The Opal Deception (Artemis Fowl 4)

Artemis was beyond amazement at this point, but even so, the sight of these magnificent carnivores preying on one another was enough to speed his heart up a few beats. He paused to study the nearest specimen. It was a terrifying creature: at least eight feet tall, with grimy dreadlocks swinging about its massive head. The troll’s fur-matted arms swung below its knees, and two curved serrated tusks jutted from its lower jaw. The beast watched them pass, night eyes glowing red in their sockets.

The group arrived at the second exhibit. The Temple of Artemis at Ephesus. The hologram by the entrance displayed a revolving image of the Turkish building.

Opal read the history panel. “Interesting,” she said. “Now, why do you suppose someone would name a male child after a female goddess?”

“It’s my father’s name,” said Artemis wearily, having explained this a hundred times. “It can be used for girls or boys, and means the hunter. Rather apt, don’t you think? It may interest you to know that your chosen human name, Belinda, means beautiful snake. Also rather fitting. Half of it, at any rate.”

Opal pointed a tiny finger at Artemis’s nose. “You are a very annoying creature, Fowl. I do hope all humans are not like you.”

She nodded at Scant.

“Spray them,” she ordered.

Scant took a small atomizer from his pocket and doused Holly and Artemis liberally with the contents. The liquid was yellow and foul smelling.

“Troll pheromones,” said Scant, almost apologetically. “These trolls will take one whiff of you and go absolutely crazy. To them you smell like females in heat. When they find out you’re not, they’ll tear you into a thousand little bits, then chew on the pieces. We’ve had all of the broken panels repaired, so there’s no escape. You can jump in the river if you like; the scent should wash off in about a thousand years. And, Captain Short, I have removed the wings from your suit and shorted out the cam-foil. I did leave the heating coils. After all, one deserves a sporting chance.”

A lot of use heating coils will be against trolls, thought Holly glumly.

Merv was checking the entrance through one of the transparent panels. “Okay. We’re clear.”

The pixie opened the main entrance by remote. Distant howls resonated from inside the exhibit. Artemis could see several trolls brawling on the steps of the replica temple. He and Holly would be torn apart.

The Brill brothers propelled them into the hemisphere.

“Best of luck,” said Opal, as the door slid shut. “Remember, you’re not alone. We’ll be watching you on the cameras.”

The door clanged shut ominously. Seconds later the electronic locking panel began to fizzle, as one of the Brill brothers melted it from the outside. Artemis and Holly were locked in with a bunch of amorous trolls and smelled irresistible to them.

The Temple of Artemis exhibit was a scale model that had been constructed with painstaking accuracy, complete with animatronic humans going about their daily business as they would have been in 400 B.C. Most of the human models had been stripped to the wires by the trolls, but some moved jerkily along their tracks, bringing their gifts to the goddess. Any robot whose path brought them too close to a pack of trolls was pounced on and torn to shreds. It was a grim preview of Artemis and Holly’s own fate.

There was only one food supply. The trolls themselves. Cubs and stragglers were picked off by the bulls and butchered with teeth, claws, and tusks. The pack leader took the lion’s share, then tossed the carcass to the baying pack. If the trolls were confined here much longer, they would wipe themselves out.

Holly shouldered Artemis roughly to the ground. “Quickly,” she said. “Roll in the mud. Cover yourself, smother the scent.”

Artemis did as he was told, scooping mud over himself with his manacled hands. Any spots he missed were quickly slathered by Holly. He did the same for her. In moments the pair were almost unrecognizable.

Artemis was feeling something he could not remember having felt before: absolute fear. His hands shook, rattling the chains. There was no room in his brain for analytical thought. I can’t, he thought. I can’t do anything.

Holly took charge, dragging him to his feet and propelling him to a cluster of fake merchants’ tents beside a fast-flowing river. They crouched behind the ragged canvas, peering at the trolls through long claw rents in the material. Two animatronic merchants sat on mats before the tents, their baskets brimming with gold and ivory statuettes of the goddess Artemis. Neither model had a head. One of the heads lay in the dust several feet away, its artificial brain poking out through a bite hole.

“We need to get the cuffs off,” said Holly urgently.

“What?” mumbled Artemis.

Holly shook her manacles in his face. “We need to get these off now! The mud will protect us for a minute, then the trolls will be on our trail. We have to get in the water, and with cuffs on we’ll drown in the current.”

Artemis’s eyes had lost their focus. “The current?”

“Snap out of it, Artemis,” Holly hissed into his face. “Remember your gold? You can’t collect it if you’re dead. The great Artemis Fowl, collapsing at the first sign of trouble. We’ve been in worse scrapes than this before.” Not exactly true, but the Mud Boy couldn’t remember, could he?

Artemis composed himself. There was no time for a calming meditation; he would simply have to repress the emotions he was experiencing. Very unhealthy, psychologically speaking, but better than being reduced to chunks of meat between a troll’s teeth.

He studied the cuffs. Some form of ultralight plastic polymer. There was a digit pad in the center, positioned so the wearer could not reach the digits.

“How many numbers?” he said.

“What?”

“In the code for the cuffs. You are a police officer. Surely you know how many numbers in the code for handcuffs.”

“Three,” replied Holly. “But there are so many possibilities.”

“Possibilities but not probabilities,” said Artemis, irritating even when his life was in danger. “Statistically, thirty-eight percent of humans

don’t bother changing the factory code on digital locks. We can only hope that fairies are equally negligent.”

Holly frowned. “Opal is anything but negligent.”

“Perhaps. But her two little henchfairies might not be as attentive to detail.”

Artemis held out his cuffs to Holly. “Try three zeroes.”

Holly did so, using a thumb. The red light stayed red.

“Nines. Three nines.”

Again the light stayed red.

Holly quickly tried all ten digits three times. None had any effect.

Artemis sighed. “Very well. Triple digits was a bit too obvious, I suppose. Are there any other three-digit numbers that are burned into fairy consciousness? Something all fairies would know, and wouldn’t be likely to forget?”

Holly racked her brain. “Nine five one. The Haven area code.”

“Try it.”

She did. No good.

“Nine five eight. The Atlantis code.”

Again no good.

“Those numbers are too regional,” snapped Artemis. “What is the one number that every male, female, and infant knows?”

Holly’s eyes widened. “Of course. Of course. Nine zero nine. The police emergency number. It’s on the corner of every billboard under the world.”

Artemis noticed something. The howling had stopped. The trolls had ceased fighting and were sniffing the air. The pheromones were in the breeze, drawing the beasts like puppets on strings. In eerie unison, their heads turned toward Holly and Artemis’s hiding place.

Artemis shook his manacles. “Try it quickly.”

Holly did. The light winked green, and the cuffs popped open.

“Good. Excellent. Now let me do yours.”

Artemis’s fingers paused over the keyboard. “I don’t read the fairy language or numerals.”

“You do. In fact, you are the only human who does,” said Holly. “You just don’t remember. The pad is standard layout. Zero to nine. Left to right.”

“Nine zero nine,” muttered Artemis, pressing the appropriate keys. Holly’s cuffs popped on the first try, which was fortunate because there would be no time for a second.