Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer [21]
Holly paused for a minute to admire the view. Ireland certainly was picturesque. Even the Mud People hadn’t been able to destroy that. Not yet anyway . . . Give them another century or two. The river was folding gently before her like a silver snake, hissing as the water tumbled across a stony bed. The oak tree crackled overhead, its branches rasping together in the bracing breeze.
Now, to work. She could do the tourist thing all night once her business was complete. A seed. She needed a seed. Holly bent to the ground, brushing the dried leaves and twigs from the clay’s surface. Her fingers closed around a smooth acorn. That wasn’t hard now, was it? she thought. All that remained for her to do was plant it somewhere else, and her powers would come rushing back.
Butler checked the porta-radar, muting the volume in case the equipment betrayed their position. The red arm swept the screen with agonizing lethargy, and then . . . flash! An upright figure by the tree. Too small for an adult, the wrong proportions for a child. He gave Artemis the thumbs up. Possible match.
Artemis nodded, strapping the mirrored sunglasses across his brow. Butler followed his lead, popping the cap on his weapon’s starlight scope. This was no ordinary dart rifle. It had been specially tooled for a Kenyan ivory hunter, and had the range and rapid fire capacity of a Kalashnikov. Butler had picked it up for a song from a government official after the ivory poacher’s execution.
They crept into the night with practiced silence. The diminutive figure before them unhooked a contraption from around its shoulders and lifted a full-face helmet from a definitely nonhuman head. Butler wrapped the rifle strap twice around his wrist, pulling the stock into his shoulder. He activated the scope and a red dot appeared in the center of the figure’s back. Artemis nodded and his manservant squeezed the trigger.
In spite of a million-to-one odds, it was at that precise moment that the figure bent low to the earth.
Something whizzed over Holly’s head, something that glinted in the starlight. Holly had enough on-the-job experience to realize that she was under fire, and immediately curled her elfin frame into a ball, minimizing the target.
She drew her pistol, rolling toward the shelter of the tree trunk. Her brain scrambled for possibilities. Who could be shooting at her and why?
Something was waiting beside the tree. Something roughly the size of a mountain, but considerably more mobile.
“Nice peashooter,” grinned the figure, smothering Holly’s gun hand in a turnip-sized fist.
Holly managed to extricate her fingers a nanosecond before they snapped like brittle spaghetti.
“I don’t suppose you would consider peaceful surrender?” said a cold voice behind her.
Holly turned, elbows raised for combat.
“No,” sighed the boy melodramatically. “I suppose not.”
Holly put on her best brave face.
“Stay back, human. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
The boy laughed. “I believe, fairy, that you are the one unfamiliar with the facts.”
Fairy? He knew she was a fairy.
“I have magic, mud-worm. Enough to turn you and your gorilla into pig droppings.”
The boy took a step closer. “Brave words, miss. But lies nonetheless. If, as you say, you had magic, you would have no doubt used it by now. No, I suspect that you have gone too long without the Ritual and you are here to replenish your powers.”
Holly was dumbfounded. There was a human before her, casually spouting sacred secrets. This was disastrous. Catastrophic. It could mean the end of generations of peace. If the humans were aware of a fairy subculture, it was only a matter of time before the two species went to war. She must do something, and there was only one weapon