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 handcuffs. Some form of ultralight-plastic polymer. There was a digit pad in the centre, 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,’ Artemis said, irritating even when his life was in danger. ‘Statistically, however, thirty-eight per cent 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 so 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 ceased. The trolls had stopped 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 towards Holly and
Artemis’s hiding place.
Artemis shook his manacles. ‘Try it quickly.’
Holly did. The light winked green and the cuffs popped open.
‘Good. Excellent. Now let me do yours.’
Artemis’s fingers paused over the keyboard. ‘I can’t read the fairy language or numerals.’
‘You can, in fact you are the only human who can,’ said Holly. ‘You just don’t remember. The pad is standard layout. One to nine, left to right, and zero at the bottom.’
‘Nine zero nine,’ muttered Artemis, pressing the appropriate keys. Holly’s cuffs popped on the first try — which was fortunate, because there was no time for a second.
The trolls were coming, loping from the Temple’s steps with frightening speed and co-ordination. They used the weight of their shaggy arms to swing forward while simultaneously straightening muscular legs. This launch method could take them up to six metres in a single bound. The animals landed on their knuckles, swinging their legs underneath them 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. Dreadlocks swung with every step, and eyes glowed red in the half-light. They held their heads back so that their highest point was their nose. Noses which 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 as weapons, if they lived that long.
‘OK, 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 lovers of water. He ran towards 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 different tone, more reckless, mindless and brutal, as if whatever control the trolls had 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, using 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 centre of the river. Her auburn hair stood up in slick spikes.
‘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 ground repeatedly, drumming their fists in complex rhythms.
‘Mating ritual,’ explained Holly. ‘I think they like us.’
The current was strong out in the centre of the river and it 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 jour 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 face and cast his eyes around, beyond the melee on the waterline. The Temple was huge, throwing an elongated, multi-pronged 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 and grasped 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?’
