The girl promptly broke Herve’s heart, and sold the picture to a British tourist for twenty francs. Within weeks, the picture had been stolen from the Englishman’s home.

And since that time, it has been lifted from private collections all over the world. Since Herve painted his masterpiece, it is believed that The Fairy Thief has been stolen fifteen times. But what makes these thefts different from the billion others that have been committed during this time is that the first thief decided to keep the picture for himself.

And so did all the others.

The Fairy Thief has become something of a trophy for top thieves worldwide.

Only a dozen know of its existence, and only a handful know of its whereabouts. The painting is to criminals what the Turner Prize is to artists. Whoever manages to successfully steal the lost painting is acknowledged as the master thief of his generation.

Not many are aware of this challenge, but those who do know matter.

Naturally Artemis Fowl knew of The Fairy Thief, and recently he had learned of the painting’s whereabouts. It was an irresistible test of his abilities. If he succeeded in stealing the lost masterpiece, he would become the youngest thief in history to have done so.

His bodyguard, the giant Eurasian Butler, was not best pleased with his young charge’s latest project.

‘I don’t like this, Artemis,’ said Butler in his bass gravelly tones. ‘My instincts tell me it’s a trap.’

Artemis Fowl inserted batteries in his hand-held computer game.

‘Of course it’s a trap,’ said the fourteen-year-old Irish boy. ‘The Fairy Thief has been ensnaring thieves for years. That’s what makes it interesting.’

They were travelling around Munich’s Marienplatz in a rented Hummer H2. The military vehicle was not Artemis’s style, but it would be consistent with the style of the people they were pretending to be. Artemis sat in the rear, feeling ridiculous, dressed not in his usual dark two-piece suit, but in normal teenager clothing.