Artemis stepped onto the surface, picking his way through the jagged stones and construction debris abandoned by Mulch and his cousin a century earlier. The cavern was lit by the starlike twinkle of rock phosphorescence.
“This place is a geological marvel,” he exclaimed. “The pressure at this depth should be crushing us, but it isn’t.”
He knelt to examine a fungus sprouting from a rusting paint tin.
“There’s even life.”
Mulch wrenched the remains of a hammer from between two rocks.
“So that’s where this got to. We overdid it a bit on the explosives, blasting the shaft for these columns. Some of our waste must have . . . fallen down here.”
Holly was appalled. Pollution is an abomination to the People.
“You’ve broken so many laws here, Mulch, I don’t even have the fingers to count them. When you get that two-day head start, you’d better move fast, because I’m going to be the one chasing you.”
“Here we are,” said Mulch, ignoring the threat. When you’d heard as many as he had, they just rolled right off.
There was a hole bored into one of the columns. Mulch rubbed the edges fondly.
“Diamond laser cutter. Little nuclear battery. That baby could cut through anything.”
“I remember that cutter too,” said Root. “You nearly decapitated me with it once.”
Mulch sighed. “Happy days, eh, Julius?”
Root’s reply was a swift kick in the behind.
“Less talk, more eating dirt, convict.”
Holly placed her hand into the hole.
“Air currents. The pressure field from the city must have equalized this cave over the years. That’s why we’re not flat as manta rays right now.”
“I see,” said Butler and Root simultaneously. Another lie for the list.
Mulch undid his back flap.
“I’ll tunnel up to the top and wait for you there. Clear as much of the debris as you can. I’ll spread the recycled mud around, to avoid closing up the shaft.”
Artemis groaned. The idea of crawling through Mulch’s recyclings was almost intolerable. Only the thought of his father kept him going.
Mulch stepped into the shaft. “Stand back,” he warned, unhinging his jaw.
Butler moved quickly, he was not about to get nailed by dwarf gas again.
Mulch disappeared up to his waist in the titanium column. In moments he had disappeared entirely. The pipe began to shudder with strange, unappetizing sounds. Chunks of clay clattered against the metal walls. A constant stream of condensed air and debris spiraled from the hole.
“Amazing,” breathed Artemis. “What I could do with ten like him. Fort Knox would be a pushover.”
“Don’t even think about it,” warned Root. He turned to Butler. “What have we got?”
The manservant drew his pistol.
“This is it. I’ll take the gun, since I’m the only one who can lift it. You two pick up whatever you can on the run.”
“And what about me?” asked Artemis, even though he knew what was coming.
Butler looked his master straight in the eye.
“I want you to stay here. This is a military operation. All you can do is get yourself killed.”
“But ...”
“My job is to protect you, Artemis, and this is quite possibly the safest spot on the planet.”
Artemis didn’t argue. In truth, these facts had already occurred to him. Sometimes being a genius was a burden.
“Very well, Butler. I shall remain here. Unless . . .”
Butler’s eyes narrowed. “Unless what?”
Artemis smiled his dangerous smile. “Unless I have an idea.”
Police Plaza
In Police Plaza the situation was desperate. Captain Kelp had pulled the remaining forces into a circle behind overturned workstations. The goblins were taking potshots through the doorway, and none of the warlocks had a drop of magic left in them. Anyone who got injured from now on would stay injured.
The Council were huddled behind a wall of troops, all except Wing Commander Vinyáya, who had demanded to be given one of the electronic rifles. She hadn’t missed yet.
The techs were crouched behind their desks, trying every code combination in the book to gain access to the Operations Booth. Trouble didn’t hold out much hope on that front. If Foaly locked a door, then it stayed locked.
Meanwhile, inside the booth all the centaur could do was pound his fists in frustration. It was a sign of Cudgeon’s cruelty that he allowed Foaly to view the battle beyond the blast windows.
It seemed hopeless. Even if Julius and Holly had received his message, it was too late now to do anything. Foaly’s lips and throat were dry. Everything had deserted him. His computer, his intellect, his glib sarcasm. Everything.
Below Koboi Labs
Something wet slapped Butler in the head.
“What was that?” he hissed at Holly, who was bringing up the rear.
“Don’t ask,” croaked Captain Short. Even through her helmet filters, the smell was foul.
The contents of the column had had a century to ferment, and smelled as toxic as the day they went in. Probably worse. At least, thought the bodyguard, I don’t have to eat this stuff.
Root was in the lead, his helmet lights cutting swathes through the darkness. The pillar was on a forty-degree angle with regular grooves that were intended to anchor the titanium block filling.
Mulch had done a sterling job of breaking down the pipe’s contents. But the recycling had to go somewhere. Mulch, in fairness to him, chewed every mouthful thoroughly to avoid too many lumps.
The raiding party struggled on grimly, trying not to think about what they were actually doing. By the time they caught up with the dwarf, he was clinging to a ridge, face constricted in pain.
“What is it, Mulch?” asked Root, concern accidentally slipping into his tones.
“Geddup,” Mulch groaned. “Geddup rih now.”
Root’s eyes widened with something approaching panic.
“Up!” he hissed. “Everybody up!”
They scrambled into the tight wedge of space above the dwarf. Not a second too soon. Mulch relaxed, releasing a burst of dwarf gas that could have inflated a circus tent. He rehinged his jaw.
“That’s better,” he sighed. “Lotta air in that soil. Now would you mind getting that beam out of my face. You know how I feel about light.”
The commander obliged, switching to infrared.
“Okay, now we’re up here. How do we get out? You didn’t bring your cutter, I seem to remember.”
The dwarf grinned. “No problem. A good thief always plans on a return visit. See here.”
Mulch was pointing to a patch of titanium that seemed exactly like the rest of the pipe. “I patched this up last time. It’s just flexi-bond.”
Root had to smile. “You are a cunning reprobate. How did we ever catch you?”
“Luck,” replied the dwarf, elbowing a section of the pipe. A large circle popped out, revealing the hundred-year-old hole. “Welcome to Koboi Labs.”
They clambered into a dimly lit corridor. Loaded hover trolleys were stacked four deep around the walls. Strip lighting operated at minimum illumination overhead.
“I know this place,” noted Root. “I’ve been here before on inspection for the special weapons permits. We’re two corridors across from the computer center. We have a real chance of making it.”
“What about these DNA stun cannons?” inquired Butler.
“Tricky,” admitted the commander. “If the cannon’s onboard computer doesn’t recognize you, you’re dead. They can be programmed to reject entire species.”
“Tricky,” agreed the manservant.
“I’m betting they’re not active,” continued Root. “First, if this place is crawling with goblins, they hardly came in through the front door. And second, if Foaly is being blamed for this little uprising, Koboi will want to pretend they had no weapons, just like
the LEP.”
“Strategy?” asked Butler.
“Not much,” admitted the commander. “Once we turn the corner, we’re on camera. So down the corridor as fast as you can, hit anything that gets in your way. If it has a weapon, confiscate it. Mulch, you stay here and widen the tunnel, we may need to get out fast. Ready?”
Holly extended a hand.
“Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.”
The commander and manservant laid their hands on hers.
“Likewise.”
They headed down the corridor. Two hundred goblins versus our virtually unarmed three heroes. It was going to be close.
Koboi Labs, Inner Sanctum
“Intruders,” squealed Opal Koboi delightedly. “Inside the building.”
Cudgeon crossed to the surveillance plasma screen.
“I do believe it’s Julius. Amazing. Obviously your hit team leader was exaggerating, General Sputa.”
Sputa licked his eyeballs furiously. Lieutenant Nyal would be losing his skin before shedding season.
Cudgeon whispered into Opal’s ear.
“Can we activate the DNA cannons?”
The pixie shook her head. “Not immediately. They’ve been reprogrammed to reject goblin DNA. It would take a few minutes.”
Cudgeon turned to the four goblin generals. “Have an armored squad come up behind, and another one from the flank. We can trap them at the door. There will be no way out.”
Cudgeon stared raptly at the plasma screen. “This is even better than I’d planned. Now, my old friend, Julius— it’s my turn to humiliate you.”
Artemis was meditating. This was a time for concentration. He sat cross-legged on a rock, visualizing the various rescue strategies that could be used when they returned to the Arctic. If the Mafiya managed to set up the drop before Artemis could reach them, then there was only one plan that could work. And it was a high-risk plan. Artemis searched deeper inside his brain. There must be another way.
He was disturbed by an orchestral noise emanating from the titanium column. It sounded like a sustained note on a bassoon. Dwarf gas, he reasoned. The column had reasonably good acoustics.
What he needed was a brainwave. One crystal thought that would slice through this mire he had become embroiled in, and save the day.
After eight minutes, he was interrupted again. Not gas this time. A cry for help. Mulch was in trouble, and in pain.
Artemis was about to suggest that Butler deal with it when he realized that his bodyguard wasn’t there. Off on his mission to save the lower elements. It was up to him.
Artemis poked his head into the column. It was black as the inside of an old boot, and twice as pungent. Artemis decided that an LEP helmet was his first requirement. He quickly retrieved a spare from the shuttle, and after a moment’s experimentation activated the lights and seals.
“Mulch? Are you up there?”
No reply. Could this be a trap? Was it possible that he, Artemis Fowl, was about to fall for the oldest ruse in the book? Entirely possible, he decided. But in spite of that, he couldn’t really afford to take chances with that hairy little creature’s life. Somewhere since Los Angeles, and against his better judgment, he had bonded with Mister Diggums. Artemis shuddered. This propensity for humane impulses was happening more and more since his mother’s return to sanity.
Artemis climbed into the tube, beginning his journey to the disk of light above. The smell was horrendous. His shoes were ruined, and no amount of dry cleaning could redeem the Saint Bartleby’s blazer. Mulch had better be in a lot of pain.
When he reached the entrance, he found Mulch writhing on the floor, face contorted in genuine agony.
“What is it?” he asked, peeling off the helmet and kneeling by the dwarf’s side.
“Blockage in my gut,” grunted the dwarf, beads of sweat sliding down his beard hairs. “Something hard. Can’t break it down.”
“What can I do?” Artemis asked, though he dreaded the possible replies.
“My left boot. Take it off.”
“Your boot? Did you say boot?”
“Yes,” howled the dwarf, pain stiffening his entire torso. “Get it off!”
Artemis couldn’t stifle a relieved sigh. He’d been fearing much worse. He hefted the dwarf’s leg into his lap, pulling at the climbing boots.
“Nice boots,” he commented.
“Rodeo Drive,” gasped Mulch. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Sorry.”
The boot slid off, revealing a not-quite-so-designer sock, complete with toe holes and darned patches.
“Little toe,” said Mulch, eyes closed with pain.
“Little toe what?”
“Squeeze the joint. Hard.”
Squeeze the joint. Must be a reflexology thing. Every part of the body corresponds to an area of the foot. The body’s keyboard so to speak. Practiced in the Orient for centuries.
“Very well. If you insist.”
Artemis placed his finger and thumb around Mulch’s hairy toe. It could have been his imagination, but it seemed that the hairs parted to allow him access.
“Squeeze,” gasped the dwarf. “Why aren’t you squeezing?”
Artemis wasn’t squeezing because his eyes were crossed, looking up at the end of the laser barrel stuck in the middle of his forehead.
Lieutenant Nyle, who was holding the weapon, couldn’t believe his luck. He’d single-handedly captured two intruders, plus he’d discovered their bolt hole. Who said hanging back to avoid the fighting didn’t have advantages? This was turning out to be an exceptional revolution for him. He’d be colonel before shedding his third skin.
“On your feet,” he ordered, panting blue flames. Even through the translator it sounded reptilian.
Artemis stood slowly, lifting Mulch’s leg with him. The dwarf’s back flap flopped open.
“What’s wrong with him anyway?” asked Nyle, bending in for a closer look.
“Something he ate,” said Artemis, and squeezed the joint.
The resulting explosion knocked the goblin off his feet, sending him tumbling down the corridor. There was something you didn’t see every day.
Mulch hopped to his feet.
“Thanks, kid. I thought I was a goner, there. Must’ve been something hard. Granite maybe, or diamond.”
Artemis nodded. Not ready for words.
“Those goblins are dumb. Did you see the look on his face?”
Artemis shook his head. Still not ready.
“Do you want to go look?”
The tactless humor snapped Artemis out of his daze.
“That goblin. I doubt he was on his own.”
Mulch buttoned up his back flap. “Nope. A whole squadron of ’em just went past. This guy must have been trying to avoid the action. Typical goblin.”
Artemis rubbed his temples. There must be something he could do to help his friend. He had the highest tested IQ in Europe, for heaven’s sake.
“Mulch, I have an important question for you.”
“I suppose I owe you one, for saving my hide.”
Artemis draped an arm around the dwarf’s shoulder.
“I know how you got into Koboi Labs. But you couldn’t go back that way, the flare would have gotten you. So, how did you get out?”
Mulch grinned. “Simple, I activated the alarm, then left in the LEP uniform I came in.”
Artemis scowled. “No, there must be another way. There has to be.”
The DNA cannons were obviously out of commission. Root was just starting to feel optimistic when he heard the thunder of approaching boots.
“D’Arvit. You two keep going. I’ll hold them here as long as I can.”
“No, Commander,” said Butler. “With respect, we only have one weapon, and I can hit a lot more with it than you.
I’ll take them coming around the corner. You try to get the door open.”
Holly opened her mouth to argue. But who was going to argue with a man that size?
&nbs
p; “Okay. Good luck. If you’re wounded, lie as still as you can until I get back. Four minutes, remember.”
Butler nodded. “I remember.”
“And, Butler?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“That little misunderstanding last year. When you and Artemis kidnapped me.”
Butler gazed at the ceiling. He would have stared at his shoes, but Holly was in the way.
“Yes, that. I’ve been meaning to talk to . . .”
“Just forget it. After this, all square.”
“Holly, move it out,” ordered Root. “Butler, don’t let them get too close.”
Butler wrapped his fingers around the gun’s molded grip. He looked like an armed bear.
“They better not. For their sake.”
Artemis climbed up on a hover trolley, tapping one of the overhead conduits that ran the length of the corridor.
“This pipe appears to run along the entire ceiling struc-ture. What is it, a ventilation system?”
Mulch snorted. “I wish. It’s the plasma supply for the DNA cannons.”
“So why didn’t you come in this way?”
“Oh, a little matter of there being enough charge in every drop of plasma to fry a troll.”
Artemis placed his palm against the metal.
“What if the cannons weren’t operational?”
“Once the cannons are deactivated, the plasma is just so much radioactive slop.”
“Radioactive?”
Mulch tugged at his beard thoughtfully. “Actually, Julius reckons the cannons have been turned off.”
“Any way to be certain?”
“We could open this unopenable panel.” Mulch ran his fingers along the curved surface. “Ahh, see here. A micro keyhole. To service the cannons. Even plasma needs recharging.”
He pointed to a tiny hole in the metal, which could have been a speck of dirt, it was so small.
“Now, observe a master at work.”
The dwarf fed one of his chin hairs into the hole. When the tip reappeared, Mulch plucked the hair out by the root. The hair died as soon as Mulch plucked it, stiffening in rigor mortis, and retaining the precise shape of the lock’s interior.
Mulch held his breath, twisting the makeshift key. The hatch dropped open.