[AF04] - The Opal Deception

by Colfer, Eoin

  Artemis turned toward the left bank.

  One of the trolls had picked up a large rock and raised it over his head. Artemis tried to make himself small. If that rock hit, they would both be gravely injured, at the very least.

  The troll grunted like a tennis pro serving, spinning the rock into the river. It barely missed the pile, landing with a huge splash in the shallow waters.

  ‘A poor shot,“ said Holly.

  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.

  ‘ChixVerbil“ 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 ChixVerbil 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 El.

  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 o
ut, steal your chip, and tunnel out through the pipe behind that water dispenser.”

  Chix frowned. “Go back to the ”knock me out“ part again.”

  Mulch slammed one palm down on the table.

  ‘Listen, Verbil, Holly is in mortal danger right now. She may already be dead.“

  ‘That’s what I heard,“ interjected Chix.

  ‘Well, she will definitely be dead if I don’t get down there right now.“

  ‘Why don’t I just call this in?“

  Mulch sighed dramatically. “Because, moron, by the time Police Plaza Retrieval team gets here, it will be too late. You know the rules: no LEP officer can act on the information of a convicted felon unless the information has been verified by another source.”

  ‘No one pays any attention to that rule, and calling me moron isn’t helping.“

  Mulch rose to his feet. “You are a sprite, for heaven’s sake. You are supposed to have this ancient code of chivalry. A female saved your life and now hers is in danger. You are honor bound, as a sprite, to do whatever it takes.”

  Chix held Mulch’s gaze. “Is all of this true? Tell me, Mulch, because this will have repercussions. This isn’t some little jewelry heist.”

  ‘It’s true,“ said Mulch. ”You have my word.“

  Chix almost laughed. “Oh, whoopee. Mulch Diggums’s word. I can take that to the bank.” He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes.

  ‘The chip is in my pocket. The code is written on the tab. Try not to break anything.“

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m an excellent driver.“

  Chix winced in anticipation. “I don’t mean the shuttle, stupid. I mean my face. The ladies like me the way I am.”

  Mulch drew back one gnarled fist. “Well, I’d hate to disappoint the ladies,” he said, and knocked Chix Verbil from his chair.

  Mulch expertly rifled through Chix’s pockets.

  The sprite was not actually unconscious, but he was pretending.

  A wise move. In seconds, Mulch had removed the starter chip and stuffed it into his beard.

  A clump of beard hair wrapped itself tightly around the chip, forming a waterproof cocoon. He also relieved Verbil of his Neutrino, though that was not part of the deal. Mulch crossed the room in two strides and jammed a chair under the door handle. That should buy me a couple of seconds, he thought. He wrapped an arm around the water dispenser while simultaneously unbuttoning his bum-flap.

  Speed was vital now because whoever had been watching the interview through the two-way mirror was already hammering on the door. Mulch saw a black burn dot appear on the door; they were burning their way in.

  He ripped the dispenser from the wall, allowing several gallons of cooled water to flood the interview room.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,“ moaned Chix from the floor. ”It takes forever to dry these wings.“

  ‘Shut up. You’re supposed to be unconscious.“

  As soon as the water had drained from the supply pipe, Mulch dived into the pipe. He followed it to the first joint, then kicked it loose. Clumps of clay fell through, blocking the pipe. Mulch unhinged his jaw. He was back in the earth. No one could catch him now.

  The shuttlebay was on the lower level, closest to the chute itself. Mulch angled himself downward, guided by his infallible dwarf internal compass.

  He had been in this terminal before, and the layout was burned into his memory, as was the layout of every building that he’d ever been in. Sixty seconds of chewing earth, stripping it of minerals, and ejecting waste at the other end brought Mulch face-to-face with an air duct. This particular duct led straight to the shuttlebay; the dwarf could even feel the vibration of the engines through his beard hair.

  Generally he would burn through the duct’s metal paneling with a few drops of dwarf rock polish, but prison guards tended to confiscate items like that, so instead Mulch blasted a panel with a concentrated burst from the stolen handgun. The panel melted like a sheet of ice in front of a bar heater.

  He gave the molten metal a minute to solidify and cool, then slithered into the duct itself. Two left turns later, his face was pressed to the grille overlooking the shuttlebay itself. Red alarm lights were revolving over every door, and a harsh Klaxon made sure that everyone knew that there was some sort of emergency. The shuttlebay workers were gathered in front of the intranet screen, waiting for news.

  Mulch dropped to the ground with more grace than his frame suggested was possible and creeped across to the LEP shuttle. The shuttle was suspended nose-up over a vertical supply tunnel.

  Mulch crept aboard, opening the passenger door with ChixVerbil’s chip. The controls were hugely complicated, but Mulch had a theory about vehicle controls:

  Ignore everything except the wheel and the pedals, and you’ll be fine.

  So far in his career, he had stolen more than fifty types of transportation, and his theory hadn’t let him down yet.

  The dwarf thrust the starter chip into its socket, ignoring the computer’s advice that he run a systems’ check, and hit the release button.

  Eight tons of LEP shuttle dropped like a stone into the chute, spinning like an ice skater. The earth’s gravity grabbed hold of it, reeling it in toward the earth’s core.

  Mulch’s foot jabbed the thruster pedal just enough to halt the drop.

  The radio on the dash started talking to him. “You in the shuttle. You’d better come back here right now. I’m not kidding! In twenty seconds I personally am going to press the self-destruct button.“

  Mulch spat a wad of dwarf spittle onto the speaker, muffling the irate voice. He gargled up another wad in his throat and deposited it on a circuit box below the radio. The circuits sparked and fizzled. So much for the self-destruct.

  The controls were a bit heavier than Mulch was used to. Nevertheless, he managed to tame the machine after a few scrapes along the chute wall. If the LEP ever recovered the craft, it would need a fresh coat of paint, and perhaps a new starboard fender.

  A bolt of sizzling laser energy flashed past the porthole.

  That was his warning shot. One across the bows before they let the computer do the aiming. Time to be gone. Mulch kicked off his boots, wrapped his double-jointed toes around the pedals, and sped down the chute toward the rendezvous point.

  Butler parked the Bentley fifteen miles northeast of Tara, near a cluster of rocks shaped like a clenched fist. The index finger rock was hollow, just as Mulch had told him it would be. However, the dwarf had neglected to mention that the opening would be cluttered with potato crisp bags and chewing-gum patties left over from a thousand teenagers’ picnics. Butler picked his way through the rubbish to discover two boys huddled at the rear, smoking secret cigarettes. A Labrador pup was asleep at their feet. Obviously these two had volunteered to walk the dog so they could sneak some cigarettes. Butler did not like smoking.

  The boys looked up at the enormous figure looming above them, their jaded teenage expressions freezing on their faces.

  Butler pointed at the cigarettes. “Those things will seriously damage your health,” he growled. “And if they don’t, I might.”

  The teenagers stubbed out their cigarettes and scurried from the cave, which was exactly what Butler wanted them to do. He pushed aside a wizened scrub cluster at the rear of the cave to discover a mud wall.

  ‘Punch right through the mud,“ Mulch had told him. ‘Generally I eat through and patch it up afterward, but you might not want to do that.“

  Butler jabbed four rigid fingers at the center of the mud wall, where cracks were beginning to spread, and sure enough the wall was only inches thick and crumbled easily under the pressure. The bodyguard pulled away chunks until there was sufficient space to squeeze through to the tunnel beyond.

  To say there was sufficient space is perhaps a slight exaggeration; barely enough is probably more accurate. Butler ‘s bulky frame was compressed on all sides by uneven walls of black clay. Occasionally a jagged rock poked through, tearing a gash in his designe
r suit. That was two suits ruined in as many days. One in Munich, and now the second belowground in Ireland.

  Still, suits were the least of his worries. If Mulch was right, then Artemis was running around the Lower Elements right now with a group of bloodthirsty trolls on his trail. Butler had fought a troll once, and the battle had very nearly killed him. He couldn’t even imagine fighting an entire group.

  Butler dug his fingers into the earth, pulling himself forward through the tunnel. This particular tunnel, Mulch had informed him, was one of many illicit back doors into the Lower Elements chute system chewed out by fugitive dwarfs over the centuries. Mulch himself had excavated this one almost three hundred years ago, when he had needed to sneak back to Haven for his cousin’s birthday bash. Butler tried not to think about the dwarf’s recycling process as he went.