Artemis Fowl_ The Arctic Incident - Eoin Colfer [40]
Seconds later, they slapped against the side of the train, their reduced weight keeping them aloft, for now. But it was only a matter of time before what little gravity they had pushed them under the steel wheels.
Artemis latched on to the rung beside her. ‘What can I do?’
She nodded at a shoulder pocket. ‘In there. A small vial. Take it out.’
Artemis ripped open the Velcro flap, pulling out a tiny spray bottle. ‘OK. Got it.’
‘Good. It’s up to you now, Fowl. Up and over.’
Artemis’s mouth dropped open. ‘Up and ...?’
‘Yes. It’s our only hope. We have to get this door open to reel in Butler and the commander. There’s a bend in the track two klicks away. If this train slows down even one revolution, they’re gone.’
Artemis nodded. ‘The vial?’
‘Acid. For the lock. The mechanism’s on the inside. Cover your face and squeeze. Give it the whole tube. Don’t get any on you.’
It was a long conversation under the circumstances. Especially since every second was vital. Artemis did not waste another one on goodbyes.
He dragged himself to the next rung, keeping the length of his body pressed close to the carriage. The wind was whipping along the length of the train, tiny motes of ice in every gust. They stung like bees. Nevertheless, Artemis pulled off his gloves with chattering teeth. Better frostbite than being crushed beneath the wheels.
Upwards. One rung at a time, until his head poked above the carriage. Every shred of shelter was now gone. The air pounded his forehead, forcing itself down his throat. Artemis squinted through the blizzard, along the carriage’s roof. There! In the centre. A skylight. Across a desert of steel, blasted smooth as glass by the elements. Not a handhold within five metres. The strength of a rhino would be of no use here, Artemis decided. At last an opportunity to use his brain. Kinetics and momentum. Simple enough, in theory.
Keeping to the front rim of the carriage, Artemis inched on to the roof. The wind wormed beneath his legs, raising them five centimetres from the deck, threatening to float him off the train.
Artemis curled his fingers around the rim. These were not gripping fingers. Artemis hadn’t gripped anything bigger than his mobile phone in several months. If you wanted someone to type Paradise Lost in under twenty minutes, then Artemis was your man. But as for hanging on to carriage roofs in a blizzard. Dead loss. Which, fortunately, was all part of the plan.
A millisecond before his finger joints parted company, Artemis let go. The slipstream shot him straight through the skylight’s metal housing.
Perfect, he would have grunted, had there been a cubic centimetre of air in his lungs. But even if he had said it, the wind would have snatched away any words before his own ears heard them. He had moments now before the wind dug its fingers beneath his torso, flipping him on to the icy steppes. Cannon fodder for the goblins.
Artemis fumbled the acid vial from his pocket, snapping the top between his teeth. A fleck of the acid flew past his eye. No time to worry about that now. No time for anything.
The skylight was secured by a thick padlock. Artemis dribbled two drops into the keyhole. All he could spare. It would have to be enough.
The effect was immediate. The acid ate through the metal like lava through ice. Fairy technology. Best under the world.
The padlock pinged open, exposing the hatch to the wind’s power. It flipped upwards and Artemis tumbled through on to a pallet of barrels. Not exactly the picture of a gallant rescuer.
The train’s motion shook him from the cargo. Artemis landed face up, gazing at the triple-triangled symbol for radiation stamped on the side of each container. At least the barrels were sealed, though rust seemed to have taken hold on quite a few.
Artemis rolled across the slatted floor, clambering to his knees alongside the door. Was Captain Short still anchored there, or was he alone now? For the first time in his