“In case of emergency,” he explained, “I could swallow a buried lug of metal, or a strip of old tire. Now, those I would have to evacuate on the spot, annoying Mud Boy to the rear or not. No sense in ruining my trousers too, is there, dopey?”
“I suppose not,” said Artemis, thinking that with such a wide-bore loaded weapon pointed at him, he could bear being called dopey.
“Anyway,” continued the dwarf, hawking another wad at the wall, “you should consider yourself privileged. Not many humans have seen a dwarf working with spit. This is what you might call an ancient art. First you—”
“I know, I know,” interrupted Artemis impatiently. “First you excavate, then you strengthen the walls with your spittle, which hardens on contact with the air, providing it’s out of your mouth, obviously. And it’s luminous too, amazing material.”
Mulch’s behind wobbled in surprise. “How do you know these secrets?”
“You told me, or rather, you will tell me. Time travel, remember?”
The dwarf peered over his shoulders, eyes red in the glow of his spittle. “Just how close do we become?”
“Very close. We get an apartment together, and after a whirlwind courtship you marry my sister and honeymoon in Vegas.”
“I love Vegas,” said Mulch wistfully. Then, “Such snide wit. I can see how we might be friends. All the same, keep your comments to yourself, or we might have to see how funny you are covered in tunnel waste.”
Artemis swallowed hard, then moved the flashlight away from Mulch’s behind.
The plan was a simple one. They would tunnel underneath the compound and wait below the lemur’s cage for Holly to contact them on the short-range LEP adhesive communicator stuck to Artemis’s cheek, part of Mulch’s stash. From that point forward, the plan became fluid. Either they would pop up and grab the lemur while Holly caused consternation among the animals, or if young Artemis had already secured the lemur, Mulch would dig a hole under Butler and make it easier for Holly to relieve the boy of his prize.
All very straightforward, thought Artemis. Which is unusual for me.
“Okay, Mud Boy,” said Mulch, scooping a bulb-shaped hollow with his flat fingers. “We are here. X marks the monkey.”
“Lemur,” corrected Artemis automatically. “Are you certain you can distinguish this particular animal’s scent from all the others?”
Mulch held a hand to his heart in mock affront. “I? Certain? I am a dwarf, human. A dwarf nose can tell the difference between grass and clover. Between black hair and brown. Between dog poo and wolf poo.”
Artemis groaned. “I shall take that as a yes.”
“And so you should. Keep this up and I may choose not to marry your sister.”
“If I had a sister, I’m sure she would be inconsolable.”
They crouched in the hollow for several minutes, the park’s nighttime growls and snores drifting down through the clay. By some curious anomaly, once the sounds penetrated the tunnel’s coating of dwarf spittle, they were trapped inside and bounced off the walls in conflicting waves. Artemis felt as though he were literally in the lion’s den.
As if this wasn’t disturbing enough, he noticed that Mulch’s cheeks were glowing bright pink. All of them.
“Problems?” he asked, unable to mask a nervous tremor.
“I’ve been holding in this gas for a long time,” replied the dwarf through clenched teeth. “It’s coming out soon. You got any sinus problems?”
Artemis shook his head.
“Pity,” said Mulch. “This would have cleared them right up.”
If it hadn’t been for Artemis’s determination to save his mother, he would have bolted right then.
Luckily for Artemis’s nasal passages, Holly beeped him on the ad-com. The communicator was a basic vibration model that sent signals directly to Artemis’s ear without any external noise. Artemis heard Holly’s words but not her voice. The ad-com was only sophisticated enough to produce robotic tones.
“In position. Over.”
Artemis placed a finger on the communicator, completing the circuit that allowed him to speak.
“Received. We are directly below the target’s cage. Can you see the opposition?”
“Negative. No visual. But I do see the lemur. He seems to be asleep on a low branch. I can easily reach him.”
“Negative, Holly. Hold your position. We will secure the target. You watch for my younger self.”
“Understood. Don’t hang around, Arty. Get up, get down, and back to the car.”
Arty?
Artemis was surprised that Holly would call him that. It was his mother’s pet name for him.
“Got it. Up, down, and back.”
Arty?
Mulch tapped him urgently on the shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready, Mud Boy. Now would be great.”
“Very well. Proceed. Try to be quiet.”
Mulch changed position and pointed the crown of his head at the tunnel roof, squatting low on his haunches.
“Too late for quiet,” he grunted. “Pull your jacket over your face.”
Artemis barely had time to do what he’d been asked, when Mulch released a thundering cylinder of gas and earth, spraying the boy with undigested clods. The shell of dwarf spittle cracked in a thousand places, and Mulch was borne aloft by a churning pillar of force, easily punching through to the surface.
Once the dust had settled somewhat, Artemis scrambled after him into the cage. Mulch had pinballed off a low cage ceiling and was unconscious, blood matting his already tangled hair, his bum-flap fluttering like a wind sock while the remainder of the tunnel waste escaped.
Low cage ceiling?
The lemur in the next cage seemed highly amused by all the commotion, and hopped up and down on a truncated branch wedged between the bars.
The next cage, realized Artemis. We are not in the lemur’s cage. What cage are we in?
Before he had time to investigate, his cheek beeped, and an emotionless robotic voice droned into his ear.
“Get Mulch out of there, Arty. Get back down now.”
What is it? wondered Artemis. What’s in this cage?
Then a four-hundred-pound Ugandan mountain gorilla crashed into him, leaving the thought behind like a speech bubble.
Young Artemis and Butler were watching all of this through the slot windows of a camouflaged hide that sat in front of the cages. The hide had been built inside a rockery and water feature and allowed close study of the various animals without disturbing the natural rhythms of their day. The director had been kind enough to let Artemis sit in the observer’s chair earlier that day.
“Someday we’ll be able to run the hide’s thermal imaging camera and all this equipment from that chair,” he had said.
“Perhaps sooner than that,” Artemis had replied.
“Oh dear,” said Butler, the phrase sounding over-delicate in his gravelly voice. “That must really have hurt.”
He reached into his pocket for the dart gun. “I’d better lend a hand, or at least a dart.”
Butler had been busy with his darts. Two night workers lay unconscious on cots at the rear of the hide.
Through the slot window they had a clear view of the male intruder being shaken like a rag doll by an enormous gorilla. The cage’s third occupant had collapsed and appeared to be racked by an energetic bout of flatulence.
Incredible, thought Artemis. This day is full of surprises.
He tapped a few keys on the computer keyboard before him, redirecting the compound’s thermal imaging camera.
“I don’t think a dart will be necessary,” he said. “Help is already on the way.”
Sure enough, a red-hearted glow bounced across the cobbled walkway, hovering before the gorilla cage.
“Now, this should be interesting,” mused ten-year-old Artemis.
Holly was forced into action. She had been discreetly tucked away behind the broad trunk of an imported baobab tree, shield off, conserving magic, keeping an eye
out for young Artemis, when Mulch blew a hole in the earth into the wrong cage. He exploded from the ground in a minicyclone of debris and bounced off a few surfaces like a cartoon pinball, before collapsing onto the cage floor.
The cage’s resident, a black-and-gray bull gorilla, shot straight up, woken from deep sleep. His eyes were wide but blurred, his teeth yellow and bared.
Stay down, Artemis, she thought. Stay in the hole.
No such luck. Artemis clambered to the surface, carefully navigating the simple climb. The time stream had not granted him any agility. As Artemis often said, the physical was not his area.
Holly thumbed her ad-com. “Get Mulch out of there, Arty,” she shouted. “Get back down now.”
It was too late. The gorilla had decided these newcomers were a threat to be dealt with. It rolled from its nest of leaves and bark, landing on eight knuckles, the impact sending a jarring wave along its arm hair.
Holly buzzed up her shield as she ran, silver strands floating behind her as the wig fell apart, marking her trail.