The Artemis Fowl Files (Artemis Fowl 0.50)

Following half a minute of minimal movement, Sergei made for the surface, almost directly for Mulch. Mulch felt a sheen of sweat coat his back. This was the dangerous part. He reached slowly into his leotard, pulling out a ball the size and color of an orange. The ball was an organic sedative used by Chilean natives. Artemis had assured Mulch that it had no side effects, and would actually clear up any sinus problems Sergei might have.

With infinite care, Mulch positioned himself as close to Sergei’s trajectory as he dared, then wiggled the fist containing the sedative ball into the earth. Seconds later, Sergei’s scything jaws c

onsumed the ball along with a few pounds of earth. Before he had taken half a dozen bites, his forward motion slowed to a dead halt, and his chewing grew sluggish. Now was the dangerous time for Sergei. If he were left unconscious with a gut full of clay, he could choke. Mulch ate through the thin layer of earth separating them, he flipped the sleeping dwarf onto his back, feeding an air tube deep into the black depths of his cavernous mouth. Once the tube was in place, he twisted the tank’s nozzle, sending a sustained jet of air through Sergei’s system. The air stream ballooned the little fairy’s internal organs, flushing all traces of clay through his system. His body shook as though connected to a live wire, but he did not awaken. Instead he snored on.

Mulch left Sergei curled in the earth, and aimed his chomping jaws toward the surface. The clay was typical Irish, soft and moist, with low-level pollution, and teeming with insect life. Seconds later, he felt his questing fingers break the surface, cool air brushing across their tips. Mulch made sure that the circus mask covered the upper half of his face, then pushed his head aboveground.

There was another dwarf sitting in the armchair. Today he was playing with four yo-yos. One spinning from each hand and each foot. Mulch said nothing, though he felt a sudden longing to chat with his fellow dwarf. He simply gave a thumbs-up signal. The second dwarf coiled in his yo-yos wordlessly, then, pulling on a pair of pointy toed boots, bolted for the tent flap. Mulch could hear the sudden roar of the crowd as Sergei’s box exploded. Two minutes gone. Five minutes left.

Mulch upended his rear and plotted a course for the exact spot where Sergei had stopped. This was not as difficult as it would seem. Dwarfs’ internal compasses are fantastic instruments, and can lead the fairy creatures with the same accuracy as any GPS system. Mulch dived.

There was a small chamber hollowed out below the tent. A typical dwarf hidey-hole, with spitslickened walls providing low-level luminescence in the darkness. Dwarf spit is a multifunctional secretion. Apart from the normal uses, it also hardens on prolonged contact with air to form a lacquer that is not only tough but also slightly luminous.

Sitting in the center of the small chamber was a wooden chest. It was not locked. Why would it be? There would be no one down here but dwarfs. Mulch felt a stab of shame. It was one thing robbing from the Mud Men, but he was ripping off brother dwarfs who were just trying to make an honest living stealing from humans. This was an all-time low. Mulch made up his mind to somehow reimburse Sergei the Significant and his band once the job was over.

The tiara was inside the chest, the blue stone on its crown winking in the light of the spittle. Now there was a real jewel. Nothing fake about that. Mulch stuffed it inside his leotard. There were plenty of other jewels in the box, but he ignored them. It was bad enough taking the tiara. Now all he had to do was haul Sergei to the surface, where he could recover safely, and leave the same way he had come. He would be gone before the other dwarfs realized anything was wrong.

Mulch headed back toward Sergei, collected his limp form and ate his way back to the surface, dragging his sleeping brother dwarf behind him. He rehinged his jaw, climbing from the hole.

The tent was still deserted. The Significants should be well over halfway through their act by now. Mulch dragged Sergei to the lip of the hole, and took a dwarf flint dagger from his boot. He would cut some strips from the chair and secure Sergei’s hands, feet and jaws. Artemis had assured him that Sergei would not wake up, but what did the Mud Boy know about dwarf insides?

“Sorry about this, brother,” he whispered almost fondly. “I hate to do it, but the Mud Boy has me over a barrel.”

Something shimmered in the corner of Mulch’s vision. It shimmered and then spoke.

“First I want you to tell me about the Mud Boy, dwarf,” it said. “And then I want you to tell me about the barrel.”

CHAPTER 5: RINGMASTER

Over the Italian Coast

HOLLY Short flew north until she came to mainland Italy, then turned forty degrees to the left over the lights of Brindisi.

“You are supposed to avoid major flight routes and city areas,” Foaly reminded her over the helmet speakers. “That is the first rule of Recon.”

“The first rule of Recon is to find the rogue fairy,” Holly retorted. “Do you want me to locate this dwarf or not? If I stick to the coastline, it will take me all night to reach Ireland. My way, I’ll get there by eleven P.M. local time. Anyway, I’m shielded.”

Fairies have the power to increase their heart rate and pump their arteries to bursting, which causes their bodies to vibrate so quickly that they are never in one place long enough to be seen. The only human ever to see through this magical trick, pardon the pun, was, of course, Artemis Fowl, who had filmed fairies on a high-speed camera and then viewed the frames still by still.

“Shielding isn’t as foolproof as it used to be,” noted Foaly. “I have sent the helmet’s tracker pattern to your helmet. All you have to do is follow the beep. When you find our dwarf, the commander wants you to …”

The centaur’s voice faded out in a liquid hiss of static. The magma flares beneath the earth’s crust were up tonight, whiting out LEP communications. This was the third flare since she started her journey. All she could do was proceed according to plan, and hope the channels cleared up.

It was a fine night, so Holly navigated using the stars. Of course her helmet had a built-in GPS unit triangulated by three satellites, but stellar navigation was one of the first courses taught in the LEP academy. It was possible that a Recon officer could be trapped aboveground without science, and under those circumstances the stars could be that officer’s only hope of finding a fairy shuttle port.

The landscape sped by below her, dotted by an ever growing number of human enclaves. Each time she ventured topside, there were more. Soon there would be no countryside left, and no trees to make the oxygen. Then everyone would be breathing artificial air aboveground and below it.

Holly tried to ignore the pollution-alert logo flashing in her visor. The helmet would filter out most of it, and anyway she had no choice. It was either fly over the cities, or possibly lose the rogue dwarf. And Captain Holly Short did not like to lose.

She enlarged the search grid in her helmet visor, and zeroed in on a large, circular, striped tent. A circus. The dwarf was hiding in a circus. Hardly original, but an effective place to pose as a human dwarf.

Holly dipped the flaps on her mechanical wings, descending to twenty feet. The tracker beep pulled her off to the left, away from the main tent itself, toward a smaller adjacent one. Holly swooped lower still, making sure to keep her shield fully buzzed up since the area was teeming with humans.

She hovered above the tip of the tent pole. The stolen helmet was inside, no doubt about it. To investigate further, she would have to enter the structure. The fairy bible, or Book, prevented fairies from entering human dwellings uninvited, but recently the high court had ruled that tents were temporary structures and as such were not included in the Book’s edict. Holly burned the stitches on the tent’s seam with a laser burst from her Neutrino 2000, and slipped inside.

On the earthen surface below were two dwarfs. One had the stolen helmet strapped across his back, the second was jammed down a hole in the ground. Both wore upper face masks and matching red leotards. Very fetching.

This was a surprising development. Dwarfs generally stuck together, yet these two seemed to be playing for different teams. The first appeared to have incapacitated the second, and perhaps was about to go even further. There was a glittering flint dagger in his hand. And dwarfs did not generally draw their weapons unless they intended to use them.

Holly toggled the mike switch on her glove. “Foaly? Come in, Foaly? I have a possible emergency here.”

Nothing. White noise. Not even ghost voices. Typical. The most advanced communications system in this galaxy, and possibly a few others, all rendered useless by a few magma flares.

“I need to make contact, Foaly. If you can record t

his, I have a crime in process, possibly murder. Two fairies are involved. There is no time to wait for Retrieval. I’m going in. Send Retrieval immediately.”

Holly’s good sense groaned. She was already technically off active duty, so making contact would bury her Recon career for certain. But ultimately that didn’t matter. She had joined the LEP to protect the People, and that was exactly what she intended to do. She set her wings to descend, floating down from the tent shadows.

The dwarf was talking, in that curious gravelly voice common to all male dwarfs.

“Sorry about this, brother,” he said, perhaps making excuses for the impending violence. “I hate to do it, but the Mud Boy has me over a barrel.”

Enough, thought Holly. There will be no murder here today. She unshielded, speckling into view in a fairy-shaped starburst. “First I want you to tell me about the Mud Boy, dwarf ” she said. “And then I want you to tell me about the barrel.”

Mulch Diggums recognized Holly immediately. They had met only months previously in Fowl Manor. Funny how some people were fated to meet over and over. To be part of one another’s lives.

He dropped both the dagger and Sergei, raising empty palms. Sergei slid back down the hole.

“I know what this looks like, Ho—officer. I was just going to tie him up, for his own good. He had a tunnel convulsion, that’s all. He could hurt himself.” Mulch congratulated himself silently. It was a good lie and he had bitten his tongue before he could utter Holly’s name. The LEP thought he had died in a cave, and she would not recognize him with the mask on. All Holly could see was silk and beard.

“A tunnel convulsion? Dwarf kids get those, not experienced diggers.”

Mulch shrugged. “I’m always telling him. Chew your food. But will he listen? He’s a grown dwarf, what can I do? I shouldn’t leave him down there, by the way.” The dwarf put one foot into the tunnel.

Holly touched down. “One more step, dwarf,” she warned. “For now, tell me about the Mud Boy.”

Mulch attempted an innocent smile. There was more chance of a great white shark pulling it off. “What Mud Boy, officer?”