“What’s this?” he inquired, none too pleasantly. “A circus?”
Cudgeon’s face was pale, but determined.
“No, Julius. It’s the end of the circus.”
Root nodded. “I see. And these are the clowns?”
Foaly’s head poked through the doorway.
“Pardon me for interrupting your extended circus metaphor, but what the hell is that?”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” said Root, nodding at the floating hovercage. “What the hell is that?”
Cudgeon bolstered his courage with a few deep breaths. “I’ve taken a leaf from your book, Julius.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes. It is. You opted to send in a lapsed creature. So now I’m going to.”
Root smiled dangerously. “You don’t opt to do anything, Lieutenant, not without my say-so.”
Cudgeon took an unconscious step backward.
“I’ve been to the Council, Julius. I have their full backing.”
The commander turned to Foaly. “Is this true?”
“Apparently. It just came through on the outside line. This is Cudgeon’s party now. He told the Council about the ransom demand and you springing Mister Diggums. You know what the elders are like when it comes to parting with gold.”
Root folded his arms. “People told me about you, Cudgeon. They said you’d stab me in the back. I didn’t believe them. I was a fool.”
“This is not about us, Julius. It’s about the mission. What’s inside this cage is our best chance of success.”
“So what’s in the cage? No, don’t tell me. The only other nonmagical creature in the Lower Elements. And the first troll we’ve managed to take alive in over a century.”
“Exactly. The perfect creature to flush out our adversary.”
Root’s cheeks glowed with the effort of restraining his anger.
“I don’t believe you’re even considering this.”
“Face it, Julius, it’s the same basic idea as yours.”
“No, it isn’t. Mulch Diggums made his own choices. He knew the risks.”
“Diggums is dead?”
Root rubbed his eyes again. “Yes. It would seem so. A cave-in.”
“That just proves I’m right. A troll won’t be so easily dispatched.”
“It’s a dumb animal, for heaven’s sake! How can a troll follow instructions?”
Cudgeon smiled, newborn confidence peeping through his apprehension.
“What instructions? We just point it at the house and get out of the way. I guarantee you those humans will be begging us to come in and rescue them.”
“And what about my officer?”
“We’ll have the troll back under lock and key long before Captain Short is in any danger.”
“You can guarantee that, can you?”
Cudgeon paused. “That’s a chance I’m willing . . . the Council is willing to take.”
“Politics,” spat Root. “This is all politics to you, Cudgeon. A nice feather in your cap on the way to a Council seat. You make me sick.”
“Be that as it may, we are proceeding with this strategy. The Council has appointed me Acting Commander, so if you can’t put our personal history aside, get the hell out of my way.”
Root stepped aside. “Don’t worry, Commander. I don’t want anything to do with this butchery. The credit is all yours.”
Cudgeon put on his best sincere face. “Julius, despite what you think, I have only the interests of the People at heart.”
“One person in particular,” snorted Root.
Cudgeon decided to go for the high moral ground.
“I don’t have to stand here listening to this. Every second talking to you is a second wasted.”
Root looked him straight in the eye. “That’s about six hundred years wasted altogether, eh, friend?”
Cudgeon didn’t answer. What could he say? Ambition had a price, and that price was friendship.
Cudgeon turned to his squad, a group of handpicked sprites, loyal only to him. “Get the hovercage over to the avenue. We don’t green-light until I give the word.”
He brushed past Root, eyes looking anywhere except at his erstwhile friend. Foaly wouldn’t let him go without a comment.
“Hey, Cudgeon.”
The Acting Commander couldn’t tolerate that tone, not on his first day.
“You watch your mouth, Foaly. No one is indispensable.”
The centaur chuckled. “Very true. That’s the thing about politics, you get one shot.”
Cudgeon was semi-interested in spite of himself.
“I know if it was me,” continued Foaly, “and I had one chance, just one chance, to book my behind a seat on that Council, I certainly wouldn’t entrust my future to a troll.”
And suddenly Cudgeon’s newfound confidence evaporated, replaced by a shiny pallor. He wiped his brow, hurrying after the departing hovercage.
“See you tomorrow,” Foaly called after him. “You’ll be taking out my trash.”
Root laughed. Possibly the first time one of Foaly’s comments had amused him.
“Good man, Foaly.” He grinned. “Hit that backstabber where it hurts, right in the ambition.”
“Thanks, Julius.”
The grin disappeared faster than a deep-fried pit slug in the LEP canteen.
“I’ve warned you about the Julius thing, Foaly. Now get that outside line open again. I want that gold ready when Cudgeon’s plan goes awry. Lobby all my supporters on the Council. I’m pretty sure Lope’s one of mine, and Cahartez, possibly Vinyáya. She’s always had a thing for me, devilishly attractive as I am.”
“You’re joking, of course.”
“I never joke,” said Root, and he said it with a straight face.
Holly had a plan, of sorts. Sneak around shielded, reclaim some fairy weaponry, then cause havoc until Fowl was forced to release her. And if several million Irish pounds’ worth of property damage happened to ensue, well, that was just a bonus.
Holly hadn’t felt so good in years. Her eyes blazed with power, and there were sparks sizzling below every centimeter of skin. She had forgotten just how good running hot felt.
Captain Short felt in control now, on the hunt. This was what she was trained to do. When this affair had started, the advantage had been with the Mud People. But now the boot was on the other foot. She was the hunter and they were the prey.
Holly scaled the great staircase, ever vigilant for the giant manservant. That was one individual she wasn’t taking any chances with. If those fingers closed around her skull, she was history, helmet or not, assuming she managed to find a helmet.
The vast house was like a mausoleum—without a single sign of life inside its vaulted rooms. Spooky portraits though. Each one with Fowl eyes, suspicious and glittering. Holly determined to torch the lot of them when she recovered her Neutrino 2000. Vindictive perhaps, but totally justified considering what Artemis Fowl had put her through.
She scaled the steps swiftly, following the curve around to the upper landing. A slot of pale light peeped from under the last door on the corridor. Holly placed her palm against the wood, feeling for vibration. Activity all right. Shouting and footsteps. Thundering this way.
Holly jumped back, flattening herself against the velveteen wallpaper. Not a moment too soon. A hulking shape burst through the doorway and hurtled down the corridor, leaving a maelstrom of air currents in his wake.
“Juliet!” he shouted, his sister’s name hanging in the air long after he had disappeared down the stairs.
Don’t worry, Butler, thought Holly. She’s having the time of her life glued to Wrestlemania. But the open door presented a welcome opportunity. She slipped through before the mechanical arm could close it again.
Artemis Fowl was waiting, anti-shield filters cobbled on to his sunglasses.
“Good evening, Captain Short,” he began, confidence apparently intact. “At the risk of sounding clichéd, I’ve been expecting you.”
Holly didn’t respond, didn’t even look her jailer in the eye. Instead she utilized her training to scan the room, her gaze resting briefly on each surface.
“You are, of course, still bound by the promises made earlier tonight. . . .”
But Holly wasn’t listening, she was sprinting toward a stainless-steel workbench bolted to the far wall.
“So, basically, our situation hasn’t changed. You are still my hostage.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” muttered Holly, running her fingers over the rows of confiscated Retrieval equipment. She selected a stealth-coated helmet, slipping it over her pointed ears. The pneumatic pads pumped to cradle her crown. She was safe now. Any further commands given by Fowl meant nothing through the reflective visor. A wire mike slotted down automatically. Contact was immediate.