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Chapter 7: The Temple of Artemis

The Lower Elements

Opal Koboi’s shuttle was a concept model that had never gone into mass production. It was years ahead of anything on the market, but its skin of stealth ore and cam-foil made the cost of such a vehicle so exorbitant that even Opal Koboi couldn’t have afforded one without the government grants that had helped to pay for it.

Scant secured the prisoners into the passenger bay, while Merv piloted them across to Scotland, then underground through a mountain river in the highlands. Opal busied herself making sure that her other plan, the one involving world domination, was proceeding smoothly.

She closed the screen on her video phone and dialed a connection to Sicily.

The person at the other end picked up in the middle of the first ring. “Belinda, my dear. Is it you?” The man who had answered was in his late forties, with Latin good looks and gray-streaked black hair framing his tanned face. He wore a white lab coat over an open-necked striped Versace shirt.

“Yes, Papa. It’s me. Don’t worry, I am safe.”

Opal’s voice was layered with the hypnotic mesmer. The poor human was utterly in her power, as he had been for over a month.

“When are you coming home, my dear? I miss you.”

“Today, Papa, in a few hours. How is everything there?”

The man smiled dreamily. “Molto bene. Wonderful. The weather is fine. We can take a drive to the mountains. Perhaps I can teach you to ski.” Opal frowned impatiently. “Listen to me, idiota…Papa. How is everything with the probe? Are we on schedule?” For a moment, a flash of annoyance wrinkled the Italian’s brow, then he was bewitched again. “Yes, my dear. Everything is on schedule. The explosive pods are being buried today. The probe’s systems’ check was a resounding success.” Opal clapped her hands, the picture of a delighted daughter. “Excellent, Papa. You are so good to your little Belinda. I will be with you soon.” “Hurry home, my dear,” said the man, utterly lost without the creature he believed to be his daughter.

Opal ended the call. “Fool,” she said contemptuously. But Giovanni Zito would be allowed to live at least until the probe he was constructing to her specifications punctured the Lower Elements. Now that she had spoken to Zito, Opal was eager to concentrate on the probe portion of her plan. Revenge was certainly sweet, but it was also a distraction. Perhaps she should just dump these two from the shuttle and let the earth’s magma core have them.

“Merv,” she barked. “How long to the theme park?”

Merv checked the instruments on the shuttle’s dashboard.

“We’ve just entered the main chute network, Miss Koboi. Five hours,” he called over his shoulder. “Perhaps less.” Five hours, mused Opal, curling in her bucket seat like a contented cat. She could spare five hours.

Some time later, Artemis and Holly were stirring in their seats. Scant helped them into consciousness with a couple of jolts from a buzz baton.

“Welcome back to the land of the condemned,” said Opal. “How do you like my shuttle?” The craft was impressive, even if it was ferrying Artemis and Holly to their deaths. The seats were covered with illegally harvested fur, and the décor was plusher than your average palace. There were small entertainment hologram cubes suspended from the ceiling, in case the passengers wanted to watch a movie.

Holly began to squirm when she noticed what she was sitting on. “Fur! You animal.” “No,” said Opal. “You’re sitting on the animals. As I told you, I am human now. And that is what humans do, skin animals for their own comfort. Isn’t that right, Master Fowl?” “Some do,” said Artemis coolly. “Not me personally.”

“Really, Artemis,” said Opal archly. “I hardly think that qualifies you for sainthood. From what I hear, you’re just as eager to exploit the People as I am.” “Perhaps. I don’t remember.”

Opal rose from her seat and fixed herself a light salad from the buffet. “Of course, they mind-wiped you. But surely you must remember now? Not even your subconscious could deny that this is happening.” Artemis concentrated. He could remember something. Vague out of focus images. Nothing very specific. “I do remember something.” Opal lifted her eyes from her plate. “Yes?”

Artemis fixed her with a cool stare. “I remember how Foaly defeated you before with superior intellect. I am certain he will do it again.” Of course, Artemis had not truly remembered this; he was simply repeating what Holly had told him. But the statement had the desired effect.

“That ridiculous centaur!” shrieked Opal, hurling her plate against the wall. “He was lucky, and I was hampered by that idiot Cudgeon. Not this time. This time I am the architect of my own fate. And of yours.” “And what is it this time?” Artemis asked mockingly. “Another orchestrated rebellion? Or perhaps a mechanical dinosaur?” Opal’s face grew white with rage. “Is there no end to your impudence, Mud Boy? No small-scale rebellions this time. I have a grander vision. I will lead the humans to the People. When the two worlds collide, there will be a war and my adopted people will win.” “You’re a fairy, Koboi,” interjected Holly. “One of us. Rounded ears don’t change that. Don’t you think the humans will notice when you don’t get any taller?” Opal patted Holly’s cheek almost affectionately. “My poor, dear, underpaid police officer. Don’t you think I thought of all this while I stewed in that coma for almost a year? Don’t you think I thought of everything? I have always known humans would discover us eventually, so I have prepared.” Opal leaned over, parting her jet-black hair to reveal a magically fading three-inch scar on her scalp. “Getting my ears rounded wasn’t the only surgery I had done. I also had something inserted in my skull.” “A pituitary gland,” guessed Artemis.

“Very good, Mud Boy. A rather tiny artificial human pituitary gland. HGH is one of seven hormones secreted by the pituitary.” “HGH?” interrupted Holly.

“Human growth hormone,” explained Artemis.

“Exactly. As the name implies, HGH enhances the growth of various organs and tissues, especially muscle and bone. In three months, I have already grown half an inch. Oh, maybe I’ll never make the basketball team, but no one will ever believe that I am a fairy.” “You’re no fairy,” said Holly bitterly. “At heart you’ve always been human.”

“That’s supposed to be an insult, I suppose. Maybe I deserve that, considering what I am about to do to you. In an hour’s time, there won’t be enough of you two remaining to fill the booty box.” This was a term that Artemis had not heard before. “Booty box? That sounds like a pirate expression.” Opal opened a secret panel in the flooring, revealing a small compartment underneath. “This is a booty box. The term was coined by vegetable smugglers more than eight thousand years ago. A secret compartment that would go unnoticed by customs officials. Of course, these days, with X-ray, infrared, and motion-sensitive cameras, a booty box isn’t much good.” Opal smiled slyly, like a child who has put one over on her teacher. “Unless of course the box is completely constructed from stealth ore, refrigerated, and has internal projectors to fool X-ray and infrared. The only way to detect this booty box is to put your foot into it. So, even if the LEP did board my shuttle, they would not find whatever it is I am choosing to smuggle. Which in this case is a jar of chocolate truffles. Hardly illegal, but the cooler is full. Chocolate truffles are my passion, you know. All that time I was away, truffles were one of two things I craved. The other was revenge.” Artemis yawned. “How fascinating. A secret compartment. What a genius you are. How can you fail to take over the world with a booty box full of truffles?” Opal smoothed Artemis’s hair back from his forehead. “Make all the jokes you want, Mud Boy. Words are all you have now.” Minutes later, Merv brought the stealth shuttle in to land. Artemis and Holly were cuffed and led down the retractable gangplank. They emerged into a giant tunnel dimly illuminated by Glo-Strips. Most of the lighting panels were shattered, the rest were on their last legs. This section of the chute had once been part of a thriving metropolis, but now was completely deserted and derelict. Demolition notices were pasted across various drooping billboards.

Opal pointed to one. “This whole place is being torn down in a month. We just made the deadline.” “Lucky us,” muttered Holly.

Merv and Scant prodded them wordlessly along the chute with their gun barrels. The road surface beneath their feet was buckled and cracked. Swear toads clustered in damp patches, spouting obscenities. The roadside was lined with abandoned concession stands and souvenir shops. In one window, human dolls were arranged in various warlike poses.

Artemis stopped in spite of the gun at his back. “Is that how you see us?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” said Opal. “You’re much worse than that, but the manufacturers don’t want to scare the children.” Several huge hemispherical structures squatted at the end of the tunnel. Each one the size of a football stadium. They were constructed of hexagonal panels welded together along the seams. Some panels were opaque, others were transparent. Each panel was roughly the dimensions of a small house.

Before the hemispheres was a huge arch, with strips of tattered gold leaf hanging from its frame. A sign hung from the arch, emblazoned with six-foot-high Gnommish letters.

“The Eleven Wonders of the Human World,” declared Opal theatrically. “Ten thousand years of civilization, and you only manage to produce eleven so-called wonders.” Artemis tested his cuffs. They were tightly fastened. “You know of course that there are only seven wonders on the official list.” “I know that,” said Opal testily. “But humans are so narrow-minded. Fairy scholars studied video footage and decided to include the Abu Simbel Temple in Egypt, the Moai Statues in Rapa Nui, the Borobudur Temple in Indonesia, and the Throne Hall of Persepolis in Iran.” “If humans are so narrow-minded,” commented Holly, “I’m surprised that you want to be one of them.” Opal passed through the arch. “Well, I would prefer to be a pixie, no offense, Artemis, but the Fairy People are shortly to be wiped out. I shall be seeing to that personally as soon as I have dropped you off in your new home. In ten minutes I’ll be on my way to the island, watching you two get torn apart on the shuttle monitors.” They proceeded through the theme park, past the first hemisphere, which contained a two-thirds scale model of the Great Pyramid of Giza. Several of the hexagonal panels had been ripped out and Artemis could see the remains of the model through the gaps. It was an impressive sight, made even more so by the scores of shaggy creatures scrambling across the pyramid’s slopes.

“Trolls,” explained Opal. “They have taken over the exhibits. But don’t worry, they are extremely territorial and won’t attack unless you approach the pyramid.” 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 clumps of hair 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 pop-ped 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.

The trolls were coming, loping from the temple’s steps with frightening speed and coordination. They used the weight of their shaggy arms to swing forward, while simultaneously straightening muscular legs. This launch method could take them up to twenty feet in a single bound. The animals landed on their knuckles, swinging their legs underneath for the next jump.

It was an almost petrifying sight. A score of crazed carnivores, jostling their way down a shallow sandy incline. The larger males took the easy way down, charging right through the ravine. Adolescents and older males stuck to the slopes, wary of casual bites and scything tusks. The trolls crashed through mannequins and scenery, heading straight for the tent. Ropes of hair swung with every step, and eyes glowed red in the half light. They held their heads back so their highest point was their nose. Noses that were leading them directly to Holly and Artemis. And what was worse, Holly and Artemis could smell the trolls, too.

Holly stuck both pairs of cuffs into her belt. They had charge packs and could be adapted for heat or even weapons, if Holly lived long enough to use them.

“Okay, Mud Boy. Into the water.”

Artemis did not argue or question; there was no time for that. He could only assume that, like many animals, trolls were not water lovers. He ran toward the river, feeling the ground below his feet vibrate with a hundred feet and fists. The howling had started again too, but it had a more reckless tone, mindless and brutal, as if whatever self-control the trolls had was now gone.

Artemis hustled to catch up to Holly. She was ahead of him, lithe and limber, bending low to scoop up one of the fake plastic logs from a campfire. Artemis did the same, tucking it under his arm. They could be in the water for a long time.

Holly dived in, gracefully arcing through the air before entering the water with barely a splash. Artemis stumbled after her. All this running for one’s life was not what he was built for. His brain was big, but his limbs were slight, which was exactly the opposite of what you needed when trolls were at your heels.

The water was lukewarm, yet the mouthful Artemis inadvertently swallowed tasted remarkably sweet. No pollutants, he supposed, with that small portion of his brain that was still thinking rationally. Something tagged his ankle, slicing through sock and flesh. Then he kicked into the river, and he was clear. A trail of hot blood lingered for a moment, before being whipped away by the current.

Holly was treading water in the center of the river. Her auburn hair stood up in slick spikes, and her suit crackled to match the background where the mud had been washed off.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

Artemis shook his head. No breath for words.

Holly noticed his ankle, which was trailing behind him.

“Blood, and I don’t have a drop of magic left to heal you. That blood is almost as bad as pheromones. We have to get out of here.” On the bank the trolls were literally hopping mad. They head-butted the earth repeatedly, drumming their fists in complex rhythms.

“Mating ritual,” explained Holly. “I think they like us.”

The current was strong out in the center of the river, and drew the pair quickly downstream. The trolls followed along, some hurling small missiles into the water. One clipped Holly’s plastic log, almost dislodging her.

She spat out a mouthful of water. “We need a plan, Artemis. That’s your department. I got us this far.” “Oh yes, well done, you,” said Artemis, having apparently recovered his sense of sarcasm. He raked wet strands of hair from his eyes and cast around, beyond the melee on the waterline. The temple was huge, throwing an elongated multipronged shadow across the desert area. The interior was wide open, with no obvious shelter from the trolls. The only deserted spot was the temple roof.

“Can trolls climb?” he spluttered.

Holly followed his gaze. “Yes, if they have to, like big monkeys. But only if they have to.” Artemis frowned. “If only I could remember,” he said. “If only I knew what I know.” Holly kicked over to him, grasping his collar. They swirled in the white water, bubbles and froth squeezing between their logs.

“If only is no good, Mud Boy. We need a plan before the filter.”

“The filter?”

“This is an artificial river. It’s filtered through a cen-tral tank.”

A bulb went on in Artemis’s brain. “A central tank. That’s our way out.”

“We’ll be killed! I have no idea how long we’ll be underwater.”

Artemis took one last look around, measuring, calculating. “Given the present circumstances, there is no other option.” Up ahead, the currents began to circle, pulling in any rubbish picked up from the banks. A small whirlpool formed in the middle of the river. The sight of it seemed to calm the trolls. They gave up on the butting and banging, and settled down to watch. Some moved along the bank; these would later prove to be the clever ones.

“We follow the current,” shouted Artemis over the hiss. “We follow it and hope.” “That’s it? That’s your brilliant plan?” Holly’s suit crackled as the water wormed its way into the circuits.

“It’s not so much a plan as a lifesaving strategy,” retorted Artemis. He would have said more but the river interrupted him, snatching him away from his elfin companion into the whirlpool.

He felt about as significant as a twig in the face of such power. If he tried to resist the water, it would slap the air from his lungs like a bully slapping his victim. Artemis’s chest was compressed; even when his gasping mouth was above water, he could not force adequate amounts of air into his lungs. His brain was starved of oxygen. He couldn’t think straight. Everything was curved. The swirl of his body, the sweep of the water. White circles on blue ones on green ones. His feet dancing little Möbius strip patterns below his body. Riverdance. Ha-ha.

Holly was before him, pinioning the two logs between them. A makeshift raft. She shouted something, but it was lost. There was only water now. Water and confusion.

She held up three fingers. Three seconds. Then they were going under. Artemis breathed as deeply as his constricted chest would allow. Two fingers now. Then one.

Artemis and Holly let go of their logs and the current sucked them under like spiders down a drain. Artemis fought to hold on to his air, but the buffeting water squeezed it from between his lips. Bubbles spiraled behind them, racing for the surface.

The water was not so deep or dark. But it was fast and would not allow many images to stand still long enough to be identified. Holly’s face flashed past Artemis, but all he could make out were big hazel eyes.

The whirlpool’s funnel grew narrower, forcing Holly and Artemis together. They were swept diagonally down in a flurry of bumping torsos and flapping limbs. They pressed their foreheads together, finding some comfort in each other’s eyes. But it was short lived. Their progress was brutally cut short by a metal grille covering the drainage pipe. They slammed into it, feeling the sharp wire leave indents on their skin.

Holly slapped at the grille, then wormed her fingers through the holes. The grille was shiny and new. Fresh weld marks dotted its rim. This was new and everything else was old. Koboi!

Something nudged Holly’s arm. An aqua-pod. It was anchored to the grille by a plastic tie. Opal’s face filled the small screen sealed inside, and her grin filled most of her face. She was saying something again and again on a short loop. The words were inaudible over the din of sluice and bubble, but the meaning was clear: I beat you again.

Holly grabbed the aqua-pod, ripping it from its tether. The effort threw her from the slipstream into the relatively calm surrounding waters. Her strength was gone, and she had no option but to go where the river led her. Artemis dragged himself from the flat face of the grille, using the last of his oxygen to kick his legs, just twice.

He was free of the whirlpool, floating along after Holly toward a dark mound farther down the river. Air, he thought with keen desperation, I need to breathe. Not soon. Now. If not now, never.

Artemis broke the surface mouth first. His throat was sucking down air before the water cleared. The first breath came back up, laced with fluid, but the second was clear, and the third. Artemis felt the strength flow back into his limbs like mercury in his veins.

Holly was safe. Lying on a dark island in the river. Her chest heaved like a bellows and the aqua-pod lay beneath her splayed fingers.

“Uh-uh,” said Opal Koboi on-screen. “Sooo predictable.” She said it over and over, until Artemis struggled from the shallow water, climbed on the mound, and found the MUTE button.

“I am really starting to dislike her,” he panted. “She may come to regret little touches like the underwater television, because it’s things like this that give me the motivation to get out of here.” Holly sat up, looking around. They were sitting on a mound of rubbish. Artemis guessed that since Opal had welded the grille across the filter pipe, the current had swept everything that the trolls discarded to this shallow spot. A small island of junk in the river bend. There were disembodied robot heads on the heap, along with battered statues and troll remains. Troll skulls with the thick wedge of forehead bone and rotting pelts.

At least those particular trolls could not eat them. The dangerous trolls that had followed them were working themselves up into a lather again along the banks on both sides. But there was at least twenty feet of six-inch-deep water separating them from the land. They were safe, for the moment.

Artemis felt memories attempting to break through to the surface. He was on the verge of remembering everything, he was certain of it. He sat completely still, willing it to happen. Unconnected images flashed behind his eyes: a mountain of gold, green scaly creatures snorting fireballs, Butler packed in ice. But the images slid from his consciousness like drops of water off a windshield.

Holly sat up. “Anything?”

“Maybe,” said Artemis. “Something. I’m not sure. Everything is happening so fast. I need time to meditate.” “We’re out of time,” said Holly, climbing to the top of the junk pile. Skulls cracked beneath her feet. “Look.” 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 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.

“Chix Verbil,” 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 Chix Verbil 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 E1.

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 escape. I knock you out, 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 the 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 crept across to the LEP shuttle. The shuttle was suspended nose-up over a vertical supply tunnel. Mulch snuck aboard, opening the passenger door with Chix Verbil’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 port-hole. 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 designer 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.

After several feet the tunnel widened into a bulbshaped chamber. The walls glowed a gentle green. Mulch had explained that too. The walls were coated with dwarf spittle, which hardened on prolonged contact with air, and also glowed. Amazing. Drinking pores, living hairs, and now luminous saliva. What next? Explosive phlegm? He wouldn’t be a bit surprised. Who knew what secrets the dwarfs were hiding up their sleeves? Or in other places?

Butler kicked aside a pile of rabbit bones, the remains of previous dwarf snacks, and sat down to wait.

He checked the luminous face of his Omega wristwatch. He had dropped Mulch at Tara almost thirty minutes ago; the little man should be here by now. The bodyguard would have paced the chamber, but there was barely enough space for him to stand up, never mind pace. The bodyguard crossed his legs, settling down for a power nap. He hadn’t slept since the missile attack in Germany, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. His heart rate and breathing slowed until eventually his chest barely moved at all.

Eight minutes later, the small chamber began to shake violently. Chunks of brittle spittle cracked from the wall, shattering on the floor. The ground beneath his feet glowed red, and a stream of insects and worms flowed away from the hot spot. Butler stood to one side, calmly brushing himself down. Moments later a cylindrical section of earth dropped cleanly out of the floor, leaving a steaming hole.

Mulch’s voice drifted through the hole, borne on the waves of the stolen shuttle’s amplification system.

“Let’s go, Mud Man. Move yourself. We have people to save, and the LEP are on my tail.” On Mulch Diggums’s tail, thought Butler, shuddering. Not a nice place to be.

Nevertheless, the bodyguard lowered himself into the hole and through the open roof hatch of the hovering LEP shuttle. Police shuttles were cramped, even for fairies, but Butler could not even sit up straight in a chair, even if there had been a chair wide enough for him. He had to content himself with kneeling behind the command seat.

“All set?” he inquired.

Mulch picked a beetle from Butler’s shoulder. He shoved it into his beard, where the unfortunate insect was immediately cocooned by hair.

“For later,” he explained. “Unless you want it?”

Butler smiled, but it was an effort. “Thanks. I already ate.”

“Oh, really? Well whatever you ate, hold on to it, because we are in a hurry, so I may have to break a few speed limits.” The dwarf cracked every joint in his fingers and toes, then sent the craft into a steep spiraling dive. Butler slid to the rear of the craft, and had to hook three seat belts together to prevent further jostling.

“Is this really necessary?” he grunted through rippling cheeks.

“Look behind you,” replied Mulch.

Butler struggled to his knees, directing his gaze through the rear window. They were being pursued by a trio of what looked like fireflies, but what were actually smaller shuttles. The crafts matched their every spiral and jink exactly. One fired a small sparking torpedo that sent a shock wave sparking through the hull. Butler felt the pores in his shaven head tingle.

“LEP uni-pods,” explained Mulch. “They just took out our communications mast, in case we have accomplices in the chutes somewhere. Those pods have got a lock on our navigation’s system. Their own computers will follow us forever, unless.” “Unless what?”

“Unless we can outrun them. Get out of their range.”

Butler tightened the belts across his torso. “And can we?”

Mulch flexed his fingers and toes. “Let’s find out,” he said, flicking the throttle wide.

The Eleven Wonders, Temple of Artemis Exhibit, the Lower Elements

Holly and Artemis huddled together on the small island of rotting carcasses, waiting for the trolls to finish their bridge. The creatures were frantic now, hurling rock after rock into the shallow water. Some even braved placing a toe in the currents, but quickly drew them out again with horrified howls.

Holly wiped water from her eyes. “Okay,” she said. “I have a plan. I stay here and fight them. You go back in the river.” Artemis shook his head curtly. “I appreciate it. But no. It would be suicide for both of us. The trolls would devour you in a second, then simply wait for the current to sweep me right back here. There must be another way.” Holly threw a troll skull at the nearest creature. The brute caught it deftly in his talons, crushing it to shards. “I’m listening, Artemis.” Artemis rubbed a knuckle against his forehead, willing the memory block to dissolve. “If I could remember. Then maybe…” “Don’t you remember anything?”

“Images. Something. Nothing coherent. Just nightmare pictures. This could all be a hallucination. That is the most likely explanation. Perhaps I should just relax and wait to wake up.” “Think of it as a challenge. If this were a role-playing game, how would the character escape?” “If this were a war game, I would need to know the other side’s weaknesses. Water is one…” “And light,” blurted Holly. “Trolls hate light. It burns their retinas.”

The creatures were venturing onto their makeshift bridge now, testing each step carefully. The stink of their unwashed fur and fetid breath drifted across to the little island.

“Light,” repeated Artemis. “That’s why they like it here. Hardly any light.”

“Yes. The Glo-Strips are on emergency power, and the fake sun is on minimum.”

Artemis glanced upward. Holographic clouds scudded across an imitation sky, and right in the center, poised dramatically above the temple’s roof, was a crystal sun, with barely a flicker of power in its belly.

An idea blossomed in his mind. “There is scaffolding on the near corner of the temple. If we could climb up and get to the sun, could you use the power cells from our cuffs to light up the sun?” Holly frowned. “Yes, I suppose. But how do we get past the trolls?”

Artemis picked up the waterproof pod that had been playing Opal’s video message.

“We distract them with a little television.”

Holly fiddled with the pod’s on-screen controls until she found brightness. She flicked the setting to maximum. Opal’s image was whited out by a block of glaring light.

“Hurry,” advised Artemis, tugging Holly’s sleeve. The first troll was halfway across the bridge, followed by the rest of the precariously balanced bunch. The world’s shaggiest conga line.

Holly wrapped her arms around the tele-pod. “This is probably not going to work,” she said.

Artemis moved behind her. “I know, but there is no other option.”

“Okay. But if we don’t make it, I’m sorry you don’t remember. It’s good to be with a friend at a time like this.” Artemis squeezed her shoulder. “If we make it through this, we will be friends. Bonded by trauma.” Their little island was shaking now. Skulls were dislodged from their perches, rolling into the water. The trolls were almost upon them, picking their way across the precarious walkway, squealing at every drop of water that landed on their fur. Any trolls still on the shoreline were hammering the earth with their knuckles, long ropes of drool swinging from their jaws.

Holly waited until the last moment for maximum effect. The tele-pod’s screen was pressed into the rubbish heap, so the approaching animals would not have a clue as to what was coming.

“Holly?” said Artemis urgently.

“Wait,” whispered Holly. “Just a few seconds more.”

The first troll in the line reached their island. This was obviously the pack leader. He reared up to a height of almost ten feet, shaking his shaggy head and howling at the artificial sky. Then he appeared to notice that Artemis and Holly were not in fact female trolls, and a savage rage took hold of his tiny brain. Dribbles of venom dropped from his tusks, and he inverted his talons for an upward slash. Trolls’ preferred kill strike was under the ribs. This popped the heart quickly and did not give the meat time to toughen.

More trolls crowded onto the tiny island, eager for a share in the kill or a shot at a new mate. Holly chose that moment to act. She swung the tele-pod upward, pointing the buzzing screen directly at the nearest troll. The creature reared back, clawing at the hated light as though it were a solid enemy. The light blasted the troll’s retinas, sending him staggering backward into his companions. A group of the animals tumbled into the river. Panic spread back along the line like a virus. The creatures reacted to water as though it were acid dappling their fur and backpedaled furiously toward the shore. This was no orderly retreat. Anything in the way got scythed or bitten. Gouts of venom and blood flew through the air, and the water bubbled as though it were boiling. The trolls’ howls of bloodlust changed to keening screams of pain and terror.

This can’t be real, thought a stunned Artemis Fowl. I must be hallucinating. Perhaps I am in a coma, following the fall from the hotel window. And because his brain provided this possible explanation, his memories stayed under lock and key.

“Grab my belt,” ordered Holly, advancing across the makeshift bridge. Artemis obeyed instantly. This was not the time to argue about leadership. In any case, if there were the slightest possibility that this was actually happening, then Captain Short was better qualified to handle these creatures.

Holly wielded the tele-pod like a portable laser cannon, advancing step-by-step across the makeshift bridge. Artemis tried to concentrate on keeping his balance on the treacherous ground. They stepped from rock to rock, wobbling like novice tightrope walkers. Holly swung the tele-pod in smooth arcs, blasting trolls from every angle.

Too many, thought Artemis. There are too many. We can never make it.

But there was no future in giving up. So they kept going, taking two steps forward and one step back.

A crafty bull ducked low, avoiding Holly’s first sweep. He reached out one talon, cracking the pod’s waterproof casing. Holly stumbled backward, knocking over Artemis. The pair keeled over into the river, landing with a solid thump in the shallow water.

Artemis felt the air shoot from his lungs, and took an instinctive breath. Unfortunately he took in water rather than air. Holly kept her elbows locked, so the ruptured casing stayed out of the river. Some splash drops crept into the crack, and sparks began to play across the screen.

Holly struggled to her feet, simultaneously aiming the screen at the bull troll. Artemis came up behind her, coughing water from his lungs.

“The screen’s damaged,” panted Holly. “I don’t know how much time we have.”

Artemis wiped strands of hair from his eyes. “Go,” he spluttered. “Go.”

They trudged through the water, stepping around thrashing trolls. Holly chose a clear spot on the bank to climb ashore. It was a relief to be on dry land again, but at least the water had been on their side, as it were; now they were truly in troll territory.

The remaining animals encircled them at a safe distance. Whenever one came too close, Holly swung the tele-pod in its direction, and the creature skipped back as though stung.

Artemis fought the cold and the fatigue and the shock in his system. His ankle was scalded where the troll had snagged him.

“We need to go straight for the temple,” he said through chattering teeth. “Up the scaffolding.” “Okay. Hold on.”

Holly took several deep breaths, building up her strength. Her arms were sore from holding the tele-pod, but she would not let the fatigue show in her face, or the fear. She looked those trolls straight in their red eyes and let them know they were dealing with a formidable enemy.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” replied Artemis, although he was no such thing.

Holly took one final breath, then charged. The trolls were not expecting this tactic. After all, what kind of creature would attack a troll? They broke ranks in the face of the arc of white light, and their disconcertion lasted just long enough for Artemis and Holly to charge through the hole in the line.

They hurried up the incline toward the temple. Holly made no attempt to avoid the trolls, running straight at them. When they lashed out in temporary blindness, they only caused more confusion among themselves. A dozen vicious squabbles erupted in Holly and Artemis’s wake, as the animals accidentally sliced each other with razor-sharp talons. Some of the cannier trolls used the opportunity to settle old scores. The squabbles chain-reacted across the plain until the entire area was a mass of writhing animals and dust.

Artemis grunted and puffed his way up the ravine, his fingers wrapped around Holly’s belt. Captain Short’s breathing had settled into a steady rhythm of quick bursts. I am not physically fit, thought Artemis. And it may cost me dearly. I need to exercise more than my brain in the future. If I have a future.

The temple loomed above them, a scale model, but still over fifty feet high. Dozens of identical columns rose into the holographic clouds, supporting a triangular roof decorated with intricate plaster moldings. The columns’ lower regions were scarred by a thousand claw marks where younger trolls had scampered out of harm’s way. Artemis and Holly clambered up the twenty or so steps to the columns themselves.

Fortunately there were no trolls on the scaffolding. All of the animals were busy trying to kill each other, or avoid being killed, but it was only a matter of seconds before they remembered that there were intruders in their midst. Fresh meat. Not many of the trolls had tasted elf meat, but those who had were eager to try it again. Only one of the present gathering had tasted human meat, and the memory of its sweetness still haunted his dull brain at night.

It was this particular troll who hauled himself from the river, carrying twenty extra pounds of moisture weight. He casually cuffed a cub who had come too close, and sniffed the air. There was a new scent here. A scent he could remember from his short time under the moon. The scent of man. The mere recognition of the smell brought saliva flowing from the glands in his throat. He set off at a pitched run toward the temple. Soon there was a rough group of flesh-hungry beasts hurtling toward the scaffolding.

“We’re back on the menu,” noted Holly when she reached the scaffolding.

Artemis unhooked his fingers from the LEP captain’s belt. He would have answered, but his lungs demanded oxygen. He whooped in gulps of air, resting his knuckles on his knees.

Holly took his elbow. “No time for that, Artemis. You have to climb.”

“After you,” Artemis managed to gasp. He knew his father would never allow a lady to remain in distress while he himself fled.

“No time for discussion,” said Holly, steering Artemis by the elbow. “Climb for the sun. I’ll buy us a few seconds with the tele-pod. Go.” Artemis looked into Holly’s eyes to say thank you. They were round and hazel and…familiar? Memories fought to be free of their bonds, pounding against cell walls.

“Holly?” he said.

Holly spun him around to the bars, and the moment was gone. “Up. You’re wasting time.” Artemis marshaled his exhausted limbs, trying to coordinate his movements. Step, grab, pull. It should be easy enough. He’d climbed ladders before. One ladder at least. Surely.

The scaffold bars were coated with gripped rubber, especially for climbers, and were spaced precisely sixteen inches apart, the comfortable reach distance of the average fairy. Also, coincidentally, the comfortable reach of a fourteen-year-old human. Artemis started to climb, feeling the strain in his arms before he had risen six steps. It was too early to be tired. There was too far to go.

“Come on, Captain,” he gasped over his shoulder. “Climb.”

“Not just yet,” said Holly. She had her back to the scaffold and was trying to find some pattern in the approaching bunches of trolls.

There had been an in-service course on troll attacks in Police Plaza. But that had been in the event of a one-on-one situation. To Holly’s eternal embarrassment, the lecturer had used video footage of her own tangle with a troll in Italy over two years ago. “This,” the lecturer had said, freezing Holly’s image in the big screen, and rapping it with a telescopic pointer, “is a classic example of how not to do it.” This was a completely different scenario. They had never received instruction on what to do when attacked by an entire pack of trolls in their own habitat. No one, the instructors reasoned, would be that stupid.

There were two converging groups coming straight toward her. One from the river, led by a veritable monster with anesthetic venom dripping from both tusks. Holly knew that if one drop of that venom got under her skin, she would fall into a happy stupor. And even if she escaped the troll’s claws, the slow poison would eventually paralyze her.

The second group approached from the western ridge, composed mainly of latecomers and cubs. There were a few females in the center of the temple itself, but they were taking advantage of the distraction to pick meat from abandoned carcasses.

Holly flicked the tele-pod’s setting to low. She would have to time this exactly right for maximum effect. This was the last chance she would get, because once she started to climb, then she could no longer aim.

The trolls sped up the temple steps, jostling for first place. The two groups were approaching at right angles, both headed directly toward Holly. The leaders launched themselves from a distance, determined to get the first bite of the intruder. Their lips peeled back to reveal rows of carnivorous teeth, and their eyes focused solely on the target. And that was when Holly acted. She flicked the brightness setting to high and scorched the retinas of the two beasts while they were still in the air. With piercing howls, they swatted the hated light and crashed to the ground in a melee of arms, claws, tusks, and teeth. Each troll assumed he was being attacked by a rival group, and in seconds the scaffold’s base was a chaos of primal violence.

Holly took full advantage of the confusion, skipping lithely up the first three rungs of the metal structure. She clipped the tele-pod onto her belt so that it pointed downward like a rear gun. Not much protection, but better than nothing.

In moments, she had caught up with Artemis. The human boy’s breath was ragged and his progress was slow. A slow stream of blood dripped from the wound on his ankle. Holly could easily have passed him, but instead she hooked an arm through the bars of the ladder and checked on the troll situation. Just as well. One relatively little guy was scaling the bars with the agility of a mountain gorilla. His immature tusks barely jutted beyond his lips, but those tusks were sharp and venom gathered in beads along the tips. Holly turned the tele-screen on him, and he released his grip to shield his scorched eyes. An elf would have been smart enough to hang on with one hand and use the other forearm to shield the eyes, but trolls are not much farther up the IQ scale than stinkworms, and act almost completely on instinct.

The little troll tumbled back to earth, landing on the shaggy, writhing carpet below. He was instantly dragged into the brawl. Holly returned to the climb, feeling the tele-pod knock against her back. Artemis’s progress was painfully slow, and in less than a minute, she was tight at his shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

Artemis nodded, tight lipped. But his eyes were wide, on the verge of panic. Holly had seen that look before, on the faces of battle-stressed LEP officers. She needed to get the Mud Boy to safety before he lost his reason.

“Come on now, Artemis. Just a few more steps. We’re going to make it.”

Artemis closed his eyes for five seconds, breathing deeply through his nose. When he opened them again, they shone with a new resolve.

“Very well, Captain. I’m ready.”

Artemis reached above him for the next bar, hauling himself sixteen inches closer to salvation. Holly followed, urging him on like a drill sergeant.

It took a further minute to reach the roof itself. By this time the trolls had remembered what they were chasing, and had begun to scale the scaffolding. Holly dragged Artemis onto the slanted roof and they scampered on all fours toward its highest point. The plaster was white and unmarked. In the low light it seemed as though they were walking across a field of snow.

Artemis paused. The sight had awoken a vague memory. “Snow,” he said uncertainly. “I remember something…” Holly caught his shoulder, dragging him forward. “Yes, Artemis. The Arctic, remember? We’ll discuss it at great length later, when there are no trolls trying to eat us.” Artemis snapped back to the present. “Very well. Good tactic.”

The temple roof sloped upward at a forty-degree angle, toward the crystal orb that was the fake sun. The pair crawled as quickly as Artemis’s exhausted limbs would allow. A ragged trail of blood marked their path across the white plaster. The scaffold shook and banged against the roof as the trolls climbed ever closer.

Holly straddled the roof’s apex and reached up to the crystal sun. The surface was smooth beneath her fingers.

“D’Arvit!” she swore. “I can’t find the power port. There should be an external socket.” Artemis crawled around the other side. He was not particularly afraid of heights, but even so, he tried not to look down. One did not have to suffer from vertigo to be worried by a fifty-foot drop and a pack of ravenous trolls. He stretched upward, probing the globe with the fingers of one hand. His index finger found a small indent.

“I’ve got something,” he announced.

Holly scooted around to his side, examining the hole.

“Good,” she said. “An external power port. Power cells have uniform connection points, so the cuffs’ cells should clip right on.” She fumbled the cuffs from her pocket and popped the cell covers. The cells themselves were about the size of credit cards, and glowed bright blue along their length.

Holly stood up on the razor-edge rooftop, balancing nimbly on her toes. The trolls were swarming over the lip of the roof now. Advancing like the hounds of hell.

The white roof plaster was blanketed by the black, brown, and ginger of troll fur. Their howls and stink preceded them as they closed in on Holly and Artemis.

Holly waited until they were all over the lip, then slid the power cells into the globe’s socket. The globe buzzed, vibrated to life, then flashed once. A blinding wall of light. For a moment the entire exhibit glowed brilliant white, then the globe faded again with a high-pitched whine.

The trolls rolled like balls on a tilted pool table. Some tumbled over the edge of the roof but most collected on the lip, where they lay whining and scratching their faces.

Artemis closed his eyes to accelerate the return of his night vision. “I had hoped the cell would power the sun for longer. It seems like a lot of effort for such a brief reprieve.” Holly pulled out the dead cells and tossed them aside. “I suppose a globe like this needs a lot of juice.” Artemis blinked, then sat comfortably on the roof, clasping his knees.

“Still. We have some time. It can take nocturnal creatures up to fifteen minutes to recover their orientation following exposure to bright light.” Holly sat beside him. “Fascinating. You’re very calm all of a sudden.”

“I have no choice,” said Artemis simply. “I have analyzed the situation and concluded that there is no way for us to escape. We are on top of a ridiculous model of the Temple of Artemis, surrounded by temporarily blinded trolls. As soon as they recover, they will lope up here and devour us. We have perhaps a quarter of an hour to live, and I have no intention of spending it in hysterics for Opal Koboi’s amusement.” Holly looked up, searching the hemisphere for cameras. At least a dozen telltale red lights winked from the darkness. Opal would be able to watch her revenge from every angle.

Artemis was right. Opal would be tickled pink if they fell to pieces for the cameras. She would probably replay the video to cheer herself up when being princess of the world got to be too stressful.

Holly drew back her arm and sent the spent power cells skidding across the roof. It seemed then that this was it. She felt more frustrated than scared. Julius’s final order had been to save Artemis, and she hadn’t managed to accomplish even that.

“I’m sorry you don’t remember Julius,” she said. “You two argued a lot, but he admired you behind it all. It was Butler he really liked, though. Those two were on the same wavelength. Two old soldiers.” Below them, the trolls were gathering themselves. Blinking away the stars in their eyes.

Artemis slapped some of the dust from his trousers. “I do remember, Holly. I remember it all. Especially you. It’s a real comfort to have you here.” Holly was surprised. Shocked, even. More by Artemis’s tone than what he had actually said, though that was surprising too. She had never heard Artemis sound so warm, so sincere. Usually, emotional displays were difficult for the boy, and he stumbled through them awkwardly. This wasn’t like him at all.

“That’s very nice, Artemis,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “But you don’t have to pretend for me.” Artemis was puzzled. “How did you know? I thought I portrayed the emotions perfectly.” Holly looked down at the massing trolls. They were advancing warily up the slope, heads down in case of a second flash.

“Nobody’s that perfect. That’s how I knew.”

The trolls were hurrying now, swinging their hairy forearms forward to increase momentum. As their confidence returned, so did their voices. Their howls to the roof bounced back off the metal structure. Artemis drew his knees closer to his chin. The end. All over. Inconceivable that he should die this way, when there was so much to be done.

The howling made it hard to concentrate. The smell didn’t help either.

Holly gripped his shoulder. “Close your eyes, Artemis. You won’t feel a thing.” But Artemis did not close his eyes. Instead he cast his gaze upward. Aboveground, where his parents were waiting to hear from him. Parents who never had the chance to be truly proud of him.

He opened his mouth to whisper a good-bye, but what he saw over his head choked the words in his throat.

“That proves it,” he said. “This must be a hallucination.”

Holly looked upward. A section of the hemisphere’s panel had been removed, and a rope was being lowered toward the temple roof. Swinging from the rope was what appeared to be a naked and extremely hairy rear end.

“I don’t believe it!” Holly exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “You took your sweet time getting here!” She seemed to be conversing with a posterior. And then, even more amazingly, the posterior appeared to answer.

“I love you too, Holly. Now, close anything that’s open, because I’m about to overload these trolls’ senses.” For a moment Holly’s face was blank, then realization widened her eyes and sucked the blood from her cheeks. She grabbed Artemis by the shoulders.

“Lie flat with your hands over your ears. Shut your eyes and mouth. And whatever you do, don’t breathe in.” Artemis lay on the roof. “Tell me there’s a creature on the other end of that posterior.” “There is,” confirmed Holly. “But it’s the posterior we have to worry about.”

The trolls were seconds away by this point. Close enough for Holly and Artemis to see the red in their eyes and the years of dirt caked in every clump of hair.

Overhead, Mulch Diggums (for of course it was he) released a gentle squib of wind from his backside. Just enough to propel him in a gentle circle on the end of his rope. The circular motion was necessary to ensure an even spread of the gas he intended to release. Once he had completed three revolutions, he bore down internally and let fly with every bubble of gas in his bloated stomach.

Because trolls are by nature tunnel creatures, they are guided as much by their sense of smell as their night vision. A blinded troll can often survive for years, navigating his way to food and water supplies by smell alone.

Mulch’s sudden gaseous recyclings sent a million conflicting scent messages to each troll’s brain. The smell was bad enough, and the wind was sufficient to blow back the trolls’ hair, but the combination of scents inside the dwarf gas, including clay, vegetation, insect life, and everything else Mulch had eaten over the past few days, was enough to short out the trolls’ entire nervous systems. They collapsed to their knees, clasping their poor aching heads in taloned hands. One was so close to Artemis and Holly that its shaggy forearm rested across the LEP captain’s back.

Holly wriggled out from under the limb. “Let’s go,” she said, pulling Artemis to his feet. “The gas won’t put the trolls out for any longer than the light.” Overhead, Mulch’s revolutions were slowing.

“I thank you,” he said with a theatrical bow, which is not easy on a rope. The dwarf scampered up the rope, gripping with fingers and toes, then lowered it to Artemis and Holly.

“Jump on,” he said. “Quickly.”

Artemis tested the rope skeptically. “Surely that strange creature is too small to haul both of us all the way up there.” Holly placed her foot in a loop at the rope’s end. “True, but he’s not alone.”

Artemis squinted at the hemisphere’s missing panel. Another figure had appeared in the gap. The figure’s features were in deep shadow, but the silhouette was unmistakable.

“Butler!” he said through his smile. “You’re here.”

And suddenly, in spite of everything, Artemis felt completely safe.

“Hurry up, Artemis,” called his bodyguard. “We don’t have a second to waste.”

Artemis stepped onto the rope beside Holly, and Butler quickly pulled them both out of danger.

“Well?” said Holly, her face inches from his own. “We survived. Does that mean we’re friends now? Bonded by trauma.” Artemis frowned. Friends? Did he have room in his life for a friend? Then again, did he have a choice in the matter?

“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve had little experience in this area, so I may have to read up on it.” Holly rolled her eyes. “Friendship is not a science, Mud Boy. Forget about your massive brain for one minute. Just do what you feel is right.” Artemis couldn’t believe what he was about to say. Perhaps the thrill of survival was affecting his judgment. “I feel that I shouldn’t be paid to help a friend. Keep your fairy gold. Opal Koboi has to be stopped.” Holly smiled with genuine warmth for the first time since the commander’s death, but there was a hint of steel in there too.

“With the four of us on her tail, she doesn’t stand a chance.”