Artemis Fowl_ The Arctic Incident - Eoin Colfer [61]
He wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. ‘I’d like to thank the Academy,’ giggled the dwarf.
‘Very touching,’ said a voice behind him.
Mulch slammed the cabinet door shut, cracking the glass pane.
There was a human youth beside the rockery. In his apartment! The boy’s appearance was strange, even by Mud Man standards. He was abnormally pale, raven-haired, slender and dressed in a school uniform that looked as though it had been dragged across two continents.
The hairs on Mulch’s chin stiffened. This boy was trouble. Dwarf hair is never wrong.
‘Your alarm was amusing,’ continued the boy. ‘It took me several seconds to bypass it.’
Mulch knew he was in trouble then. Human police don’t break into people’s apartments.
‘Who are you, hu ... boy?’
‘I think the question here is, who are you? Are you reclusive millionaire Lance Digger? Are you the notorious Grouch? Or perhaps, as Foaly suspects, you are escaped convict Mulch Diggums?’
Mulch ran, the last vestiges of gas providing him with an extra burst of speed. He had no idea who this Mud Boy was, but if Foaly sent him, then he was a bounty hunter of one kind or another.
The dwarf raced across the sunken lounge, making for his escape route. It was the reason he’d chosen this building. In the early nineteen hundreds a wide-bore chimney had run the length of the multi-storey building. When a central-heating system had been installed in the fifties, the building contractor had simply packed the chute with dirt, topping it off with a seal of concrete. Mulch had smelled the vein of soil the second his estate agent had opened the front door. It had been a simple matter to uncover the old fireplace and chip away the concrete. Voilà. Instant tunnel.
Mulch unbuttoned his bum-flap on the run. The strange youth made no attempt to follow him. Why would he? There was nowhere to go.
The dwarf spared a second for a parting shot. ‘You’ll never take me alive, human. Tell Foaly not to send a Mud Man to do a fairy’s job.’
Oh dear, thought Artemis, rubbing his brow. Hollywood had a lot to answer for.
Mulch tore a basket of dried flowers from the fireplace and dived right in. He unhinged his jaw and was quickly submerged in the century-old clay. It was not really to his taste. The minerals and nutrients had long since dried up. Instead, the soil was infused with a hundred years of burnt refuse and tobacco ash. But it was clay nevertheless, and this was what dwarfs were born to do. Mulch felt his anxiety melt away. There wasn’t a creature alive that could catch him now. This was his domain.
The dwarf descended rapidly, chewing his way through the storeys. More than one wall collapsed on his way past. Mulch had a feeling that he wouldn’t be getting his deposit back, even if he had been around to collect it.
In a little over a minute, Mulch had reached the basement car park. He rehinged, gave his rear-end a shake to dislodge any bubbles of gas, then tumbled through the grate. His specially adapted four-wheel drive was waiting for him. Fuelled up, blacked out and ready to go.
‘Suckers,’ gloated the dwarf, fishing the keys from a chain around his neck.
Then Captain Holly Short materialized not a metre away. ‘Suckers?’ she said, powering up her buzz baton.
Mulch considered his options. The basement floor was asphalt. Asphalt was death to dwarfs, sealed up their insides like glue. There appeared to be a man mountain blocking the basement ramp. Mulch had seen that one before in Fowl Manor. That meant the human upstairs must be the infamous Artemis Fowl. Captain Short was dead ahead looking none too merciful. Only one way to go. Back into the flue. Up a couple of storeys, and hide out in another apartment.
Holly grinned. ‘Go on, Mulch. I dare you.’
And Mulch did, he turned, launching himself back into the chimney, expecting a sharp shock in the rear-end. He was not disappointed.