Artemis Fowl - Colfer Eoin (книга бесплатный формат .txt) 📗

Root through a dozen fire fights and it made him feel like a field officer again.

The nearest chute to Holly's position was E1:Tara. Not exactly an ideal location for a stealth mission, but with barely two hours of moon time left there was no time for an overground jaunt. If there was to be any chance of sorting out this mess before sunrise, speed was of the essence. He commandeered the El shuttle for his team, bumping a tour group who had apparently been queuing for two years.

'Tough nuggets,' Root growled at the holiday rep. 'And what's more, I'm shutting down all non-essential flights until the present crisis is past.'

'And when might that be?' squeaked the irate gnome, brandishing a notebook as though she were prepared to make a complaint of some kind.

Root spat out the butt of his cigar, squashing it comprehensively beneath his boot heel. The symbolism was all too obvious.

'The chutes will be opened, madam, when I feel like it,' growled the commander. 'And if you and your fluorescent uniform don't get out of my way, I'll yank your operating licence and have you thrown into the cells for obstructing an LEP officer.'

The holiday rep wilted before him and slunk back into line, wishing her uniform wasn't quite so pink.

Foaly was waiting at the pod. Serious though the moment was, he couldn't resist an amused whinny at the sight of Root's belly wobbling ever so slightly in his clinging jumpsuit.

'Are you sure about this, Commander? Generally we allow only one passenger per pod.'

'What do you mean?' snarled Root. 'There is only one…'

Then he caught Foaly's meaningful glance at his stomach.

'Oh. Ha ha. Very amusing. Keep it up, Foaly. I have my limit, you know.'

But it was a hollow threat and they both knew it. Not only had Foaly built their communications network from scratch, but he was also a pioneer in the field of flare prediction. Without him, human technology could very easily catch up with the fairy brand.

Root strapped himself into the pod. No half-century-old crafts for the commander. This baby was fresh off the assembly line. All silver and shiny, with the new jagged fin stabilizers that were supposed to read the magma currents automatically. Foaly's innovation, of course. For a century or so his pod designs had leaned towards the futuristic — plenty of neon and rubber. Lately, however, his sensibilities had become more retrospective, replacing the gadgetry with walnut dashes and leather upholstery. Root found this old-style decor strangely comforting.

He wrapped his fingers around the joysticks and suddenly realized just how long it was since he had ridden the hotshots. Foaly noticed his discomfort.

'Don't worry, chief,' he said without the usual cynicism. 'It's like riding a unicorn. You never forget.'

Root grunted, unconvinced.

'Let's get the show on the road,' he muttered. 'Before I change my mind.'

Foaly hauled the door across until the suction ring took hold, sealing the portal with a pneumatic hiss. Root's face took on a green hue through the quartz pane. He didn't look too scary any more. Quite the opposite in fact.

Artemis was performing a little field surgery on the fairy locator.

It was no mean feat to alter some of the dimensions without destroying the mechanisms. The technologies were most definitely incompatible. Imagine trying to perform open-heart surgery with a sledgehammer.

The first problem was opening the cursed thing. The screwheads defied both flathead and Phillips screwdrivers. Even Artemis's extensive set of Allen keys were unable to find purchase in the tiny grooves. Think futuristic, Artemis told himself. Think advanced technology.

It came to him after a few moments' silent contemplation.

Magnetic bolts. Obvious really. But how to construct a revolving magnetic field in the back of a four-wheel drive? Impossible. The only thing for it was to chase the screws around manually with a domestic magnet.

Artemis hunted the small magnet from its niche in the toolbox and applied both poles to the tiny screws. The negative side wiggled them slightly. It was enough to give Artemis some purchase with 86needlenose pliers, and he soon had the locator's panel disassembled before him.

The circuitry was minute. And not a sign of a solder bead. They must use another form of binder. Perhaps if he had time the principles of this device could be unravelled, but for now he would have to improvise. He would have to rely on the inattention of others. And if the People were anything like humans, they saw what they wanted to see.

Artemis held the locator's face up to the cab's light. It was translucent. Slightly polarized but good enough. He nudged a slew of tiny shimmering wires aside, inserting a buttonhole camera in the space. He secured the pea-sized transmitter with a dab of silicone.

Crude but effective. Hopefully.

The magnetic screws refused to be coaxed back into their grooves without the proper tool, so Artemis was forced to glue them too. Messy, but it should suffice, provided the locator wasn't examined too closely. And if it was? Well, he would only lose an advantage that he never expected to have in the first place.

Butler knocked off his high beams as they entered the city limits.

'Docks coming up, Artemis,' he said over his shoulder. 'There's bound to be a Customs and Excise crew around somewhere.'

Artemis nodded. It made sense. The port was a thriving artery of illegal activity. Over fifty per cent of the country's contraband made it ashore somewhere along this half-mile stretch.

'A diversion then, Butler. Two minutes are all I need.'

The manservant nodded thoughtfully.

'The usual?'

'I don't see why not. Knock yourself out…Or rather don't.'

Artemis blinked. That was his second joke in recent times. And his first aloud. Better take care. This was no time for frivolity.

The dockers were rolling cigarettes. It wasn't easy with fingers the size of lead bars, but they managed. And if a few strands of brown tobacco dropped to the rough flagstones, what of it? The pouches were available by the carton from a little man who didn't bother adding government tax to his prices.

Butler strolled over to the men, his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of a watch cap.

'Cold night,' he said to the assembled group.

No one replied. Policemen came in all shapes and sizes.

The big stranger persevered.

'Even work is better than standing around on a frosty one like tonight.'

One of the workmen, a bit soft in the head, couldn't help nodding in agreement. A comrade drove an elbow into his ribs.

'Still though,' continued the newcomer, 'I don't suppose you girls ever did a decent day's work in your lives.'

Again there was no reply. But this time it was because the dockers' mouths were hanging open in amazement.

'Yep, you're a pathetic-looking bunch, right enough,' went on Butler blithely. 'Oh, I've no doubt you would have passed as men during the famine. But by today's standards you're little more than a pack of blouse-wearing weaklings.'

'Arrrrgh,' said one of the dock hands. It was all he could manage.

Butler raised an eyebrow.

'Argh? Pathetic and inarticulate. Nice combination. Your mothers must be so proud.'

The stranger had crossed a sacred line. He had mentioned the men's mothers. Nothing could get him out of a beating now, even the fact that he was obviously a simpleton. Albeit a simpleton with a good vocabulary.

The men stamped out their cigarettes and spread slowly into a semi-circle. It was six against one. You had to feel sorry for them.

Butler wasn't finished yet.

'Now before we get into anything, ladies, no scratching, no spitting and no tattling to mummy.'

It was the last straw. The men howled and attacked as one. If they had been paying any attention to their adversary in that moment before contact, they might have noticed that he shifted his weight to lower his centre of gravity. They might also have seen that the hands he drew out of his pockets were the size and approximate shape of spades. But no one was paying attention to Butler — too busy watching their comrades, making sure they weren't alone in the assault.