The Artemis Fowl Files (Artemis Fowl 0.50)

“It was fine, Mother. Wonderful, in fact. I asked Mister Diggums here for dinner. He is one of the performers and a fascinating fellow. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Mister Diggums, make the house your own.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” muttered Butler under his breath. He escorted Mulch through to the kitchen while Artemis lingered to talk with his mother.

“How are you, Arty, really?”

Artemis did not know how to respond. What was he to say? I am determined to follow in my father’s criminal footsteps, because that is what I do best. Because that is the only way to raise enough money to pay the numerous private detective agencies and Internet search companies that I have employed to find him. But the crimes don’t make me happy. Victory is never as sweet as I think it will be.

“I am fine, Mother, really,” he said eventually, without conviction.

Angeline hugged him close. Artemis could smell her perfume and feel her warmth.

“You’re a good boy,” she sighed. “A good son.”

The elegant lady straightened. “Now, why don’t you go and talk to your new friend. You must have a lot to discuss.”

“Yes, Mother,” said Artemis, his resolve overcoming the sadness in his heart. “We have a lot to discuss before tonight’s show.”

The Circus Maximus

Mulch Diggums had cleared himself a hole just below the dwarfs’ tent and was waiting to spring into action. They had returned to Wexford for the late-night performance. Early enough for him to dig his way under the tent from an adjacent field. Artemis was inside the main tent right now keeping a close eye on Sergei the Significant and his team. Butler was hanging back by the rendezvous point, waiting for Mulch’s return.

Artemis’s scheme had seemed plausible back in Fowl Manor. It had even seemed likely that they could get away with it. But now, with the circus vibrations beating down on his head, Mulch could see a slight problem. The problem being that he was putting his neck on the line, while Mud Boy was sitting in a comfy ringside seat eating cotton candy.

Artemis had explained his scheme in Fowl Manor’s drawing room.

“I have been keeping close tabs on Sergei and his troupe ever since I discovered their little outfit. They are a canny group. Perhaps it would be easier to steal the gem from whoever they sell the stone on to, but soon the school holidays will be over, and I will be forced to suspend my operations, so I need the blue diamond now.”

“For your laser thing?”

Artemis coughed into his hand. “Laser. Yes, that’s correct.”

“And it has to be this diamond?”

“Absolutely. The Fei Fei blue diamond is unique. Its precise hue makes it one of a kind.”

“And that’s important, is it?”

“Vital, for light diffraction. It’s technical. You wouldn’t understand it.”

“Hmm,” droned Mulch, suspecting that something was being held back. “So how do you propose we get this vital blue diamond?”

Artemis pulled down a projection screen. There was a diagram of the Circus Maximus taped to the surface.

“Here is the circus ring,” he said, pointing with a telescopic pointer.

“What? That round thing, with the word ring in the middle? You don’t say.”

Artemis closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He was unaccustomed to interruptions. Butler tapped Mulch on the shoulder. “Listen, little man,” he advised in his most serious voice. “Or I might remember that I owe you an ignominious beating, like the one you gave me.”

Mulch swallowed. “Listen, yes, good idea. Do continue, Mud Boy … uh, Artemis.”

“Thank you,” said Artemis. “Now. We have been observing the dwarf troupe for months, and in all that time they have never left their own tent unguarded, so we presume that this is where they keep their loot. Generally the entire group is there, except during a performance, when five of the six are needed for the acrobatic routine. Our only window of opportunity is during this period when all but one of the dwarfs are in the ring.”

“All but one?” enquired Mulch. “I can’t be seen by anybody. If they so much as catch a glimpse of me, they’ll hunt me down forever. Dwarfs really hold a grudge.”

“Let me finish,” said Artemis. “I have put some thought into this, you know. We managed to obtain some video one evening in Brussels from a pencil camera that Butler poked through the canvas.”

Butler turned on a flat-screen television and pressed PLAY on a video remote. The picture that appeared was gray and grainy, but perfectly recognizable. It showed a single dwarf in a round tent, lounging in a leather armchair. He was dressed in the Significants’ leotard and mask and was blowing bubbles through a small wand.

The earthen floor began to vibrate slightly in the center of the tent where the ground looked disturbed, as though a small earthquake were disrupting that spot only. Moments later a three-foot-diameter circle of earth collapsed entirely, and a masked Sergei emerged from the hole. He vented some gas, and gave his comrade the thumbs-up. The bubble-blowing dwarf immediately ran out of the tent.

“Sergei has just tunneled out of his box, and our bubble-blowing friend is needed in the ring,” explained Artemis. “Sergei takes over guard duty until the end of the act, when all the other dwarfs return and Sergei reappears in the new box. We have approximately seven minutes to find the tiara.”

Mulch decided to pick a few holes in the plan. “How do we know the tiara is even there?”

Artemis was ready for that question. “Because my sources tell me that there are five European jewelery fences coming to tonight’s show. They are hardly here to see the clowns.”

Mulch nodded slowly. He knew where the tiara would be. Sergei and his significant friends would hide everything a few yards below their tent, safely buried beyond the reach of humans. That still left hundreds of square yards to search.

“I’ll never find it,” he pronounced eventually. “Not in seven minutes.”

Artemis opened his laptop. “This is a computer simulation. You are the blue figure. Sergei is the red figure.”

On screen the two computer creatures burrowed through simulated earth.

Mulch watched the blue figure for over a minute.

“I have to admit it, Mud Boy,” said the dwarf. “It’s clever. But I need a tank of compressed air.”

Artemis was puzzled. “Air? I thought you could breathe underground.”

“I can.” The dwarf grinned hugely at Artemis. “It’s not for me.”

So now Mulch sat in his underground hole with a diver’s tank of air strapped to his back. He squatted absolutely silently. Once Sergei entered the earth, his beard hair would be sensitive to the slightest vibration, including radio transmissions, so Artemis had insisted on radio silence until they were in phase two of the plan.

To the west, one high-frequency vibration punched through the ambient noise. Sergei was making his move. Mulch could feel his brother dwarf scything through the earth, possibly toward his secret cache of stolen jewelery.

Mulch concentrated on Sergei’s progress. He was tunneling east, but on a downward tangent, obviously heading directly for something. The sonar in Mulch’s beard hair fed him constant speed and direction updates. The second dwarf proceeded at a steady pace and incline for almost a hundred yards, then stopped dead. He was checking something. He hoped it was the tiara.