Artemis Fowl_ The Arctic Incident - Eoin Colfer [54]
Butler whistled. ‘Seems like a whole lot of hardware for an engineering company.’
‘I know,’ sighed Root. ‘Koboi Labs had special permits. I signed them myself.’
Butler considered it for several moments. ‘Can’t be done,’ he pronounced eventually. ‘Not without the blueprints.’
‘D’Arvit,’ swore the commander. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but there’s only one fairy for a job like this…’
Holly nodded. ‘Mulch Diggums.’
‘Diggums?’
‘A dwarf. Career criminal. The only fairy ever to break into Koboi Laboratories and live. Unfortunately, we lost him last year. Tunnelling out of your manor as it happens.’
‘I remember him,’ said Butler. ‘Nearly took my head off. A slippery character.’
Root laughed softly. ‘Eight times I nabbed old Mulch. The last one was for the Koboi Labs job. As I recall, Mulch and his cousin set up as building contractors. A way to get plans for secure facilities. They got the Koboi contract. Mulch left himself a back door. Typical Diggums, he breaks into the most secure facility under the planet, then tries to sell an alchemy vat to one of my squeals.’
Artemis sat up. ‘Alchemy? You have alchemy vats?’
‘Stop drooling, Mud Boy. They’re experimental. The ancient warlocks used to be able to turn lead into gold, according to the Book, but the secret was lost. Even Opal Koboi hasn’t managed it yet.’
‘Oh,’ said Artemis, disappointed.
‘Believe it or not, I almost miss that criminal. He had a way of insulting a person…’ Root glanced towards the heavens. ‘I wonder if he’s up there now, looking down on us.’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Holly guiltily. ‘Actually, Commander, Mulch Diggums is in Los Angeles.’
CHAPTER 11: MULCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
Los ANGELES, USA
MULCH Diggums was, in fact, outside the apartment of an Oscar-winning actress. Of course, she didn’t know he was there. And, naturally, he was up to no good. Once a thief, always a thief.
Not that Mulch needed the money. He’d done very well out of the Artemis Fowl Affair. Well enough to take out a lease on a penthouse apartment in Beverly Hills. He’d stocked the apartment with a Pioneer entertainment system, a full DVD library and enough beef jerky to last a lifetime. Time for a decade of rest and relaxation.
But life is not like that. It refuses to curl up and sit quietly in a corner. The habits of several centuries would not go away. Halfway through the James Bond Collection, Mulch realized that he missed the bad old days. Soon the penthouse suite’s reclusive occupant was taking midnight strolls. These strolls generally ended up inside other people’s homes.
Initially Mulch just visited, savouring the thrill of defeating sophisticated Mud Man security systems. Then he began to take trophies. Small things – a crystal goblet, an ashtray, or a cat if he was peckish. But soon Mulch Diggums began to crave the old notoriety and his pilferings grew larger. Gold bars, goose egg diamonds, or pit bull terriers if he was really famished.
The Oscar thing began quite by accident. He nabbed one as a curiosity on a midweek break to New York. Best original screenplay. The following morning he was front page news coast to coast. You’d think he’d ripped off a medical convoy instead of a gilded statuette. Mulch, of course, was delighted. He’d found his new nocturnal pastime.
In the next fortnight, Mulch filched best soundtrack and best special effects Academy Awards. The tabloids went crazy. They even gave him a nickname: the Grouch, after another well-known Oscar. When Mulch read that one, his toes wriggled for joy. And dwarf toes wriggling are quite a sight. They are as nimble as fingers, double-jointed and the less said about the smell the better. Mulch’s mission became clear. He had to assemble an entire set.
Over the next six months, the Grouch struck all across the United States. He even made a trip to Italy to collect a best foreign-language film award. He had a special cabinet made, with tinted glass that could be blacked out at the touch of