Artemis frowned. “I doubt it.”
A second troll grabbed a missile, and a third. Soon all the brutes were hurling rocks, robot parts, sticks, or whatever they could get their hands on toward the rubbish heap. Not one hit the shivering pair huddled on the pile.
“They keep missing,” said Holly. “Every one of them.”
Artemis’s bones ached from cold, fear, and sustained tension.
“They’re not trying to hit us,” he said. “They’re building a bridge.”
Tara, Ireland; Dawn
The fairy shuttleport in Tara was the biggest in Europe. More than eight thousand tourists a year passed through its X-ray arches. Thirty thousand cubic feet of terminal concealed beneath an overgrown hillock in the middle of the McGraney farm. It was a marvel of subterranean architecture.
Mulch Diggums, fugitive kleptomaniac dwarf, was pretty marvelous himself, in the subterranean area. Butler drove the Fowl Bentley north from the manor, and on Mulch’s instructions, slowed the luxury car down five hundred yards from the shuttleport’s camouflaged entrance. This allowed Mulch to dive from the rear door straight into the earth. He quickly submerged below a layer of rich Irish soil. The best in the world.
Mulch knew the shuttleport layout well. He had once broken his cousin Nord out of police custody here, when the LEP had arrested him on industrial pollution charges. A vein of clay ran right up to the shuttleport wall, and if you knew where to look, there was a sheet of metal casing that had been worn thin by years of Irish damp. But on this particular occasion, Mulch was not interested in evading the LEP; quite the opposite.
Mulch surfaced inside the holographic bush that hid the shuttleport’s service entrance. He climbed from his tunnel, shook the clay from his behind, got all the tunnel wind out of his system a bit more noisily than was absolutely necessary, and waited.
Five seconds later, the entrance hatch slid across, and four grabbing hands reached out, yanking Mulch into the shuttleport’s interior. Mulch did not resist, allowing himself to be bundled along a dark corridor and into an interview room. He was plonked onto an uncomfortable chair, handcuffed, and left on his own to stew.
Mulch did not have time to stew. Every second he spent sitting here picking the insects from his beard hair was another second that Artemis and Holly had to spend running from trolls.
The dwarf rose from the chair and slapped his palms against the two-way mirror inset in the interview room wall.
“Chix Verbil,” he shouted. “I know you’re watching me. We need to talk. It’s about Holly Short.”
Mulch kept right on banging on the glass, until the cell door swung open and Chix Verbil entered the room. Chix was the LEP’s fairy on the surface. Chix had been the first LEP casualty in the B’wa Kell goblin revolution a year previously, and had it not been for Holly Short, he would have been its first fatality. As it turned out, he got a medal from the Committee, a series of high-profile interviews on network television, and a cushy surface job in E1.
Chix entered suspiciously, his sprite wings folded behind him. The strap was off his Neutrino holster.
“Mulch Diggums, isn’t it? Are you surrendering?”
Mulch snorted. “What do you think? I go to all the trouble of breaking out, just to surrender to a sprite. I think not, lamebrain.”
Chix bristled, his wings fanning out behind him. “Hey, listen, dwarf. You’re in no position to be making cracks. You’re in my custody, in case you hadn’t noticed. There are six security fairies surrounding this room.”
“Security fairies. Don’t make me laugh. They couldn’t secure an apple in an orchard. I escaped from a sub-shuttle under a couple of miles of water. I can see at least six ways out of here without breaking a sweat.”
Chix hovered nervously. “I’d like to see you try. I’d have two charges in your behind before you could unhinge that jaw of yours.”
Mulch winced. Dwarfs don’t like behind jokes.
“Okay, easy there, Mister Gung Ho. Let’s talk about your wing. How’s it healing up?”
“How do you know about that?”
“It was big news. You were all over the TV for a while, even on pirate satellite. I was watching your ugly face in Chicago not so long ago.”
Chix preened. “Chicago?”
“That’s right. You were saying, if I remember properly, how Holly Short saved your life, and how sprites never forget a debt, and whenever she needed you, you were there, whatever it took.”
Chix coughed nervously. “A lot of that was scripted. And anyway, that was before . . .”
“Before one of the most decorated officers in the LEP decided to suddenly go crazy and shoot her own commander?”
“Yes. Before that.”
Mulch looked Verbil straight in his green face. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
Chix hovered even higher for a long moment, his wings whipping the air into currents. Then he settled back down to earth and sat in the room’s second chair. “No. I don’t believe it. Not for a second. Julius Root was like a father to Holly. To all of us.” He covered his face with his hands, afraid to hear the answer to his next question. “So, Diggums. Why are you here?”
Mulch leaned in close. “Is this being recorded?”
“Of course. Standard operating procedure.”
“Can you switch off the mike?”
“I suppose. Why should I?”
“Because
I’m going to tell you something important for the People’s survival. But I’ll only tell you if the mikes are off.”
Chix’s wings began to flap once more. “This better be really good. I better really like this, dwarf.”
Mulch shrugged. “Oh, you’re not going to like it. But it is really good.”
Chix’s green fingers tapped a code into a keyboard on the table. “Okay, Diggums. We can talk freely.”
Mulch leaned forward across the desk. “The thing is, Opal Koboi is back.”
Chix did not respond verbally, but the color drained from his face. Instead of its usual robust emerald, the sprite’s complexion was now pasty lime green.
“Opal has escaped, somehow, and she has set this big revenge thing in motion. First General Scalene, then Commander Root, and now Holly and Artemis Fowl.”
“O . . . Opal?” stammered Chix, his wounded wing suddenly throbbing.
“She’s taking out anyone who had a hand in her imprisonment. Which, if memory serves, includes you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” squeaked Verbil, as though protesting his innocence to Mulch could help him.
Mulch sat back. “Hey, there’s no point telling me. I’m not out to get you. If I remember correctly, you were on all the chat shows spouting how you personally were the first member of the LEP to come into contact with the goblin smugglers.”
“Maybe she didn’t see that,” said Chix hopefully. “She was in a coma.”
“I’m sure someone taped it for her.”
Verbil thought about it, absently grooming his wings. “So what do you want from me?”
“I need you to get a message to Foaly. Tell him what I said about Opal.” Mulch covered his mouth with a hand to fox any lip-readers who might review the tape. “And I want the LEP shuttle. I know where it’s parked. I just need the starter chip and the ignition code.”
“What? Ridiculous. I’d go to jail.”
Mulch shook his head. “No, no. Without sound, all Police Plaza are going to see is another ingenious Mulch Diggums’s escape. I knock you out, steal your chip, and tunnel out through the pipe behind that water dispenser.”