Mulch tended to grind his teeth when he thought. It sounded like nails being scraped down a chalkboard.
“Ah . . . yes. A stroke of luck there. I took advantage of it, but unfortunately I was interrupted by the boy. I had just gained his confidence when you burst in.”
“Don’t bother,” said Loafers. “Your microphone is on. I heard the whole thing, Mo. Or should I say Mulch, the Fairy Dwarf.”
Mulch swallowed the half-chewed mass of food. Once again his big mouth had gotten him into trouble. Maybe it could get him out of trouble too. It was just possible that he could unhinge his jaw and swallow the little hit man. He’d eaten bigger. A quick burst of dwarf gas should be enough to propel him across the room. He’d just have to hope that the gun didn’t go off before he could pass it.
Loafers caught the look in Mulch’s eye.
“That’s right, little man,” he said, cocking his pistol. “You go for it. See how far you get.”
Artemis was thinking too. He knew that he was safe for the moment. The newcomer would not harm him against orders. But Mulch’s time was running out and there was no one to save him. Butler was too weak to intervene even if he had been there. Holly was away completing the Ritual. And Artemis himself was not the best in physical situations. He would have to negotiate.
“I know what you’re here for,” he began. “The Cube’s secrets. I’ll tell you, but not if you harm my friend.”
Loafers waved the gun barrel. “You’ll do whatever I ask, when I ask. Possibly you’ll cry like a girl, too. Sometimes that happens.”
“Very well. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just don’t shoot anyone.”
Loafers swallowed a grin. “Sure. That’s fine. You just come with me nice and quiet, and I won’t hurt a soul. You have my word.”
Butler entered the kitchen. His face was slick with perspiration, and his breath came in short gasps.
“I checked the monitor,” he said. “The car is empty, the other man must be—”
“Here,” said Loafers. “Old news to everyone except you, Grandpa. Now, no sudden moves and you might not have a heart attack.”
Artemis saw Butler’s eyes flitting around the room. He was searching for an angle. Some way to save them. Maybe yesterday’s Butler could have done it, but today’s Butler was fifteen years older and not yet fully recovered from magical surgery. The situation was desperate.
“You could tie the others up,” ventured Artemis. “Then we could leave together.”
Loafers smacked his own head. “What a great idea! Then maybe I could agree to some other delaying tactic, on account of me being a complete amateur.”
Loafers felt a shadow fall across his back. He spun around to see a girl standing in the doorway. Another witness. Carla Frazetti would be getting the bill for all these sundries. This whole job had been misrepresented from the start.
“Okay, miss,” said Loafers. “Go join the others. And don’t do anything stupid.”
The girl at the door flicked her hair over one shoulder, blinking glittering green eyelids.
“I don’t do stupid things,” she said. Then her hand flicked out, brushing against Loafer’s weapon. She grabbed the pistol’s slide and deftly twisted it from the stock. The gun was now completely useless, except for hammering nails.
Loafers jerked backward. “Hey, hey. Watch it. I don’t want to wound you by accident. This gun could go off.”
That’s what he thought.
Loafers continued brandishing his piece of harmless metal.
“Back off, little girl, I won’t say it again.”
Juliet dangled the slide under his nose. “Or what? You’ll shoot me with this?”
Loafers stared cross-eyed at the piece of metal.
“Hey, that looks just like—”
Then Juliet hit him in the chest so hard he crashed through the breakfast bar.
Mulch stared over at the unconscious mobster, then at the girl in the doorway.
“Hey, Butler. Just a shot in the dark here, but I’d say that’s your sister.”
“You’re right,” said the manservant, hugging Juliet tightly. “How on earth did you guess?”
CHAPTER 7
THE BESTLAID PLANS
Fowl Manor
It was time for consultation. That night, the group sat in the manor’s conference room facing two monitors that Juliet had brought down from the security booth. Foaly had hijacked the monitors’ frequency and was broadcasting live images of Commander Root and himself.
Much to his own annoyance, Mulch was still present. He had been attempting to weasel some kind of reward from Artemis when Holly returned and cuffed him to a chair.
Root’s cigar smoke was hazing the screen. “Looks like the gang’s all here,” he said, using the fairy gift of tongues to speak English. “And guess what? I don’t like gangs.”
Holly had placed her headset in the center of the conference table, so all the room’s occupants could be picked up.