Artemis composed his face into an unnerving smile that took full advantage of his pale face, dark hair, and, were his face not partially covered with mirrored glasses, his mismatched eyes. (He surmised that, when he got back to Haven, Holly would have one blue eye, possibly the result of time stream messiness, and hated that he didn’t know for certain.)
She paused for a moment, then took his proffered hand. “You must be Artemis.” She paused to let him confirm, and when he said nothing, she dropped his cold hand. “I’m Eleanor West, though some of the students prefer to call me Ely. Welcome to my home.” Artemis would not be calling her by any nickname. He hoped not to be here long enough to call her much of anything. She examined him carefully as she continued, studying him as much as he was studying her.
“Now, where to put you? Thin and very, very pale. Your neck seems to be intact, so no vampires? I think Jack and Jill will appreciate you, regardless. You don’t look like someone who lived in a world of sunshine and sugar. Underworld, perhaps? They often have the darker aesthetic you seem to be cultivating. That suit doesn’t match any current styles, nor any in the recent past—it’s got both a somewhat whimsical and a rather severe cut.”
Artemis did not say that the necklace he could now see was similarly contradictorily, with a glint in the planes of the gems that whispered of otherworldliness. He did not say that this was the suit he wore when he slipped in and out of the time stream. He said nothing, only observed quietly, because he saw in Eleanor someone who was used to dealing with magic, and some brutal kind of hope opened in him, like a pit in his chest. With every word she spoke, like magic was familiar to all her students, the pit got a little deeper.
“I just have to figure out where you were on the compass. Can’t have High Logic rooming with High Nonsense or the police will start investigating.”
Roommates, thought Artemis with unhappiness. Police, thought Artemis a second later, with arched-brow interest. Eleanor continued, oblivious.
“They do a good job of mostly staying away, but there are some levels of violence even they won’t ignore.” Not only did Eleanor live with magic, or had lived with magic, but she too lived at least a little outside the law. Despite his heavy-handed compartmentalizing, despite her garish clothing choices, Artemis found himself liking her. Just a little bit.
“But never mind that. I hope I’m not confusing you too much—I went to a Nonsense world, and I’ve had to learn to reign in what I say.” There was that word again—Nonsense, with a capital N, like a name, or perhaps, in conjunction with the compass she’d mentioned, a direction. “Just tell me about where you went.”
Artemis breathed in deeply, his entire body aching like drowning lungs. Artemis was not often sentimental when he could help it, but every second in this awful world was sapping him of something vital to his being, and Eleanor wanted him to just— sum up the existence of air—
And then, just as quickly as the vitriol had surged under his ribs, it receded, leaving his fingertips heavy and his head feeling light like his blood had rushed out to his limbs and found moving back a sluggish process. “I went to Haven,” he said softly, tired now. “It’s much like this world, except with a very technologically advanced fairie People living under the earth’s surface.” He wanted to keep Haven for himself. He didn’t want to share the People with this woman. He wanted to return home. The entire world around him throbbed dully, like the space around a missing tooth.
Eleanor read his voice and the parts of his face visible around his mirrored glasses and adjusted her volume to match. Artemis was angry and hurting, wanting so much which he couldn’t have, and Eleanor knew better than most that the children she takes under her wing are, to the man, dangerous. A cornered animal is the one with the most to lose.
“Haven is probably Logical and Wicked, if it’s like Earth. And possibly a Fairyland as well. It’s odd that a world will mirror this one—you’ll have to talk to Kade and Lundy about that. They’d find it interesting.” She lapsed into silence, looking him up and down. “You might actually get along with Kade. I think I know the room for you.” She turned briskly up the stairs.
Artemis paused, weighing his trust of his improvised security measures, his physical strength, the unknown distance to his new quarters, and the implication in Eleanor’s quick categorization of his world that the other residents might have access to—or at least knowledge of—technology or magic Artemis knew nothing of and thus cannot guard against, and wished sharply that Butler were here. He rolled his bag to the stairs, slid the handle down, and slung the backpack straps over his shoulders.
She led him up two flights of stairs, down a long hallway, up more stairs, and just as Artemis has decided to leave his suitcase where it is, consequences be damned, she stopped. “That room will be yours,” she said, pointing to a completely normal white door, unlike some of the doors he had passed on the way. “But I want you to meet someone first so that at least you know someone.”
“I don’t need to meet anyone.”
“Of course.” Eleanor has plenty of experience with wayward children. “Humor me.”
Artemis knows full well that asking someone to do a favor for you is a well-known psychological trick to make them view you more favorably, but Eleanor had already knocked on the door next to his. It was just as perfectly innocuous as his own except for the neat, polite sign that read, DO NOT ENTER.
“Kade,” Eleanor called. “I’ve got someone to meet you.”
The boy who opened the door was shockingly gorgeous.
“Who is it?” he said, Oklahoma accent and irritation thick in his voice.
“Kade, this is Artemis Fowl. He’s a new resident, but I’m putting him in the empty room next to yours, but I thought he should get to know someone. You might be interested in his world too after he’s settled in. It sounds unusual. Artemis, this is Kade Bronson, my nephew. Great-nephew, I suppose.”
They sized each other up.
“It’s nice to meet you,” said Kade, clearly hoping to get this over with so he could return to his room, at the same time Artemis spoke.
“You’re a tailor. Are you any good?”
Kade blinked and swore in surprise. “Who are you,” he said, not unkindly, “Sherlock Holmes?” Artemis said nothing. Foaly had told him of Root’s scorched-skull comment after Artemis remembered who Root was, after the recycling ceremony. He privately agreed that young Artemis shared more with Moriarty.
“I do all the tailoring for students, so I’ve gotten pretty good. I can show you some of my work later if you like.” He frowned suddenly. “It’s common for a concerned parent to send their kid with clothes that don’t fit what they need—clothes from before we left on wild adventures. Did something like that happen to you? I can do quick exchanges if it’s urgent, but otherwise, I’m willing to take cash or information about your doorway.”
“No, nothing like that.” The suits in his suitcase were largely below his standard, the things that could be pulled together at short notice with the much-diminished remains of the Fowl fortune. Artemis has no cash with him (yet), and he knows that he’ll have to divulge something about Haven if he wants adequate clothing. He smiled, short and sharp and sinister. “I’ll unpack now.”
“Dinner’s at six-thirty,” said Eleanor. Artemis’s hand was on the handle of his door. “Just go to the entry hall, and through the second door. I’ll expect to see you there—ask Kade if you need anything.” Artemis nodded curtly to show he heard, then swung the door shut behind him.
His room was, Artemis supposed, completely to be expected. Each half of the room more or less mirrored the other—bed, desk, bookshelf, wardrobe, nightstand, a rug in the center of the room. All nondescript and impersonal, though a closer inspection revealed a suspicious stain on the inside of the left wardrobe. He took the right set of furniture and reminded himself he only needed to stay here long enough to figure out how to return. As Artemis made his room ready for his stay, however short or long, he schemed.
First, the decoy laptop, small but powerful, placed on the desk. Security like one would expect from a very smart child—difficult, but basic, concealing half-finished academic papers and complicated but unfinished blueprints, leading to nothing useful.
The second decoy, identical to the first, for if anyone looked, slipped under his mattress. It had more robust security and a fake diary, among other things. Artemis had three acorns from the other world in his pocket and did not intend to use them unless he had to. The connection they represented to Haven was now far more valuable than any advantage magic provided. If Artemis chased the link between the acorns, possibly by using other bits of fairy folklore—many of the People were in fact allergic to rowan—then he might be able to open a door.
His third laptop, also identical, he carefully slid down into the air vent, securing it against the side of the wall with wall hooks specifically acquired for this purpose. In it, tucked behind security measures so strong they had taken Foaly a full week of non-stop hacking to break in before they had been improved based on their vulnerabilities then, were the really important things. His true encrypted journals, his preliminary research into portals and multiverse theories, scanned sketches he drew on his first sleepless night away from Haven—Holly, Butler, his parents, a Juliet who did not look like the soul behind her face was made of broken glass. Foaly, Mulch, Root, even the cruel planes of Opal Koboi’s face. Faces he refused to forget.
There were no surveillance devices that Artemis could find, which could have meant that there were none, or that someone here was better at the game of information gathering than Artemis. He doubted that was true; still, a thousand unnecessary precautions were better than magic being revealed. The whiteout buttons were difficult only in the design, but actually very simple to make, once you knew what to do, and could be effectively jury-rigged with common materials.
Artemis thought that the timing and circumstances might have been important to the original doorway’s opening. The moon, the tree, the river—significant things, to the People. The presence of others—not like him, exactly—but those who had undergone something similar, had experienced magic, could only make understanding and harnessing whatever had led him here easier.
He had almost nothing from Haven. The suit he had worn, the modified coin-disk (always) worn around his neck, some odds and ends—three acorns included—Holly’s eye, and sparks of stolen magic.
Happily, the door to the room had a lock. He would have to rig something else up, but it was a start. He turned the lock, checked the window on the left side of the room, drew his curtains, jammed the desk chair under the door handle, and flicked off the lights. Sitting on the floor, hands cupped in front of him, Artemis began to meditate. Rain tapped on the window glass with the urgency and secrecy of a lover throwing stones at midnight—clouds had rolled in quickly after Artemis’s arrival. Thunder rolled angrily from a distance, like parents woken by a lovesick youth. Slowly, golden sparks fizzed into existence, pooling between his palms, whirling lazily in his hands like sharks in a glass tank, until a small glowing ball of energy twisted and writhed in his hands. His face twisted in concentration.
Experiments, stolen in moments where he was sure he could not be watched, had slowly revealed what his human-faerie hybrid magic was capable of. He could heal, though not as effectively as Holly. Using his gift of tongues resulted in none of the headaches anyone complained of. Mesmer, yes, a little, shielding, no. He could see in lower light levels than he had previously been able to. Having exhausted the typical list of faerie magic, Artemis had resolved to move on to other rumored abilities, starting with telepathy.
The thunder roared, closer than ever, and the lights of the entire building dimmed together. Students looked up from wherever they were, some shrieking laughingly. Eleanor frowned and got up to check the gasoline for the school’s generator.
Then Artemis’s light switch jumped upwards to the ‘on’ position with a soft snick and all the lights across the school returned to their normal levels as Artemis’s light turned on. He smiled. If telepathy followed the pattern of the rest of his magic, the first time would be the hardest and require the most energy, and then become easier after that.
He glanced at his watch. 17:45. Not enough time to try and find the oak-and-river on the grounds to complete the Ritual and still be back in time for dinner. Besides, magic left Artemis hungry.
Ignoring the growling in his stomach, Artemis retrieved laptop three and recorded the results of his experiment, then stowed everything back in its proper place.
At 18:23, when Artemis arrived in the dining hall, there were only two other people. One of them was Eleanor, who told him that she was “glad to see he made it alright,” so Artemis supposed that meant he had followed her directions correctly. Taking a plate, Artemis surveyed the selection of foods. Clearly, the student’s diets varied wildly.
Though the website advertised high-quality food. Artemis knew that many people’s definition of high-quality did not match his. Hesitantly he selected several fruits, a small salad, and a non-alcoholic elderflower cordial in an elegantly stemmed cordial glass. Until he knew exactly what was what and its quality, Artemis would stick to the things he recognized, thank you very much.
He was halfway through a delicately nibbled pear—cleaner than expected, without any trace of a chemical tang—when Kade sat down across from him with a rattle.
“Was it by accident you sat down at the same table as the only person you’ve been introduced to usually does, or did you pull some kind of Sherlock bullshit to do it on purpose?”
In truth, Artemis had simply chosen a somewhat secluded area with a view of both exits and his back to the wall. Apparently Kade, or one of the friends he surely had, possessed some kind of tactical knowledge. People were slowly trickling in, and Artemis had seen Kade enter as part of a big rush of people at 18:32. Crowded enough for Kade to feasibly overlook Artemis if he didn’t look too hard. Unless of course, Artemis chose his spot.
Artemis stayed silent, chewing on his pear, and after a moment, Kade snorted and kept talking. “Okay, Mr. Quiet Guy, keep your secrets. Anyway, there are usually three or so other people who usually sit here. They’re named Sumi, Jack, and Jill.” Artemis archly raised one eyebrow over the top of his glasses. “Yeah, I know. Mr. and Mrs. Wolcott should never have been allowed to have children, let alone twins. Sumi went to a Nonsense world, kind of like Eleanor, and so she can be jarring for people who went to Logic worlds, like Jack, Jill, and I.”
Artemis kept his voice nonchalant when he asked about the resonance everyone here seemed to say Logic and Nonsense with. He was really burning deeply with curiosity, but there was no need to go broadcasting the fact. Every scrap of knowledge brought him closer home. Kade laughed a little.
“Well, you’ll get more of an introduction tomorrow with Lundy, but I can give you a crash course on the Compass. In this world, Earth, we’ve got north, south, east, and west. You can label a place based on where it lies on the coordinate grid—20°N, 16°E, and so forth. The worlds that people like us tend to find don’t really play nice with directions like that, and so Logic and Nonsense are on one axis, and Virtue and Logic are on the other.”
Two blonde girls, seventeen or eighteen, slid in on either side of Kade. “Nonsense worlds are very pliable,” said one girl. She was sharp and severe and exacting, with hair in a ponytail and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. “Cause-and-effect ranges from a general guideline to a joke. Logic worlds are much more, well, logical, with rules having actual power over existence. I’m Jack Wolcott. You must be our new student.”
“Artemis Fowl the Second.” He smiled, just as sharply and severely as the girl was cut. “Nice bowtie.” It was cleverly cut so that, when tied, a single pi symbol formed on the center knot.
She nodded. “Kade made it.”
“Are you a vampire?” asked the other girl. She too was sharp, but where Jack was a scalpel, precise and surgical, there was something cruel in the setting of their shared face on the other girl. A dagger in a lace sheath—just as likely to cut through her fragile bonds and cut the one who would hold her as anything else.
Despite all they did to hide it, this was undeniably Jack’s twin. Jill, then.
“No, Jill, I am not.”
“He’s eating a pear,” pointed out Jack. “I don’t think your Master has any idea what a pear is.”
Jill ignored her sister. “A pity,” she sighed, then took a huge bite out of meat so bloody it could almost moo an invitation to take a bite. “I’m on a diet,” she informed him, still chewing. “This or nothing but spinach on alternating days. I’m so iron-rich a compass would point to me instead of north.”
Kade spoke before Artemis could interject that Jill’s diet did not seem particularly healthy.
“Oh! That’s right. I was explaining the Compass.”
“Sumi was right behind us. Better wait until you won’t get interrupted again.”
“She’s certainly an interruption,” muttered Jill, earning an elbow jab from Kade.
Interesting, thought Artemis. Jill’s on the outside of this little group. Probably only tolerated because of Jack, and because she’s not wanted anywhere else. He filed the information away for later as Jack and Jill took turns squabbling over the details of somewhere called the Moors. Artemis paid special attention to their account of the stairway in the chest, of the warning on the doors. BE SURE. Artemis had seen those same words glittering on the still water of the river. Butler had not. Had not seen, had not been sure .
One more reason to make sure he got back.
Just as they finished their story, or at least the basic outlines of it, a Japanese girl who looked like she was covered in the spit-up of a baby rainbow slid in on the bench to Artemis’s right. Artemis tensed when her knees bumped into his and relaxed when her body settled in a way that didn’t touch him. Her plate was a ridiculous pile of pies and meats and jams and cookies and slices of melon that made Artemis shudder.
“Hi! I’m Onishi Sumi. You must be the new kid. Are you a vampire? You mustn’t be, because Jill would be begging you to bite her and with her blood, no self-respecting vampire could say no. Actually, you don’t sound like her Master so she’d probably not ask. Are vampires territorial? Is it rude to eat another vampire’s food? I’ve never met a vampire before. I still haven’t met one I guess, because we’ve established that you’re not a vampire. Or maybe—”
Artemis never got to hear what Sumi had planned to say, because Eleanor interrupted, standing up and clearing her throat loudly, but not obnoxiously. The students clearly had great respect for her, or at least the part she played in their continued existence among friends, because they all stopped talking. She was wearing a different outfit now—something flowing and bright and tie-dyed as she walked over to Artemis’s group. Now Artemis understood the glimmer of amusement in her eyes when she saw where he sat down.
“Everyone, I’m sure you’ve heard we have a new student staying with us. This is Artemis Fowl. Artemis is rooming in Ellis and Jada’s old room.
“He hasn’t been in this world for very long, so please leave him alone until he’s ready to join in the turmoil, as all of you were left in peace. Now, eat up—some of you are not used to existing in a material state, but please try and keep yourself that way.”
Eleanor’s words brought everyone’s eyes to him. The crowd was mostly girls, and only perhaps half of the room was filled. Yet Eleanor had thought this was a significant enough portion of the school to make the announcement. Interesting.
Nerves would keep most new students from anything more than a nervous wave, but Artemis was not just a new student. He stood to speak.
“Thank you, Ms. West, for your hospitality. I do not doubt that there are many other... less accommodating institutions I could have been admitted to. I am glad that my intuition concerning this place was correct, and that I arranged to come here.” There. Let them chew on that. In truth, it had gone something like this: Artemis hacked into her social media advertisement algorithm, Juliet hesitantly said something about “going to stay somewhere for a while,” Artemis pulled up a list of his top ten sanitariums for troubled children, all of which hinted at something vaguely magical, and then that was that. So not a lie.
He raises his glass to Eleanor, glad that he selected something elegant and fizzing merrily, like champagne. “May this home be long-lived and successful,” he said and sipped from his drink, and sat down. A surprised wave of cups lifted to lips fluttered across the room, followed by the soft murmur of conversation. Well. An impression was made.
“Huh,” said Kade. “Never seen anyone do something like that before.”
“You really chose to come here?” asks Sumi. “You couldn’t have any idea of what was really going on. Ely—” right, Eleanor— “does so much to make sure word doesn’t get out.”
Artemis smiled enigmatically. “I still don’t know exactly what Virtue or Wicked means. Will anyone explain them to me?”
Kade nodded. “Sure. So Virtue and Wickedness seem kind of intuitive. In a High Virtue world—that means as far to the Virtue side as possible, which in our system is a 3—everything is provided for its inhabitants, theoretically ideal world, ie Narnia, post-Aslan’s-return, although that doesn’t mean that it’s actually a good world. Prism, where I went, is categorized as a High Virtue world, but they still kicked me out when they realized I wasn’t a little girl but a little boy who just looked like a little girl.”
(It can take lifetimes to get over bitterness like this. Kade has had but a few years.)
“Ah,” said Artemis.
His father had cared more about having a business partner than a child of a particular gender, and after Helsinki, he’d gone along easily with Artemis’s new suits and short hair, excited to be a father instead of—
No. In this world, his father was dead. There was nothing here for him, no parents to either celebrate their son or mourn their daughter, no friends, no Holly or Butler, no one.
“High Wicked worlds are not so much inherently evil as unbalanced. Dingy is a good word,” Jack said, moving on. Artemis yanked himself sharply to the present. “This world would probably be classified as Wicked. High Wicked worlds tend to be actively malevolent towards their denizens.”
“And then there’s some other directions used, other axes, like Linearity, Rhyme, Whimsy, so on,” Kade added
“Like altitude?” Artemis asked.
Kade shrugged and flip-flopped his hand. “Honestly, we’re trying to figure that out. It’s not a super nice and neat categorization, just something that we’re putting together to try and describe everyone’s experiences. Thinking of it as altitude works well enough. Not super satisfying, I know,” he said, seeing Artemis’s face, “but Lundy will give you more during your official orientation tomorrow.”
Ah, orientation. What an absolute joy.
“Lundy can be pretty nice, you know, once you get to know her and if you don’t waste her time. You’re taking everything surprisingly well, actually. Most people here take a while to get it.”
“I am not most people,” Artemis said evenly, taking another bite of his pear.
Kade laughed. “No, I suppose not.”