CHAPTER 9: GHOSTS IN THE MACHINE

VACANT LOT, MALTHOUSE INDUSTRIAL ESTATE, SOUTH CHICAGO

 

JON Spiro had not hired Pex and Chips for their debating skills. In the job interview they had only been set one task. A hundred applicants were handed a walnut and asked to smash it however they could. Only two succeeded. Pex had shouted at the walnut for a few minutes, then flattened it between his giant palms. Chips opted for a more controversial method. He placed the walnut on the table, grabbed his interviewer by the ponytail and used the man’s forehead to smash the nut. Both men were hired on the spot. They quickly established themselves as Arno Blunt’s most reliable lieutenants for in-house work. They were not allowed outside Chicago as this could involve map reading - something Pex and Chips were not very good at.

At the moment, Pex and Chips were bonding under a full moon while Mulch dug a dwarf-sized pit in the dry clay behind an abandoned cement factory.

‘You wanna guess why they call me Pex?’ asked Pex, flexing his chest muscles as a hint.

Chips opened a packet of the potato chips he was forever crunching.

‘I dunno. Is it, like, short for something?’

‘Like what?’

‘I dunno,’ said Chips. He used the phrase a lot. ‘Francis?’

This sounded dumb, even to Pex. ‘Francis? How could Pex be short for Francis?’

Chips shrugged. ‘Hey. I had an Uncle Robert and everyone called him Bobby. That don’t make no sense neither.’

Pex rolled his eyes. ‘It’s pec-tor-als, moron. Pex is short for pectorals, on account of me having big chest muscles.’

In the pit, Mulch groaned. Listening to this mindless banter was almost as bad as having to dig a hole with a shovel. Mulch was tempted to deviate from the plan and launch himself into the flaky soil. But Artemis did not want any display of fairy powers at this stage of the proceedings. If he took off, and these goons escaped without being mesmerized, then Spiro’s paranoia would be driven up another notch.

On the surface, Chips was eager to continue the game.

‘Guess why they call me Chips,’ he said, hiding the bag of chips behind his back.

Pex kneaded his forehead. He knew this one.

‘Don’t tell me,’ he said. ‘I can work it out.’

Mulch poked his head from the hole. ‘It’s because he eats chips, you idiot. Chips eats chips. You two are the thickest Mud Men I have ever met. Why don’t you just kill me? At least I won’t have to listen to your drivel.’

Pex and Chips were stunned. With all the mental exercise, they had almost forgotten about the little man in the hole. Plus, they were unaccustomed to prospective victims saying anything besides, ‘Oh no, please, God, no.’

Pex leaned over the grave’s lip. ‘What do you mean drivel?’

‘I mean that whole Chips Pex thing.’

Pex shook his head. ‘No, I mean what does the word “drivel” mean? I’ve never heard that one.’

Mulch was delighted to explain. ‘It means rubbish, garbage, claptrap, twaddle, baloney. Is that clear enough for you?’

Chips recognized the last one. ‘Baloney? Hey, that’s an insult! Are you insulting us, little man?’

Mulch clasped his hands in mock prayer. ‘Finally, a breakthrough.’

The musclemen were uncertain how to react to actual abuse. There were only two people alive who insulted them regularly: Arno Blunt and Jon Spiro. But that was part of the job -- you just ignored that by turning up the music in your head.

‘Do we have to listen to his smart mouth?’ Pex asked his partner.

‘I don’t think so. Maybe I should phone Mister Blunt.’

Mulch groaned. If stupidity were a crime, these two would be public enemies one and two.

‘What you should do is kill me. That was the idea, wasn’t it? Just kill me and get it over with.’

‘What do you think, Chips? Should we just kill him?’

Chips chewed on a handful of barbecue Ruffles. ‘Yeah. Course. Orders is orders.’

‘But I wouldn’t just kill me,’ interjected Mulch.

‘You wouldn’t?’

‘Oh no. After the way I just insulted your intelligence? No, I deserve something special.’

You could almost see the steam coming out of Pex’s ears as his brain overheated.

‘That’s right, little man. We’re gonna do something special to you. We don’t take no insults from anybody!’

Mulch did not bother pointing out the double negative.

‘You’re right. I’ve got a smart mouth, and I deserve everything I’ve got coming to me.’

There followed a short silence as Pex and Chips tried to come up with something worse than the usual straight shooting.

Mulch  gave  them  a  minute,  then  made  a  polite suggestion.

‘If it were me, I’d bury me alive.’

Chips was horrified.

‘Bury you alive? That’s terrible! You’d be screaming and clawing the dirt. I could get nightmares.’

‘I promise to lie still. Anyway, I deserve it. I did call you a pair of overdeveloped, single-celled Cro-Magnons.’

‘Did you?’

‘Well, I have now.’

Pex was the more impulsive of the duo. ‘OK, Mister Digence. You know what we’re gonna do? We’re going to bury you alive.’

Mulch clapped two hands to his cheeks. ‘Oh, the horror!’

‘You asked for it, buddy.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’

Pex grabbed a spare shovel from the boot. ‘Nobody calls me an overdeveloped, signal bell crow magnet.’

Mulch lay down obligingly in his grave. ‘No. I bet nobody does.’

Pex shovelled furiously, gymnasium-sculpted muscles stretching his suit jacket. In minutes, Mulch’s form was completely covered.

Chips was feeling a bit squeamish. ‘That was horrible. Horrible. That poor little guy.’

Pex was unrepentant. ‘Yeah, well, he asked for it. Calling us . . . all those things.’

‘But buried alive?! That’s like in that horror movie. Y’know, the one with all the horror.’

‘I think I saw that one. With all the words going up the screen at the end?’

‘Yeah, that was it. Tell you the truth, those words kinda ruined it for me.’

Pex stamped on the loose earth. ‘Don’t worry, buddy. There are no words in this movie.’

They climbed back into their Chevrolet automobile. Chips was still a bit upset.

‘You know, it’s much more real than a movie when it’s real.’

Pex ignored a no-access sign and pulled on to the motorway. ‘It’s the smell. You can’t smell stuff in a movie.’

Chips sniffed emotionally. ‘Digence musta been upset right there at the end.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

“Cause I could see him cryin’. His shoulders were shaking, like he was laughing. But he must have been crying. I mean, what sort of crazy whacko would laugh when he’s getting buried alive?’

‘He musta been crying.’

Chips opened a bag of smoky bacon curls. ‘Yeah. He musta been crying.’

 

Mulch was laughing so much that he nearly choked on the first mouthful of soil. What a pair of clowns! Then again, it was lucky for them that they had been clowns, otherwise they might have chosen their own method of execution.

Jaw unhinged, Mulch tunnelled straight down for five metres and then veered north to the cover of some abandoned warehouses. His beard hair sent out sonar signals in all directions. You couldn’t be too careful in built-up areas. There was always some wildlife, and Mud People had a habit of burying things in places you wouldn’t expect them. Pipes, septic tanks and barrels of industrial waste were all things he had taking an unwitting bite of in his day. And there is nothing worse than finding something in your mouth that you weren’t expecting to be there, especially if it’s wriggling.

It felt good to be tunnelling again. This was what dwarfs were born to do. The earth felt right between his fingers, and he soon settled into his distance rhythm. Scooping muck between his grinding teeth, breathing through slitted nostrils, and pumping waste material out the other end.

Mulch’s hair antennae informed him that there were no vibrations on the surface, so he kicked upwards using the last vestiges of dwarf gas to propel him from his hole.

Holly caught him a metre from the ground.

‘Charming,’ she said.

‘What can I tell you?’ said Mulch unapologetically. ‘I’m a force of nature. You were up there all that time?’

‘Yes, just in case things got out of hand. You put on quite a show.’

Mulch slapped the clay from his clothes. ‘A couple of Neutrino blasts could have saved me a lot of digging.’

Holly smiled in spooky imitation of Artemis. ‘That’s not in the plan. And we must stick to the plan now, mustn’t we?’

She draped a sheet of cam foil around the dwarf’s shoulders, and hooked him on to her Moonbelt.

‘Take it easy now, won’t you?’ said Mulch anxiously. ‘Dwarfs are creatures of the soil. We don’t like flying; we don’t even like jumping too high.’

Holly opened the throttle on her wings, heading downtown.

‘I’ll be just as considerate of your feelings as you are of the LEP’s.’

Mulch paled. Funny how this diminutive elf was much scarier than two six-foot hit men.

‘Holly, if I ever did anything to offend you, I unreservedly –’

He never finished that particular sentence, because their sudden acceleration forced the words back down his throat.

 

THE SPIRO NEEDLE

 

Arno Blunt walked Artemis to his cell. It was comfortable enough, with its own bathroom and entertainment system. There were a couple of things missing: windows and a handle on the door.

Blunt patted Artemis on the head.

‘I don’t know what happened in that London restaurant, but you try anything like that here, and I will turn you inside out and eat your organs.’ He gnashed his pointy teeth to make the point and leaned close, whispering into Artemis’s ear. Artemis could hear the teeth click with every syllable.

‘I don’t care what the boss says, you’re not going to be useful forever, so if I were you, I’d be very nice to me.’

‘If you were me,’ responded Artemis, ‘then I’d be you, and if I were you, then I’d hide somewhere far away.’

‘Oh, really? And why would you do that?’

Artemis paused to give him the full effect of his words.

‘Because Butler is coming for you. And he’s extremely annoyed.’

Blunt backed off a few steps. ‘No way, kid. I saw him go down. I saw the blood.’

Artemis grinned. ‘I didn’t say he was alive. I just said he was coming.’

‘You’re just messing with my mind. Mister Spiro warned me about this.’

Blunt edged out of the door, never taking his eyes off Artemis.

‘Don’t worry, Blunt. I don’t have him here in my pocket. You have hours, maybe days, before the time comes.’

Arno Blunt slammed the door so hard that the frame shook. Artemis’s grin widened. Every cloud had a silver lining.

 

Artemis stepped into the shower, allowing the jet of hot water to pound him on the forehead. In truth, he felt a little anxious. It was one thing to formulate a plan in the safety of one’s own home. It was quite another to execute that plan while trapped in the lion’s den. And even though he would never admit it, his confidence had taken quite a pounding in the last few days. Spiro had outwitted him back in London, and without apparent effort. He had strolled into the entrepreneur’s trap as naively as a tourist down a back alley.

Artemis was well aware of his talents. He was a plotter, a schemer, a planner of dastardly deeds. There was no thrill greater than the execution of a perfect plan. But lately his victories had been tainted by guilt, especially over what had happened to Butler. Artemis had been so close to losing his old friend that it made him queasy just thinking about it.

Things had to change. His father would be watching soon, hoping that Artemis would make the right choices. And if he didn’t, Artemis Senior would quite possibly take those choices away from him. He remembered his father’s words. ‘And what about you, Arty? Will you make the journey with me? When the moment comes will you take your chance to he a hero?’

Artemis still did not have the answer to that question.

 

Artemis wrapped himself in a robe monogrammed with his captor’s initials. Not only was Spiro reminding him of his presence with the gold letters, but a motion-sensitive closed-circuit camera was following Artemis around the room.

Artemis focused on the challenging task of breaking into Spiro’s vault and stealing back the C Cube. He had anticipated many of Spiro’s security measures and packed accordingly. Although some were unforeseen and quite ingenious, Artemis had fairy technology on his side, and hopefully Foaly too. The centaur had been ordered not to help, but if Holly presented the break-in as a test, Artemis felt sure that the centaur would be unable to resist.

He sat on the bed, casually scratching his neck. The mike’s latex covering had survived the shower, as Holly had assured him it would. It was comforting to know that he was not alone in his prison.

Because  the  microphone  operated  on  vibrations, Artemis did not have to speak aloud for his instructions to be transmitted.

‘Good evening, friends,’ he whispered, his back to the camera. ‘Everything proceeds according to plan, taking it as read that Mulch made it back alive. I must warn you to expect a visit from Spiro’s goons. I am certain his personnel have been monitoring the streets, and it should lull him into a false sense of security if he believes my people to be wiped out. Mister Spiro has kindly given me a tour of the facility, and hopefully you have recorded everything we need to complete our mission. I believe the local term for this kind of operation is heist. This is what I want you to do.’

Artemis whispered slowly, enunciating each point clearly. It was vital that his team members followed his instructions to the letter. If they did not, the entire plot could explode like an active volcano. And at the moment, he was sitting in the volcano’s crater.

 

Pex and Chips were in a good mood. On their return to the Needle, not only had Mister Blunt handed over their five-grand bonus for the Mo Digence job, but he had also given them another assignment. The Needle’s external surveillance cameras had picked up a black van parked opposite the main door. It had been there for over three hours and a review of the tapes showed the vehicle circling the building for over an hour looking for a space.

Mister Spiro had warned them to look out for suspicious vehicles, and this was certainly suspicious.

‘Go down there,’ Blunt had ordered from his chair in the security office. ‘And if there’s anything breathing inside, ask them why they’re breathing outside my building.’

This was the kind of instruction that Pex and Chips understood. No asking questions, no operating complex machinery. Just open the door, scare everything, close the door. Easy. They kidded around in the lift, punching each other in the shoulder until their upper arms went numb.

‘We could make big bucks tonight, partner,’ said Pex, massaging his biceps to get the circulation going.

‘We sure could,’ enthused Chips, thinking about all the Barney DVDs he could buy. ‘This must be worth another bonus. Five grand at least. Altogether that’s . . .’

There followed several moments’ silence while both men counted on their fingers.

‘That’s a lot of cash,’ said Pex finally.

‘A lot of cash,’ agreed Chips.

 

Juliet had her binoculars trained on the Needle’s revolving door. It would have been easier to use the Optix on a fairy helmet, but unfortunately her head had grown too large in the past couple of years. That wasn’t the only thing to have changed. Juliet had transformed from gangly kid to toned athlete. She wasn’t perfect bodyguard material though; there were still a few wrinkles to be ironed out. Personality wrinkles.

Juliet Butler was a fun-loving creature; she couldn’t help it. She found the idea of standing po-faced at the shoulder of some opinionated politician appalling. She’d go crazy from boredom — unless Artemis asked her to stay on professionally. A person could never be bored at Artemis Fowl’s side. But that was not likely to happen. Artemis had assured everyone that this was his last job. After Chicago he was going straight. If there was an after Chicago.

This stakeout business was boring too. Sitting quietly was not in Juliet’s nature. Her hyperactive disposition had caused her to fail more than one class at Madame Ko’s Academy.

‘Be at peace with yourself, girl,’ the Japanese instructor had said. ‘Find that quiet place at your core and inhabit it.’

Juliet generally had to stifle a yawn when Madame Ko started on the kung fu wisdom stuff. Butler, on the other hand, ate it up. He was forever finding his quiet place and inhabiting it. In fact, he only came out of his quiet place to pulverize whoever was threatening Artemis at the time. Maybe that was why he had his blue diamond tattoo and Juliet didn’t.

Two burly figures emerged from the Needle. They were grinning and punching each other on the shoulder.

‘Captain Short, we’re on,’ said Juliet into a walkie-talkie tuned to Holly’s frequency.

‘Understood,’ responded Holly from her position above the Spiro Needle. ‘How many hostiles?’

‘Two. Big and dumb.’

‘You need back-up?’

‘Negative. I’ll wrap these two. You can have a word on your return.’

‘OK. I’ll be down in five, as soon as I’ve had a talk with Foaly. And, Juliet, don’t mark them.’

‘Understood.’

Juliet switched off the radio, climbing into the rear of the van. She swept a pile of surveillance equipment under a fold-up seat, just in case the two heavies actually managed to incapacitate her. It wasn’t likely, but her brother would hide the incriminating equipment just in case. Juliet pulled off her suit jacket and placed a baseball cap backwards on her head. She then popped the rear door and clambered out on to the road.

 

Pex and Chips crossed State Street to the suspect van. It certainly looked suspicious, with its blacked-out windows, but the pair were not unduly concerned. Every testosterone-fuelled college freshman had blacked-out windows these days.

‘Whatcha think?’ Pex asked his partner.

Chips curled his fingers into fists. ‘I think we don’t bother knocking.’

Pex nodded. This was the plan that they generally went with. Chips would have proceeded to wrench the door from its hinges had a young lady not appeared from around the bonnet.

‘You guys looking for my dad?’ said the girl in perfect MTV tones. ‘People are always, like, looking for him, and he’s never around. Daddy is so not here. And I mean that spiritually.’

Pex and Chips blinked in unison. The blink being universal body language for ‘Huh?’ This girl was a stunning blend of Asian and Caucasian, but she might as well have been talking Greek for all the comprehension that registered on the security men’s faces. ‘Spiritually’ had five syllables, for heaven’s sake.

‘You own this van?’ asked Chips, taking the offensive.

The girl twisted her ponytail. ‘As much as any of us can, like, own anything. One world, one people, right, man? Ownership is, like, you know, an illusion. Maybe we don’t even own our own bodies. We could be, like, the daydreams of some greater spirit.’

Pex cracked.

‘Do you own the van?’ he shouted, wrapping thumb and forefinger round the girl’s neck.

The girl nodded. There wasn’t enough air in her windpipe for speech.

‘That’s better. Anyone inside?’

A shake of the head this time.

Pex relaxed his grip slightly.

‘How many more in the family?’

The girl answered in a whisper, using as little air as possible.

‘Seven. Dad, Mom, two grandparents and the triplets: Beau, Mo and Joe. They’re gone for sushi.’

Pex cheered up considerably. Triplets and grandparents, that didn’t sound like any problem.

‘OK. We wait. Open her up, kid.’

‘Sushi?’ said Chips. ‘That’s raw fish. You ever have that, buddy?’

Pex held the girl by the neck while she fiddled with the key.

‘Yeah. I bought some in the supermarket once.’

‘Was it good?’

‘Yeah. I threw it in the deep-fat fryer for ten minutes. Not bad.’

The girl slid back the van door and climbed into the interior. Pex and Chips followed, ducking under the rim. Pex released the girl’s neck momentarily to take the step. That was his mistake. A properly trained private soldier would never allow an untethered prisoner to lead the way into an unsecured vehicle.

The girl stumbled accidentally, dropping to both knees on the interior’s carpet.

‘Sushi,’ said Pex. ‘It’s good with French fries.’

Then the girl’s foot snapped back, catching him in the chest. The hired muscle collapsed, gasping, on to the floor.

‘Oops,’ said the girl, straightening. ‘Accident.’

Chips thought he must be having some kind of waking dream, because there was no way a little pop princess clone could have decked ninety kilograms of muscle and attitude.

‘You . . . you just . . .,’ he stuttered. ‘That’s impossible. No way.’

‘Way,’ said Juliet, pirouetting like a ballerina. The jade ring in her ponytail swung round, loaded with centrifugal force. It struck Chips between the eyeballs, like a stone from a sling. He staggered backwards, landing in a heap on a leatherette sofa.

Behind her, Pex’s breath was returning. His eyeballs stopped rolling wildly and focused on his assailant.

‘Hi,’ said Juliet, bending over him. ‘Guess what.’

‘What?’ said Pex.

‘You’re not supposed to deep-fry sushi,’ said the girl, clapping the assassin on both temples with the palms of her hands. Unconsciousness was immediate.

Mulch emerged from the bathroom, buttoning the bum-flap on his tunnelling trousers.

‘What did I miss?’ he asked.

 

*

 

Holly hovered one hundred and fifty feet above Chicago’s downtown district — known locally as the Loop after the curve of elevated track that enclosed the area. She was up there for two reasons. Firstly, they needed an X-ray scan of the Spiro Needle in order to construct 3D blueprints. And secondly, she wanted to talk to Foaly alone.

She spotted a stone eagle perched on the roof of an early twentieth-century apartment block, and alighted on its head. She would have to move perch after a few minutes, or her shield vibration would begin to pulverize the rock.

Juliet’s voice sounded in her earpiece.

‘Captain Short, we’re on.’

‘Understood,’ responded Holly. ‘How many hostiles?’

‘Two. Big and dumb.’

‘You need back-up?’

‘Negative. I’ll wrap these two. You can have a word on your return.’

‘OK. I’ll be down in five, as soon as I’ve had a talk with Foaly. And, Juliet, don’t mark them.’

‘Understood.’

Holly smiled. Juliet was a piece of work. A chip off the Butler block. But she was a wild card. Even on stakeout she couldn’t stop chattering for more than ten seconds. None of her brother’s discipline. She was a happy teenager. A kid. She should not be in this line of business. Artemis had no business dragging her into his crazy

 Schemes. But there was something about the Irish boy that made you forget your reservations. In the past sixteen months she had fought a troll for him, healed his entire family, dived into the Arctic Ocean and now she was preparing to disobey a direct order from Commander Root.

She opened a channel to LEP Operations.

‘Foaly. Are you listening?

Nothing for several seconds, then the centaur’s voice burst through the helmet’s micro-speaker.

‘Holly. Hold on. You’re a bit fuzzy; I’m just going to fine-tune the wavelength. Talk to me. Say something.’

‘Testing. One two. One two. Trolls cause terrible trouble in a tantrum.’

‘OK. Gotcha. Crystal clear. How goes it in the Land of Mud?’

Holly gazed down at the city below her.

‘No mud here. Just glass, steel and computers. You’d like it.’

‘Oh no. Not me. Mud People are Mud People, no matter if they’re wearing suits or loincloths. The only good thing about humans is the television. All we get on PPTV is reruns. I’m almost sorry the goblin generals’ trial is over. Guilty on all counts, thanks to you. Sentencing is next month.’

Anxiety loosened its grip on Holly’s stomach. ‘Guilty. Thank heavens. Things can finally go back to normal.’

Foaly snickered. ‘Normal? You’re in the wrong job for normal. You can kiss normal goodbye if we don’t get Artemis’s gizmo back from Spiro.’

The centaur was right. Her life had not been normal since she’d been promoted to Recon from the vice squad. But did she really want a normal life? Wasn’t that the reason she transferred from vice in the first place?

‘So why the call?’ asked Foaly. ‘Feeling a bit homesick, are you?’

‘No,’ replied Holly. And it was true. She wasn’t. The elf captain had barely thought of Haven since Artemis embroiled her in his latest intrigue. ‘I need your advice.’

‘Advice? Oh, really? That wouldn’t be another way of asking for help now, would it? I Jaelieve Commander Root’s words were “You got what you got.” Rules are rules, Holly.’

Holly sighed. ‘Yes, Foaly. Rules are rules. Julius knows best.’

‘That’s right. Julius knows best,’ said Foaly, but he didn’t sound convinced.

‘You probably couldn’t help anyway. Spiro’s security is pretty advanced.’ Foaly snorted, and a centaur snorting is something to hear.

‘Yeah, sure. What has he got? A couple of tin cans and a dog? Ooh scary.’

 ‘I wish. There’s stuff in this building that I’ve never seen before. Smart stuff.’

A small liquid-crystal screen flickered into life in the corner of Holly’s visor. Foaly was broadcasting a visual from Police Plaza. Technically, not something he should be doing for an unofficial operation. The centaur was curious.

‘I know what you’re doing by the way,’ said Foaly, wagging a finger.

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ said Holly innocently.

‘You probably couldn’t help anyway. Spiro’s security is pretty advanced,’ mimicked the centaur. ‘You’re trying to light a fire under my ego. I’m not stupid, Holly.’

‘OK. Maybe I am. Do you want the straight truth?’

‘Oh, you’re going to tell me the truth now? Interesting tactic for the LEP.’

‘The Spiro Needle is a fortress. There’s no way in without you, even Artemis admits it. We’re not looking for equipment, or extra fairy-power. Just advice over the airwaves, maybe a bit of camera work. Keep the lines open, that’s all I’m asking.’

Foaly scratched his chin. ‘No way in, eh? Even Artemis admits it.’

‘ “We can’t do it without Foaly.” His exact words.’

The centaur struggled to keep the smugness from his features.

‘Have you got any video?’

Holly took a hand-held computer from her belt.

‘Artemis shot some film inside the Needle. I’m mailing it to you now.’

‘I need a blueprint of the building.’

Holly panned her visor left and right, so Foaly could see where she was.

‘That’s why I’m up here. To do an X-ray scan. It’ll be in your mainframe in ten minutes.

Holly heard a bell chime in her speakers. It was a computer alert. Her mail had arrived in Police Plaza. Foaly opened the file.

‘Key codes. OK. Cameras. No problem. Wait until I show you what I’ve developed for CCTV cameras. I’m fast-forwarding through the corridors. Dum de dum de dum. Ah, the vault. On the eighty-fifth. Pressure pads, antibiotic mats. Motion sensors. Temperature sensitive lasers. Thermal cameras. Voice-recognition, retina and gel-thumbprint scanners.’ He paused. ‘Impressive, for a Mud Man.’

‘You’re telling me,’ agreed Holly. ‘A bit more than two tin cans and a dog.’

‘Fowl is right. Without me you’re sunk.’

‘So, will you help?’

Foaly had to milk the moment. ‘I’m not promising anything, mind . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ll keep a screen open for you. But if something comes up . . .’

 ‘I understand.’

‘No guarantees.’

‘No guarantees. I owe you a carton of carrots.’

‘Two cartons. And a case of beetle juice.’

‘Done.’

The centaur’s face was flushed with the promise of a challenge.

‘Will you miss him, Holly?’ he asked suddenly.

Holly was caught off-guard by the question.

‘Miss who?’ she said, though she already knew.

‘The Fowl boy, of course. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll be wiped from his memory. No more wild plots or seat-of-the-pants adventures. It will be a quiet life.’

Holly made to avoid Foaly’s gaze, although the helmet cam was point-of-view and the centaur could not see he............