Jaw unhinged, Mulch tunneled straight down for twenty feet and then veered north to the cover of some abandoned warehouses. His beard hair sent out sonar signals in all directions. You couldn’t be too careful in built-up areas. There was always some wildlife, and Mud Men had a habit of burying things where you wouldn’t expect them. Pipes, septic tanks, and barrels of industrial waste were all things he had taking an unwitting bite of in his day. And there is nothing worse than finding something in your mouth that you weren’t expecting to be there, especially if it’s wriggling.
It felt good to be tunneling again. This was what dwarfs were born to do. The earth felt right between his fingers, and he soon settled into his distance rhythm. Scooping muck between his grinding teeth, breathing through slitted nostrils, and pumping waste material out the other end.
Mulch’s hair antennae informed him that there were no vibrations on the surface, so he kicked upward using the last vestiges of his dwarf gas to propel himself from his hole.
Holly caught him four feet above the ground. “Charming,” she said.
“What can I tell you?” said Mulch unapologetically. “I’m a force of nature. You were up there all that time?”
“Yes, just in case things got out of hand. You put on quite a show.”
Mulch slapped the clay from his clothes. “A couple of Neutrino blasts could have saved me a lot of digging.”
Holly smiled in spooky imitation of Artemis. “That’s not in the plan. And we must stick to the plan, now mustn’t we?”
She draped a sheet of cam-foil around the dwarf’s shoulders, and hooked him onto her Moonbelt.
“Take it easy now, won’t you?” said Mulch anxiously. “Dwarfs are creatures of the soil. We don’t like flying. We don’t even like jumping too high.”
Holly opened the throttle on her wings, heading downtown.
“I’ll be just as considerate of your feelings as you are of the LEP’s.”
Mulch paled. Funny how this diminutive elf was much scarier than two six-foot hit men.
“Holly, if I ever did anything to offend you, I unreservedly—” He never finished that particular sentence, because their sudden acceleration forced the words back down his throat.
The Spiro Needle
Arno Blunt walked Artemis to his cell. It was comfortable enough, with its own bathroom and entertainment system. There were a couple of things missing: windows and a handle on the door.
Blunt patted Artemis on the head. “I don’t know what happened in that London restaurant, but you try anything like that here, and I will turn you inside out and eat your organs.” He gnashed his pointy teeth to make the point and leaned close, whispering into Artemis’s ear. Artemis could hear the teeth click with every syllable.
“I don’t care what the boss says, you’re not going to be useful forever, so if I were you, I’d be very nice to me.”
“If you were me,” responded Artemis, “then I’d be you. And if I were you, then I’d hide somewhere far away.”
“Oh, really. And why would you do that?”
Artemis looked him in the eyes, so Blunt could see the truth there.
“Because Butler is coming for you. And he’s extremely annoyed.”
Blunt backed off a few steps. “No way, kid. I saw him go down. I saw the blood.”
Artemis grinned. “I didn’t say he was alive, I just said he was coming.”
“You’re just messing with my mind. Mr. Spiro warned me about this.”
Blunt edged out the door, never taking his eyes off Artemis.
“Don’t worry, Blunt. I don’t have him here in my pocket. You have hours, maybe days before the time comes.”
Arno Blunt slammed the door so hard that the frame shook. Artemis’s grin widened. Every cloud has a silver lining.
Artemis stepped into the shower, allowing the jet of hot water to pound him on the forehead. In truth, he felt a little anxious. It was one thing to formulate a plan in the safety of one’s own home. It was quite another to execute that plan while trapped in the lion’s den. And even though he would never admit it, his confidence had taken quite a pounding in the last few days. Spiro had outwitted him back in London, and without apparent effort. He had strolled into the entrepreneur’s trap as naively as a tourist down a back alley.
Artemis was well aware of his talents. He was a plotter, a schemer, a planner of dastardly deeds. There was no thrill greater than the execution of a perfect plan. But lately his victories had been tainted by guilt, especially over what had happened to Butler. His old friend had been so close to death that it made Artemis queasy just to think about it.
Things had to change. His father would be watching soon, hoping that Artemis would make the right choices. And if he didn’t, Artemis Senior would quite possibly take his choices away from him. He remembered his father’s words. And what about you, Arty? Will you make the journey with me? When the moment comes, will you take your chance to be a hero?
Artemis still did not have the answer to that question.