Butler placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Shh,’ he whispered.
‘Artemis is thinking.’
Artemis stared deep into the glow cube’s liquid-plasma heart. ‘We have two options,’ he began, after a moment. Nobody interrupted, not even Holly.
After all, it had been Artemis Fowl who had devised a way to escape the time field.
‘We could get some human aid. No doubt some of Butler’s more dubious acquaintances could be persuaded to help, for a fee, of course.’
Root shook his head. ‘No good.’
‘They could be mind-wiped afterwards.’
‘Sometimes wipes don’t take. The last thing we need is mercenaries with residual memories. Option Two?’
‘We break into Koboi Laboratories and return weapons control to the LEP.’
The commander guffawed. ‘Break into Koboi Laboratories? Are you serious? That entire compound is built on bedrock. There are no windows, totally blast-resistant walls and DNA stun cannons. Any unauthorized personnel that come within a hundred metres get blasted right between the pointy ears.’
Butler whistled. ‘Seems like a whole lot of hardware for an engineering company.’
‘I know,’ sighed Root. ‘Koboi Labs had special permits. I signed them myself.’
Butler considered it for several moments. ‘Can’t be done,’ he pronounced eventually. ‘Not without the blueprints.’
‘D’Arvit,’ swore the commander. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but there’s only one fairy for a job like this. .’
Holly nodded. ‘Mulch Diggums.’
‘Diggums?’
‘A dwarf. Career criminal. The only fairy ever to break into Koboi Laboratories and live. Unfortunately, we lost him last year. Tunnelling out of your manor as it happens.’
‘I remember him,’ said Butler. ‘Nearly took my head off. A slippery character.’
Root laughed softly. ‘Eight times I nabbed old Mulch. The last one was for the Koboi Labs job. As I recall, Mulch and his cousin set up as building contractors. A way to get plans for secure facilities. They got the Koboi contract. Mulch left himself a back door. Typical Diggums, he breaks into the most secure facility under the planet, then tries to sell an alchemy vat to one of my squeals.’
Artemis sat up. ‘Alchemy? You have alchemy vats?’
‘Stop drooling, Mud Boy. They’re experimental. The ancient warlocks used to be able to turn lead into gold, according to the Book, but the secret was lost. Even Opal Koboi hasn’t managed it yet.’
‘Oh,’ said Artemis, disappointed.
‘Believe it or not, I almost miss that criminal. He had a way of insulting a person. .' Root glanced towards the heavens. ‘I wonder if he’s up there now, looking down on us.’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Holly guiltily. ‘Actually, Commander, Mulch Diggums is in Los Angeles.’
CHAPTER 11: MULCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
Mulch Diggums was, in fact, outside the apartment of an Oscar-winning actress.
Of course, she didn’t know he was there.
And, naturally, he was up to no good. Once a thief, always a thief.
Not that Mulch needed the money. He’d done very well out of the
Artemis Fowl Affair. Well enough to take out a lease on a penthouse apartment in Beverly Hills. He’d stocked the apartment with a Pioneer entertainment system, a full DVD library and enough beef jerky to last a lifetime. Time for a decade of rest and relaxation.
But life is not like that. It refuses to curl up and sit quietly in a corner.
The habits of several centuries would not go away. Halfway through the
James Bond Collection, Mulch realized that he missed the bad old days. Soon the penthouse suite’s reclusive occupant was taking midnight strolls. These strolls generally ended up inside other people’s homes.
Initially Mulch just visited, savouring the thrill of defeating sophisticated
Mud Man security systems. Then he began to take trophies. Small things — a crystal goblet, an ashtray, or a cat if he was peckish. But soon Mulch Diggums began to crave the old notoriety and his pilferings grew larger. Gold bars, goose egg diamonds, or pit bull terriers if he was really famished.
The Oscar thing began quite by accident. He nabbed one as a curiosity on a midweek break to New York. Best original screenplay. The following morning he was front page news coast to coast. You’d think he’d ripped off a medical convoy instead of a gilded statuette. Mulch, of course, was delighted.
He’d found his new nocturnal pastime.
In the next fortnight, Mulch filched best soundtrack and best special effects Academy Awards. The tabloids went crazy. They even gave him a nickname: the Grouch, after another well-known Oscar. When Mulch read that one, his toes wriggled for joy. And dwarf toes wriggling are quite a sight. They are as nimble as fingers, double- jointed and the less said about the smell the better. Mulch’s mission became clear. He had to assemble an entire set.
Over the next six months, the Grouch struck all across the United
States. He even made a trip to Italy to collect a best foreign-language film award. He had a special cabinet made, with tinted glass that could be blacked out at the touch of a button. Mulch Diggums felt alive again.
Of course, every Oscar winner on the planet trebled their security, which was just the way Mulch liked it. There was no challenge in breaking into a shack on the beach. High rise and high-tech. That’s what the public wanted.
So that’s what the Grouch gave them. The papers ate it up. He was a hero.
During the daylight hours, when he couldn’t venture outside, Mulch busied himself writing the screenplay of his own exploits.
Tonight was a big night. The last statuette. He was going for a best actress award. And not just any old best actress. Tonight’s target was the tempestuous Jamaican beauty, Maggie V. This year’s winner for her portrayal of Precious, a tempestuous Jamaican beauty. Maggie V had stated publicly that if the Grouch tried anything in her apartment, he would get a lot more than he had bargained for. How could Mulch resist a challenge like that?
The building itself was easy to locate, a ten-storey block of glass and steel just off Sunset Boulevard, a midnight stroll south of Mulch’s own home.
So one cloudy night, the intrepid dwarf packed his tools, preparing to burglarize his way into the history books.
Maggie V was on the top floor. There was no question of going up the stairs, lift or shaft. It would have to be an outside job.
In preparation for the climb, Mulch had not had anything to drink in two days. Dwarf pores are not just for sweating, they can take in moisture too.
Very handy when you are trapped in a cave-in for days on end. Even if you can’t get your mouth to a drink, every centimetre of skin can leech water from the surrounding earth. When a dwarf was thirsty, as Mulch was now, his pores opened to the size of pinholes and began to suck like crazy. This could be extremely useful if, say, you had to climb up the side of a tall building.
Mulch took off his shoes and gloves, donned a stolen LEP helmet and began to climb.
Holly could feel the commander’s glare crisping the hairs on the back of her neck. She tried to ignore it, concentrating on not dashing the Atlantean ambassador’s shuttle against the walls of the Arctic chute.
‘So, all this time, you knew Mulch Diggums was alive?’
Holly nudged the starboard thruster to avoid a missile of half-melted rock. ‘Not for sure. Foaly just had this
