Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer [57]
Mulch unbuttoned his back flap. Time to suck some dirt, as they said down the mines. The trouble with dwarf tunnels was that they were self-sealing, so that if you had to go back the way you came, there was a whole new burrow to be excavated. Some dwarfs retraced their steps exactly, chewing through the less compact and predigested dirt. Mulch preferred to dig a fresh tunnel. For some reason, eating the same dirt twice didn’t appeal to him.
Unhinging his jaw, the dwarf pointed himself torpedo-like through the hole in the floorboards. His heart calmed immediately as the scent of minerals filled his nostrils. Safe, he was safe. Nothing could catch a dwarf underground, not even a Skaylian rock worm. That was, of course, if he managed to get underground . . .
Ten very powerful fingers gripped Mulch by the ankles. This just wasn’t the dwarf’s day. First Wart-Face, now this homicidal human. Some people never learn. Usually Mud People.
“Egg go,” he mumbled, unhinged jaw flapping uselessly.
“Not a chance,” came the reply. “The only way you’re leaving this house is in a body bag.”
Mulch could feel himself being dragged backward. This human was strong. There weren’t many creatures that could dislodge a dwarf with a grip on something. He scrabbled in the dirt, cramming handfuls of wine-impregnated clay into his cavernous mouth. There was only one chance.
“Come on, you little goblin. Out of there.”
Goblin! Mulch would have been indignant had he not been busy chewing clay to eject at his enemy.
The human stopped talking. Possibly he had noticed the flap, and probably what was behind it. No doubt what had happened in the safe room was coming back to him.
“Oh ...”
What would have followed the “Oh” is anyone’s guess, but I’d be willing to bet that it wouldn’t have been “Dearie me.” As it happened, Butler never had time to finish his expletive, because he wisely chose that moment to relinquish his grip. A wise choice indeed, because it coincided with the instant Mulch decided to launch his earthen offensive.
A lump of compacted clay sped like a cannon directly at the spot where Butler’s head had been barely a second previously. Had it still occupied that space, the impact would have separated it from Butler’s shoulders. An ignoble end for a bodyguard of his caliber. As it was, the soggy missile barely grazed his ear. Nevertheless, the force was sufficient to spin Butler like an ice-skater, landing him on his rump for the second time in as many minutes.
By the time his vision had settled, the dwarf had disappeared into a maelstrom of churning muck. Butler decided not to attempt pursuit. Dying below ground was not very high on his things to do list. But there will be another day, fairy, he thought grimly. And there was to be. But that’s another story.
* * *
Mulch’s momentum propelled him underground. He’d gone several yards along the loamy vein before he realized no one was following. Once the taste of earth had settled his heart rate, he decided it was time to implement his escape plan.
The dwarf altered his course, chewing his way toward the rabbit warren he’d noted earlier. With any luck, the centaur hadn’t run a seismology test on the manor grounds, or his ruse might be discovered. He’d just have to bank on the fact that they had more important things to worry about than a missing prisoner. There shouldn’t be any problem deceiving Julius. But the centaur, he was a smart one.
Mulch’s internal compass steered him true, and within minutes he could feel the gentle vibrations of the rabbits loping along their tunnels. From here on timing was crucial if the illusion was to be effective. He slowed his digging rate, poking the soft clay gently until his fingers breached the tunnel wall. Mulch was careful to look the other way, because whatever he saw would be showing up on the viewscreen back in LEP HQ.
Laying his fingers on the tunnel floor like an upturned spider, Mulch waited. It