Artemis Fowl: Chapters 5–6

Even the stench from the manacled troll seemed mild in comparison.

Holly’s voice came through the speaker then, typically brazen in the face of danger.

He commandeered the E1 shuttle for his team, bumping a tour group that had apparently been on line for two years.

The circuitry was minute. And not a sign of a solder bead. They must use another form of binder.

This was no time for frivolity.

“Yep, you’re a pathetic-looking bunch, all right,” went on Butler blithely.

He would have preferred to take these gentlemen out from five hundred feet with a dart rifle. Failing that, if contact was absolutely necessary, a series of thumb jabs to the nerve cluster at the base of the neck would be his chosen modus operandi—quiet as a whisper.

But the most ostentatious was saved for the last pair. The manservant rolled onto his back, caught them by the collars of their donkey jackets, and flipped them into Dublin harbor.

A beleaguered sprite was sheltering behind her ticket desk, besieged by angry gremlins.

“The Mud People have committed an overtly hostile act. Who knows where this is going?”

Time to attempt a word. Something short and pertinent.

For now she had to figure a way to separate this vacuous girl from her mirrored sunglasses.

At the right altitude, he could almost superimpose the luminous map on his visor over the actual Dublin streets below him.

Root was on his own. Truth be told, that was the way he liked it. No science. No uppity centaur whinnying in his ear.

Root alighted gently on the deck, his boots adhering slightly to the mixture of dried soap and blubber coating the steel surface.

The Mud People had greased the hinges with whale blubber. Was there no end to their depravity?

The corridor was steeped in viscous darkness, so Root flicked down his infrared filter.

“My point, little fairy man, is that I am not someone to be trifled with. Now, if you would please observe the package.”

That little explosion should cure those fairies of their cavalier attitude.

What would he say if it was his father miraculously returned? What would he do? It was ridiculous dithering about it.

They would sit on the chaise longue for hours, tittering like schoolchildren, feeding the pigeons or watching the ships sailing past on Dublin sound.

His mother was seated on the chaise longue, resplendent in her own wedding dress, face clumsily coated with makeup.

Holly glanced surreptitiously around the cell.

What she wanted to do was incapacitate this insolent pup with her elbow and use his miserable hide for leverage.

Annoyance flashed across Artemis’s features, only to be replaced by his customary sardonic grin.

Better to let the hostage believe that she had betrayed her own people. It would lower her morale, making her more susceptible to his mind games.

“The best thing you can do right now is stay out of my way, or else I may be forced to ram that blue rinse straight into that morass you call a brain.”

Cudgeon was unperturbed. “Insulting me doesn’t change the facts, Julius. You know what the Book says...."

As usual, he took the point position himself, determined to be the first into the fray if, as he fervently hoped, a fray developed.

Butler could have taken them from the parapet.

It was standard procedure with any police force in the world to send in the cannon fodder first before opening negotiations.

He peeked out through the letter box and, oh happy coincidence, there was a pair of goggled eyes peeking right back at him. It was just too fortuitous to pass up.

He couldn’t help it, and it was worth it for that one moment of consternation.

Grub swallowed, his pallor increasing behind the visor.

Root chuckled. Twice. That was a major lapse for him.

‘One ton of twenty-four-carat gold. Small unmarked ingots only.'

“Don’t you see? Your position is untenable. Either you give us back Captain Short or we will be forced to kill you all. There is no middle ground. We don’t negotiate. Not really. I’m just here to explain the facts to you.”

“Listen to him. How can I be expected to work with this charlatan?”
“Witch doctor,” countered Argon.

“Now, you two experts are on handsome retainers for your profiling work. Correct?”

Artemis’s visage grew to fill the plasma screen.