Artemis Fowl (15 page)

“We can debate ethics at a later date. Right now I suggest we make ourselves scarce.”

Mulch nodded. “Agreed. This guy took out an entire Retrieval squad apparently.”

Holly paused, half shielded.

“An entire squad? Hmm. Fully equipped. I wonder . . .”

She continued her fade-out, and the last thing to go was her widening grin.

Mulch was tempted to hang around. There weren’t many things more fun to watch than a heavily armed Recon officer going to town on a bunch of unsuspecting humans. By the time Captain Short got through with this Fowl character, he’d be begging her to get out of his manor.

The Fowl character in question was watching it all from the surveillance room. There was no denying it. Things were not good. Not good at all. But certainly not irredeemable. There was still hope.

Artemis catalogued the events of the last few minutes. The manor’s security had been compromised. The safe room was in a shambles, blown apart by some sort of fairy flatulence. Butler lay unconscious, possibly paralyzed by the same gaseous anomaly. His hostage was loose in the house, her fairy powers restored to her. There was an unsightly creature in leather pants burrowing holes beneath the foundations with no apparent regard for the fairy commandments. And the People had retrieved a copy of the Book, one of several copies as it happened, including one on disk in a Swiss vault.

Artemis’s finger combed an errant strand of dark hair. He would have to dig very deep to uncover the good in this particular scenario. He took several deep breaths, finding his
chi
as Butler had taught him.

After several moments’ contemplation, he realized that these factors meant little to the overall strategies of both sides. Captain Short was still trapped in the manor. And the time-stoppage period was running out. Soon the LEP would have no option but to launch their bio-bomb, and that was when Artemis Fowl would unveil his coup de grâce. Of course, the whole thing depended on Commander Root. If Root was as intellectually challenged as he looked, it was quite possible the entire scheme would collapse around his ears. Artemis hoped fervently that someone on the fairy team had the wit to spot the blunder he’d made during the negotiation session.

Mulch unbuttoned his back flap. Time to suck some dirt, as they said down the mines. The trouble with dwarf tunnels was that they were self-sealing, so that if you had to go back the way you came, there was a whole new burrow to be excavated. Some dwarfs retraced their steps exactly, chewing through the less compact and predigested dirt. Mulch preferred to dig a fresh tunnel. For some reason, eating the same dirt twice didn’t appeal to him.

Unhinging his jaw, the dwarf pointed himself torpedo-like through the hole in the floorboards. His heart calmed immediately as the scent of minerals filled his nostrils. Safe, he was safe. Nothing could catch a dwarf underground, not even a Skaylian rock worm. That was, of course, if he managed to get underground . . .

Ten very powerful fingers gripped Mulch by the ankles. This just wasn’t the dwarf’s day. First Wart-Face, now this homicidal human. Some people never learn. Usually Mud People.

“Egg go,” he mumbled, unhinged jaw flapping uselessly.

“Not a chance,” came the reply. “The only way you’re leaving this house is in a body bag.”

Mulch could feel himself being dragged backward. This human was strong. There weren’t many creatures that could dislodge a dwarf with a grip on something. He scrabbled in the dirt, cramming handfuls of wine-impregnated clay into his cavernous mouth. There was only one chance.

“Come on, you little goblin. Out of there.”

Goblin! Mulch would have been indignant had he not been busy chewing clay to eject at his enemy.

The human stopped talking. Possibly he had noticed the flap, and probably what was behind it. No doubt what had happened in the safe room was coming back to him.

“Oh ...”

What would have followed the “Oh” is anyone’s guess, but I’d be willing to bet that it wouldn’t have been “Dearie me.” As it happened, Butler never had time to finish his expletive, because he wisely chose that moment to relinquish his grip. A wise choice indeed, because it coincided with the instant Mulch decided to launch his earthen offensive.

A lump of compacted clay sped like a cannon directly at the spot where Butler’s head had been barely a second previously. Had it still occupied that space, the impact would have separated it from Butler’s shoulders. An ignoble end for a bodyguard of his caliber. As it was, the soggy missile barely grazed his ear. Nevertheless, the force was sufficient to spin Butler like an ice-skater, landing him on his rump for the second time in as many minutes.

By the time his vision had settled, the dwarf had disappeared into a maelstrom of churning muck. Butler decided not to attempt pursuit. Dying below ground was not very high on his
things to do
list. But there will be another day, fairy, he thought grimly. And there was to be. But that’s another story.

* * *

Mulch’s momentum propelled him underground. He’d gone several yards along the loamy vein before he realized no one was following. Once the taste of earth had settled his heart rate, he decided it was time to implement his escape plan.

The dwarf altered his course, chewing his way toward the rabbit warren he’d noted earlier. With any luck, the centaur hadn’t run a seismology test on the manor grounds, or his ruse might be discovered. He’d just have to bank on the fact that they had more important things to worry about than a missing prisoner. There shouldn’t be any problem deceiving Julius. But the centaur, he was a smart one.

Mulch’s internal compass steered him true, and within minutes he could feel the gentle vibrations of the rabbits loping along their tunnels. From here on timing was crucial if the illusion was to be effective. He slowed his digging rate, poking the soft clay gently until his fingers breached the tunnel wall. Mulch was careful to look the other way, because whatever he saw would be showing up on the viewscreen back in LEP HQ.

Laying his fingers on the tunnel floor like an upturned spider, Mulch waited. It didn’t take long. In seconds he felt the rhythmic thump of an approaching rabbit. The instant the animal’s hind legs brushed the trap, he tightened his powerful digits around its neck. The poor animal never had a chance.

Sorry, friend, thought the dwarf. If there was any other way . . . Pulling the rabbit’s body through the hole, Mulch rehinged his jaw and began screaming. “Cave-in! Cave-in! Help! Help!”

Now for the tricky bit. With one hand he agitated the surrounding earth, bringing showers of it crumbling around his own head. With the other hand he popped the iris-cam out of his left eye and slid it into the rabbit’s. Given the almost total darkness and the landfall confusion, it should be almost impossible to spot the switch.

“Julius! Please. Help me.”

“Mulch! What’s happening? What’s your status?”

What’s my status? thought the dwarf incredulously. Even in times of supposed crisis, the commander couldn’t abandon his precious protocol.

“I . . . Argh . . .” The dwarf dragged his final scream out, petering off to a gargling rattle.

A bit melodramatic perhaps, but Mulch never could resist theatrics. With a last regretful glance at the dying animal, he unhinged his jaw and finned off to the southeast. Freedom beckoned.

Root leaned forward, roaring into the microphone.

“Mulch! What’s happening? What’s your status?”

Foaly was tapping a keyboard furiously.

“We’ve lost audio. Motion, too.”

“Mulch. Talk to me, dammit.”

“I’m running a scan on his vitals . . . Whoa!”

“What? What is it?”

“His heart has gone crazy. Beating like a rabbit . . .”

“A rabbit?”

“No, wait, it’s . . .”

“What?” breathed the commander, terribly afraid that he already knew.

Foaly leaned back in his chair. “It’s stopped. His heartbeat has stopped.”

“Are you sure?”

“The monitors don’t lie. All vitals can be read through the iris-cam. Not a peep. He’s gone.”

Root couldn’t believe it. Mulch Diggums, one of life’s constants. Gone? It couldn’t be true.

“He did it too, you know, Foaly. Recovered a copy of the Book no less, and he confirmed Short was alive.”

Foaly’s wide brow creased for an instant.“It’s just that ...”

“What?” said Root, suspicion aroused.

“Well, for a moment there, just before the end, his heart rate seemed abnormally fast.”

“Maybe it was a malfunction.”

The centaur was unconvinced. “I doubt it. My bugs don’t have bugs.”

“What other explanation could there be? You still have visuals, don’t you?”

“Yep. Through dead eyes, no doubt about it. Not a spark of electricity in that brain; the camera is running on its own battery.”

“Well, that’s it then. No other explanation.”

Foaly nodded. “It would seem that way. Unless . . . No, it’s too fantastic.”

“This is Mulch Diggums we’re talking about here. Nothing is too fantastic.”

Foaly opened his mouth to voice his incredible theory, but before he could speak the shuttle’s bay door slid open.

“We have him!” said a triumphant voice.

“Yes!” agreed a second. “Fowl has made a mistake!”

Root swiveled on his chair. It was Argon and Cumulus, the so-called behavioral analysts.

“Oh, we’ve finally decided to earn our retainers, have we?”

But, united by excitement, the professors were not so easily intimidated. Cumulus even had the temerity to wave Root’s sarcasm aside. This more than anything else made the commander sit up and take notice.

Argon brushed past Foaly, pressing a laser disk into the console’s player. Artemis Fowl’s face appeared, as seen through Root’s iris-cam.

“We’ll be in touch,” said the commander’s recorded voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out.”

Fowl’s face disappeared momentarily as he rose from his chair. Root lifted his gaze in time for the next chilling statement.

“You do that. But remember this, none of your race has permission to enter here while I’m alive.”

Argon pressed the pause button triumphantly. “There, you see!”

Root’s complexion lost any final traces of pallor.

“There? There what? What do I see?”

Cumulus tutted, as one would at a slow child. A mistake, in retrospect. The commander had him by the pointy beard in under a second.

“Now,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “Pretend we’re pushed for time here and just explain it to me without any attitude or comments.”

“The human said we couldn’t enter while he was alive,” squeaked Cumulus.

“So?”

Argon took up the account. “So . . . if we can’t go in while he’s alive . . .”

Root drew a sharp breath. “Then we go in when he’s dead.”

Cumulus and Argon beamed. “Exactly,” they said in perfect unison.

Root scratched his chin.

“I don’t know. We’re on shaky ground here legally.”

“Not at all,” argued Cumulus. “It’s elementary grammar. The human specifically stated that entry was forbidden as long as he was alive. That’s tantamount to an invitation when he’s dead.”

The commander wasn’t convinced. “The invitation is implied, at best.”

“No,” interrupted Foaly. “They’re right. It’s a strong case. Once Fowl is dead, the door is wide open. He said it himself.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe, nothing,” blurted Foaly. “For heaven’s sake, Julius, how much more do you need? We have a crisis here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Root nodded slowly. “One, you’re right. Two, I’m going to run with it. Three, well done, you two. And four, you ever call me Julius again, Foaly, you’ll be eating your own hooves. Now, get me a line to the Council. I need to get approval for that gold.”

“Right away, Commander Root, your worship.” Foaly grinned, letting the hoof-eating comment slide for Holly’s sake.

“So we send in the gold,” muttered Root, thinking aloud. “They send out Holly, we blue-rinse the place and stroll in to reclaim the ransom. Simple.”

“So simple it’s brilliant,” enthused Argon. “Quite a coup for our profession, wouldn’t you say, Dr. Cumulus?”

Cumulus’s head was spinning with possibilities. “Lecture tours, book deals. Why, the movie rights alone will be worth a fortune.”

“Let those sociologists stuff this in their collective pipe. Puts the kibosh on the deprivation-breeds-antisocial-behavior chestnut. This Fowl character has never gone hungry in his life.”

“There’s more than one kind of hunger,” noted Argon.

“Very true. Hunger to succeed. Hunger to dominate. Hunger to—”

Root snapped. “Get out! Get out before I strangle the pair of you. And if I ever hear a word of this repeated on an afternoon talk show, I’ll know where it came from.”

The consultants retreated warily, resolving not to call their agents until they were out of earshot.

“I don’t know if the Council will go for this,” admitted Root when they’d departed. “It’s a lot of gold.”

Foaly looked up from the console. “How much exactly?”

The commander slid a piece of paper across the console. “That much.”

“That is a lot.” Foaly whistled. “A ton. Small unmarked ingots. Twenty-four carat only. Well, at least it’s a nice round weight.”

“Very comforting. I’ll be sure to mention that to the Council. Have you got that line yet?”

The centaur grunted. A negative grunt. Very brazen really, grunting at a superior officer. Root didn’t have the energy to discipline him, but he made a mental note: when this is over, dock Foaly’s pay for a few decades. He rubbed his eyes exhaustedly. Time lag was beginning to set in. Even though his brain wouldn’t let him sleep because he’d been awake when the time-stop was initiated, his body was crying out for rest.

He rose from the chair, swinging the door wide to let in some air. Stale. Time-stop air. Not even molecules could escape the time-field, much less a human boy.

There was activity by the portal. Lots of it. A swarm of troops gathered around a hovercage. Cudgeon stood at the head of the procession, and the entire bunch was heading this way. Root stepped down to meet them.

“What’s this?” he inquired, none too pleasantly. “A circus?”

Cudgeon’s face was pale, but determined.

“No, Julius. It’s the end of the circus.”

Root nodded. “I see. And these are the clowns?”

Foaly’s head poked through the doorway.

“Pardon me for interrupting your extended circus metaphor, but what the hell is that?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” said Root, nodding at the floating hovercage. “What the hell is that?”

Cudgeon bolstered his courage with a few deep breaths. “I’ve taken a leaf from your book, Julius.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes. It is. You opted to send in a lapsed creature. So now I’m going to.”

Root smiled dangerously. “You don’t opt to do anything,
Lieutenant,
not without my say-so.”

Cudgeon took an unconscious step backward.

“I’ve been to the Council, Julius. I have their full backing.”

The commander turned to Foaly. “Is this true?”

“Apparently. It just came through on the outside line. This is Cudgeon’s party now. He told the Council about the ransom demand and you springing Mister Diggums. You know what the elders are like when it comes to parting with gold.”

Root folded his arms. “People told me about you, Cudgeon. They said you’d stab me in the back. I didn’t believe them. I was a fool.”

“This is not about us, Julius. It’s about the mission. What’s inside this cage is our best chance of success.”

“So what’s in the cage? No, don’t tell me. The only other nonmagical creature in the Lower Elements. And the first troll we’ve managed to take alive in over a century.”

“Exactly. The perfect creature to flush out our adversary.”

Root’s cheeks glowed with the effort of restraining his anger.

“I don’t believe you’re even considering this.”

“Face it, Julius, it’s the same basic idea as yours.”

“No, it isn’t. Mulch Diggums made his own choices. He knew the risks.”

“Diggums is dead?”

Root rubbed his eyes again. “Yes. It would seem so. A cave-in.”

“That just proves I’m right. A troll won’t be so easily dispatched.”

“It’s a dumb animal, for heaven’s sake! How can a troll follow instructions?”

Cudgeon smiled, newborn confidence peeping through his apprehension.

“What instructions? We just point it at the house and get out of the way. I guarantee you those humans will be begging us to come in and rescue them.”

“And what about my officer?”

“We’ll have the troll back under lock and key long before Captain Short is in any danger.”

“You can guarantee that, can you?”

Cudgeon paused. “That’s a chance I’m willing . . . the Council is willing to take.”

“Politics,” spat Root. “This is all politics to you, Cudgeon. A nice feather in your cap on the way to a Council seat. You make me sick.”

“Be that as it may, we are proceeding with this strategy. The Council has appointed me Acting Commander, so if you can’t put our personal history aside, get the hell out of my way.”

Root stepped aside. “Don’t worry,
Commander
. I don’t want anything to do with this butchery. The credit is all yours.”

Cudgeon put on his best sincere face. “Julius, despite what you think, I have only the interests of the People at heart.”

“One person in particular,” snorted Root.

Cudgeon decided to go for the high moral ground.

“I don’t have to stand here listening to this. Every second talking to you is a second wasted.”

Root looked him straight in the eye. “That’s about six hundred years wasted altogether, eh,
friend
?”

Cudgeon didn’t answer. What could he say? Ambition had a price, and that price was friendship.

Cudgeon turned to his squad, a group of handpicked sprites, loyal only to him. “Get the hovercage over to the avenue. We don’t green-light until I give the word.”

He brushed past Root, eyes looking anywhere except at his erstwhile friend. Foaly wouldn’t let him go without a comment.

“Hey, Cudgeon.”

The Acting Commander couldn’t tolerate that tone, not on his first day.

“You watch your mouth, Foaly. No one is indispensable.”

The centaur chuckled. “Very true. That’s the thing about politics, you get one shot.”

Cudgeon was semi-interested in spite of himself.

“I know if it was me,” continued Foaly, “and I had one chance, just one chance, to book my behind a seat on that Council, I certainly wouldn’t entrust my future to a troll.”

And suddenly Cudgeon’s newfound confidence evaporated, replaced by a shiny pallor. He wiped his brow, hurrying after the departing hovercage.

“See you tomorrow,” Foaly called after him. “You’ll be taking out my trash.”

Root laughed. Possibly the first time one of Foaly’s comments had amused him.

“Good man, Foaly.” He grinned. “Hit that backstabber where it hurts, right in the ambition.”

“Thanks, Julius.”

The grin disappeared faster than a deep-fried pit slug in the LEP canteen.

“I’ve warned you about the Julius thing, Foaly. Now get that outside line open again. I want that gold ready when Cudgeon’s plan goes awry. Lobby all my supporters on the Council. I’m pretty sure Lope’s one of mine, and Cahartez, possibly Vinyáya. She’s always had a thing for me, devilishly attractive as I am.”

“You’re joking, of course.”

“I never joke,” said Root, and he said it with a straight face.

Holly had a plan, of sorts. Sneak around shielded, reclaim some fairy weaponry, then cause havoc until Fowl was forced to release her. And if several million Irish pounds’ worth of property damage happened to ensue, well, that was just a bonus.

Holly hadn’t felt so good in years. Her eyes blazed with power, and there were sparks sizzling below every centimeter of skin. She had forgotten just how good running hot felt.

Captain Short felt in control now, on the hunt. This was what she was trained to do. When this affair had started, the advantage had been with the Mud People. But now the boot was on the other foot. She was the hunter and they were the prey.

Holly scaled the great staircase, ever vigilant for the giant manservant. That was one individual she wasn’t taking any chances with. If those fingers closed around her skull, she was history, helmet or not, assuming she managed to find a helmet.

The vast house was like a mausoleum—without a single sign of life inside its vaulted rooms. Spooky portraits though. Each one with Fowl eyes, suspicious and glittering. Holly determined to torch the lot of them when she recovered her Neutrino 2000. Vindictive perhaps, but totally justified considering what Artemis Fowl had put her through.

She scaled the steps swiftly, following the curve around to the upper landing. A slot of pale light peeped from under the last door on the corridor. Holly placed her palm against the wood, feeling for vibration. Activity all right. Shouting and footsteps. Thundering this way.

Holly jumped back, flattening herself against the velveteen wallpaper. Not a moment too soon. A hulking shape burst through the doorway and hurtled down the corridor, leaving a maelstrom of air currents in his wake.

“Juliet!” he shouted, his sister’s name hanging in the air long after he had disappeared down the stairs.

Don’t worry, Butler, thought Holly. She’s having the time of her life glued to
Wrestlemania
. But the open door presented a welcome opportunity. She slipped through before the mechanical arm could close it again.