‘No, mademoiselle, I would not like to see the children’s menu. I have no doubt the children’s menu itself tastes better than the meals on it. I would like to order a la carte. Or don’t you serve fish to minors?’

The waitress’s smile shrank by a couple of molars. Artemis’s vocabulary had that effect on most people.

Butler rolled his eyes. And Artemis wondered who would want to kill him. Most of the waiters and tailors in Europe, for a start.

‘Yes, sir,’ stammered the unfortunate waitress. ‘Whatever you like.’

‘What I would like is a medley of shark and swordfish, pan-seared, on a bed of vegetables and new potatoes.’

‘And to drink?’

‘Spring water. Irish, if you have it. And no ice, please, as your ice is no doubt made from tap water, which rather defeats the purpose of spring water.’

The waitress scurried to the kitchen, relieved to escape from the pale youth at table six. She’d seen a vampire movie once. The undead creature had the very same hypnotic stare. Maybe the kid spoke like a grown-up because he was actually five hundred years old.

Artemis smiled in anticipation of his meal, unaware of the consternation he’d caused.

‘You’re going to be a big hit at the school dances,’ Butler commented.

‘Pardon?’

‘That poor girl was almost in tears. It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice occasionally.’

Artemis was surprised. Butler rarely offered opinions on personal matters.

‘I don’t see myself at school dances, Butler.’

‘Dancing isn’t the point. It’s all about communication.’

‘Communication?’ scoffed young Master Fowl. ‘I doubt there is a teenager alive with a vocabulary equal to mine.’

Butler was about to point out the difference between talking and communicating when the restaurant door opened. A small tanned man entered, flanked by a veritable giant. Jon Spiro and his security.