Artemis Fowl_ The Opal Deception - Eoin Colfer [63]
A bolt of sizzling laser energy flashed past the porthole.
That was his warning shot. One across the bows before they let the computer do the aiming. Time to be gone. Mulch kicked off his boots, wrapped his double-jointed toes around the pedals, and sped down the chute toward the rendezvous point.
Butler parked the Bentley fifteen miles northeast of Tara, near a cluster of rocks shaped like a clenched fist. The index finger rock was hollow, just as Mulch had told him it would be. However, the dwarf had neglected to mention that the opening would be cluttered with potato crisp bags and chewing-gum patties left over from a thousand teenagers’ picnics. Butler picked his way through the rubbish to discover two boys huddled at the rear, smoking secret cigarettes. A Labrador pup was asleep at their feet. Obviously these two had volunteered to walk the dog so they could sneak some cigarettes. Butler did not like smoking.
The boys looked up at the enormous figure looming above them, their jaded teenage expressions freezing on their faces.
Butler pointed at the cigarettes. “Those things will seriously damage your health,” he growled. “And if they don’t, I might.”
The teenagers stubbed out their cigarettes and scurried from the cave, which was exactly what Butler wanted them to do. He pushed aside a wizened scrub cluster at the rear of the cave to discover a mud wall.
“Punch right through the mud,” Mulch had told him. “Generally I eat through and patch it up afterward, but you might not want to do that.”
Butler jabbed four rigid fingers at the center of the mud wall, where cracks were beginning to spread, and sure enough the wall was only inches thick and crumbled easily under the pressure. The bodyguard pulled away chunks until there was sufficient space to squeeze through to the tunnel beyond.
To say there was sufficient space is perhaps a slight exaggeration; barely enough is probably more accurate. Butler’s bulky frame was compressed on all sides by uneven walls of black clay. Occasionally a jagged rock poked through, tearing a gash in his designer suit. That was two suits ruined in as many days. One in Munich, and now the second belowground in Ireland. Still, suits were the least of his worries. If Mulch was right, then Artemis was running around the Lower Elements right now with a group of bloodthirsty trolls on his trail. Butler had fought a troll once, and the battle had very nearly killed him. He couldn’t even imagine fighting an entire group.
Butler dug his fingers into the earth, pulling himself forward through the tunnel. This particular tunnel, Mulch had informed him, was one of many illicit back doors into the Lower Elements chute system chewed out by fugitive dwarfs over the centuries. Mulch himself had excavated this one almost three hundred years ago, when he had needed to sneak back to Haven for his cousin’s birthday bash. Butler tried not to think about the dwarf’s recycling process as he went.
After several feet the tunnel widened into a bulb-shaped chamber. The walls glowed a gentle green. Mulch had explained that too. The walls were coated with dwarf spittle, which hardened on prolonged contact with air, and also glowed. Amazing. Drinking pores, living hairs, and now luminous saliva. What next? Explosive phlegm? He wouldn’t be a bit surprised. Who knew what secrets the dwarfs were hiding up their sleeves? Or in other places?
Butler kicked aside a pile of rabbit bones, the remains of previous dwarf snacks, and sat down to wait.
He checked the luminous face of his Omega wristwatch. He had dropped Mulch at Tara almost thirty minutes ago; the little man should be here by now. The bodyguard would have paced the chamber, but there was barely enough space for him to stand up, never mind pace. The bodyguard crossed his legs, settling down for a power nap. He hadn’t slept since the missile attack