Commander Trouble Kelp himself led the Retrieval team to dig Opal Koboi out of the rubble. They inflated a distortion bubble over the work zone, so they could fire up the shuttle’s lasers without fear of discovery.
“Hurry up, Furty,” Trouble called over an open channel. “We have one hour until sunrise. Let’s get that megalomaniacal pixie out of there and back into her own time.”
They were lucky to have a dwarf on the team. Normally dwarfs were extremely reluctant to work with the authorities, but this one had agreed so long as he didn’t have to work any of the hundred-and-ninety-odd dwarf holy days, and if the LEP paid his exorbitant consultant fees.
In a situation like this one, dwarfs were invaluable. They could work rubble like no other species. If you needed to dig something out alive, then dwarfs were the ones to do it. All they needed to do was let their beard hairs play over a surface, and they could tell you more about what was going on under that surface than any amount of seismic or geological equipment.
Currently, Trouble was monitoring Furty Pullchain’s progress through the kraken debris on the feed from his helmet cam. The dwarf’s limbs were a shade paler than usual in the night-vision filter. One hand directed a nozzle of support foam that coated the tunnel wall at stress points, and the other reached in under his beard to rehinge his jaw.
“Okay, Commander,” he said, managing to make the rank sound like a insult. “I made it to the spot. It’s a miracle I’m alive. This thing is as steady as a house of cards in a hurricane.”
“Yeah, whatever, Furty. You’re a marvel. Now, pull her out and let’s get belowground. I have a captain I need to discipline.”
“Keep yer acorns on, Commander. I’m readin’ the beacon loud and clear.”
Trouble fumed silently. Maybe Holly Short was not the only one who would have to be disciplined.
He followed the live feed, watching Furty scoop aside the rock, weed, and shell fragments covering Holly’s suit.
Except there was no suit. Just a helmet with its flashing tracer beacon.
“I come all this way for a helmet?” said Furty, aggrieved. “Ain’t no pixie here, just the smell of one.”
Trouble sat up straight. “Are you sure? Could you be in the wrong spot?”
Furty snorted. “Yep. I’m at the other buried LEP helmet. ’Course I’m sure.”
She was gone. Opal had disappeared.
“Impossible. How could she escape?”
“Beats me,” said Furty. “Maybe she squeezed through a natural tunnel. Them pixies are slippery little creatures. I remember one time when I was a sprog. Me and Kherb, my cousin, broke into a—”
Trouble cut him off. This was serious. Opal Koboi was loose in the world. He put a video call in to Foaly at Police Plaza.
“Don’t tell me,” said the centaur, running a hand down his long face.
“She’s gone. She left the helmet so the beacon would draw us in. Any vitals from her suit?”
Foaly checked his monitor. “Nothing. It was loud and clear until five minutes ago. I thought it was a suit malfunction.”
Trouble took a breath. “Put out an alert. Priority one. I want the guards tripled on our Koboi in Atlantis. It would be just like Opal to bust herself out.”
Foaly got to it. One Opal Koboi had almost managed to take over the world. Two would probably shoot for the entire galaxy.
“And call Holly,” continued Commander Kelp. “Inform the captain that her weekend leave is canceled.”
Fowl Manor, Almost Eight Years Ago
Artemis Fowl awoke in his own bed, and for a moment red sparks danced before his eyes. They sparkled and twinkled hypnotically before chasing their own tails out of existence.
Red sparks, he thought. Unusual. I have seen stars before, but never sparks.
The ten-year-old boy stretched, grabbing handfuls of his own duvet. For some reason he felt more content than usual.
I feel safe and happy.
Artemis sat bolt upright.
Happy? I feel happy?
He couldn’t remember feeling truly happy since his father had disappeared, but on this morning his mood was bordering on cheerful.
Perhaps it was the deal with the Extinctionists. My first major chunk of profit.
No. That wasn’t it. That particular transaction had left Artemis feeling sick to the pit of his stomach. So much so that he couldn’t think about it and would probably never dwell on the past few days again.
So what could account for this feeling of optimism? Something from the dream he’d been having. A plan. A new scheme that would bring enough profit to fund a hundred Arctic expeditions.
That was it. The dream. What had it been about?
It was just out of reach. The images already fading.
A crafty smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.
Fairies. Something about fairies.
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CHAPTER 1: THE PRINCESS AND THE PIRATE