Butler lifted the tiny pixie onto Mulch’s back.
“Just don’t look down,” advised the bodyguard. “You’ll be okay.”
“Easy for you to say,”grumbled Doodah.“You’re not the one riding the whirlwind. You never mentioned this in the restaurant, Diggums.”
Artemis pointed at the pixie’s backpack. “Do you really need that, Mr. Day? It’s not very streamlined.”
Doodah held on to the strap. “Tools of the trade, Mud Boy. They go where I go.”
“Very well,” said Artemis. “A word of advice. Get in and out as fast as you can.”
Doodah rolled his eyes. “Wow, that’s great advice. You should write a book.”
Mulch chortled. “Good one.”
“And avoid his family,” continued Artemis. “Especially the girl Minerva.”
“Family. Minerva. Got it. Now let’s go if we’re going, before I lose my nerve.”
The dwarf unhinged his jaw with wince-worthy cracks and dived headfirst into the mound of earth. It was something to see, scythe-like jaws chomping through the dirt, excavating a tunnel for the dwarf and his passenger.
Doodah’s eyes were tightly shut, and his expression was ne of absolute shock.
“Oh, gods,” he said. “Let me off. Let me . . .”
Then they were gone, lost under a blanket of vibrating earth. Holly elbowed her way atop the mound, following their progress through her visor.
“Diggums is fast,” she proclaimed. “I’m surprised we ever caught him.”
Artemis lay beside her. “I hope he’s fast enough. The last thing we need is for Minerva Paradizo to add a dwarf and a pixie to her fairy collection.”
Mulch felt good underground. This was a dwarf’s natural habitat. His fingers absorbed the rhythms of the earth, and they calmed him. His coarse beard hairs, which were actually a series of sensors, dug into the clay, worming into cracks, sending out pings and reporting back to Mulch’s brain. He could feel rabbits digging half a mile to his left. Maybe he could snag one on the way back, for a snack.
Doodah hung on for dear life. His face was a rictus of desperation. He would have screamed but that would have meant opening his mouth. And that was out of the question.
Just below Doodah’s toes, Mulch’s behind churned out a rapid-fire mixture of dirt and air, driving the pair deeper into the tunnel. Doodah could feel the heat from the reaction spreading up his legs. Every now and then the pixie’s boots dropped too close to the dwarf’s rear exhaust, and Doodah would have to jerk them up or lose a toe.
It only took Mulch a minute to reach the septic tank. He eased himself from the earth, blinking mud from his eyes with thick corkscrew dwarf lashes.
“Spot on,” he mumbled, spitting out a wriggling worm.
Doodah hauled himself over the dwarf’s head, clamping a hand over his own mouth to stop himself from screaming. After several deep breaths he calmed down sufficiently to hiss at Mulch.
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
Mulch rehinged his jaw, then released a final burst of tunnel gas, which popped him out of the earth.
“It’s what I do. Let’s say we’re even for the pod ride.”
Doodah disagreed. “Let’s say I still owe you one for swallowing me.”
The bickering would probably have continued, in spite of the urgency of their mission, had not a little boy in a electric toy car come trundling around the corner of the tank.
“Hello. I am Beau Paradizo,” said the driver. “Are you monsters?”
Doodah and Mulch froze momentarily, then remembered the plan.
“No, little boy,” said Mulch, glad he still had the tiny spark of magic necessary to speak French. He tried to smile endearingly, something he didn’t spend a lot of time practicing in the mirror.“We are the chocolate fairies. And we have a special gift for you.” He waved the chocolate bar, hoping the theatrical presentation would make the cheap candy seem more impressive than it was.
“Chocolate fairies?” said the boy, climbing from his car. “Sugar-free chocolate, I hope. Because I get hyper with sugar, and Daddy says that God knows I’m already hyper enough without it, but he still loves me.”
Mulch glanced at the label. Eighteen percent sugar.
“Yep. Sugar free. Would you like a square?”
Beau took the entire bar and demolished it in less than ten seconds.
“You fairies stink. Especially you, hairy. You stink worse than the blocked toilet in Aunty Morgana’s. Stinky fairy.”
Doodah laughed. “What can I tell you. The kid tells it like it is, Mulch.”
“Do you live in a blocked toilet, Mr. Fatty Chocolate Fairy?”
“Hey,” said Mulch brightly. “How about a nap? Would you like a nap, kid?”
Beau Paradizo punched Mulch in the stomach. “I had a nap, stupid. More chocolate! Now!”
“No punching! I don’t have more chocolate.”
Beau punched him again. “I said more chocolate! Or I’m going to call the guards. And Pierre will reach down your throat and pull out your guts. That’s what he does. He told me.”
Mulch sniggered. “I’d like to see him reach into my insides.”
“Really?” Beau asked brightly. “I’ll get him!” The little boy sprinted for the corner of the tank. He moved with surprising speed, and Mulch’s instincts took over for his brain. The dwarf leaped toward the boy, unhinging as he went.
“Pierre!” shouted Beau once, but not a second time, because Mulch had enclosed him in his mouth. All except the cowboy hat.
“Do not swallow!” hissed Doodah.
Mulch worked the boy around his cheeks for a few seconds, then spat him out. Beau was dripping wet and sound asleep. Mulch wiped the child’s face before the dwarf spittle could harden.
“Sedative in the saliva,” he explained, hooking up his jaw. “It’s a predator thing. You didn’t fall asleep yesterday, because I didn’t do your head. He’ll wake up completely refreshed. I’ll peel this stuff off when it hardens.”
Doodah shrugged. “Hey, do I care? I didn’t like him anyway.”
A voice drifted over the tank. “Beau? Where are you?”
“That must be Pierre. You better get moving, lead him away from here.”
Doodah poked his head above the embankment. A large man was headed their way. Not as large as Butler, true, but plenty big enough to squash the pixie under a single boot. The man wore a black security jumpsuit with a matching hat. A pistol grip poked from between the buttons. The man squinted toward the tank.
“Beau? Is that you?” he said in French.
“Oui. C’est moi,” replied Doodah, in a warbling falsetto.
Pierre was not convinced. The voice had sounded more like a talking piglet than a child. He kept coming, reaching inside his jumpsuit for the gun.
Doodah bolted for the electric car. On the way he picked up Beau’s cowboy hat and jammed it onto his head. Pierre was barely a dozen steps away now, and quickening his pace.
“Beau? Come here now. Minerva wants you in the house.”
Doodah slid over the hood into the car, hillbilly style. He could tell from a single glance that this toy wouldn’t do much mo
re than walking speed, which would be zero use to him in an emergency. He pulled a flat black panel from his bag and suckered it onto the little car’s plastic dash. This was a Mongocharger, something no self-respecting smuggler would leave home without. The Mongocharger was equipped with a strong computer, omnisensor, and a clean nuclear battery pack. The omnisensor hacked into the toy car’s tiny chip and took over its workings. Doodah pulled a retractable spike cable from the Mongocharger’s base and plunged the tip into the car’s own power cable eneath the dash. Now the toy car was nuclear powered.
Doodah revved the accelerator.
“That’s more like it,” he said, satisfied.
Pierre came around the right side of the tank. This was good because Mulch and the dozing Beau were on his blind side. It was bad because Pierre was directly behind Doodah.
“Beau?” said Pierre. “Is something wrong?” His gun was out, pointed at the ground.
Doodah’s foot hovered over the accelerator but he couldn’t punch it now. Not with this goon staring down his neck.
“Nothing’s wrong . . . eh . . . Pierre,” he trilled, keeping his face hidden under the cowboy hat’s brim.
“You sound strange, Beau. Are you ill?”
Doodah tipped the accelerator, inching forward.
“No. I’m fine. Just doing funny voices, the way human kids do.”
Pierre was still suspicious. “Human kids?”
Doodah took a chance. “Yes. Human kids. I’m an alien today, pretending to be a human, so go away or I will reach down your throat and pull out your guts.”
Pierre stopped in his tracks, thought for a moment, then remembered. “Beau, you scoundrel. Don’t let Minerva hear you talking like that. No more chocolate if you do.”
“Pull out your guts!” repeated Doodah for good measure, accelerating gently across a gravel bed onto the driveway.
The pixie pulled a stick-on convex mirror from his pack and stuck it to the windshield. He was relieved to see that Pierre had holstered his weapon and was headed back to his post.
Even though it went against all his smuggler’s instincts, Doodah kept his speed down on the driveway. His teeth knocked together as he drove over the uneven granite flagstones. A digital readout informed him that he was utilizing one hundredth of one percent of the engine’s new power. Doodah remembered just in time to mute the Mongocharger. The last thing he needed was the computer’s electronic voice complaining about his driving skills.