‘Good. Beckett happy now. See.’ The boy pointed to himself once more, specifically to the broad smile on his face.

The three brothers were stretched on the floor, up to their elbows in poster paint, when their father entered the room. He looked tired from his nursing duties, but otherwise fit and strong, moving like a lifelong athlete in spite of his bio-hybrid artificial leg. The leg used lengthened bone, titanium prosthetics and implantable sensors to allow Artemis Senior’s brain signals to move it. Occasionally, at the end of the day, he would use a microwaveable gel pouch to ease his stiffness, but otherwise he behaved as if the new leg were his own.

Artemis climbed to his knees, smudged and dripping.

‘I abandoned French vocabulary and have joined the twins in play.’ He grinned, wiping his hands. ‘It’s quite liberating, actually. We are finger-painting instead. I did try to sneak in a little lecture on Cubism, but received a splattering for my troubles.’

Artemis noticed then that his father was more than simply tired. He was anxious.

He stepped away from the twins, walking with Artemis Senior to the floor-to-ceiling bookcase.

‘What is the matter? Is Mother’s influenza worsening?’

Artemis’s father rested one hand on the rolling ladder, lifting his weight from the artificial limb. His expression was strange, and one that Artemis could not recall ever seeing.

He realized his father was more than anxious. Artemis Fowl Senior was afraid.

‘Father?’

Artemis Senior gripped the ladder’s rung with such force that the wood creaked. He opened his mouth to speak but then seemed to change his mind.

Now Artemis himself grew worried. ‘Father, you must tell me.’

‘Of course,’ said his father with a start, as if just remembering where he was. ‘I must tell you …’

Then a tear fell from his eye, dripping on to his shirt, deepening the blue.