The Opal Deception (Disney)

by Eoin Colfer

“There is,” confirmed Holly. “But it’s the posterior we have to worry about.”

  The trolls were seconds away by this point. Close enough for Holly and Artemis to see the red in their eyes and the years of dirt caked in every clump of hair.

  Overhead, Mulch Diggums (for of course it was he) released a gentle squib of wind from his backside. Just enough to propel him in a gentle circle on the end of his rope. The circular motion was necessary to ensure an even spread of the gas he intended to release. Once he had completed three revolutions, he bore down internally and let fly with every bubble of gas in his bloated stomach.

  Because trolls are by nature tunnel creatures, they are guided as much by their sense of smell as their night vision. A blinded troll can often survive for years, navigating his way to food and water supplies by smell alone.

  Mulch’s sudden gaseous recyclings sent a million conflicting scent messages to each troll’s brain. The smell was bad enough, and the wind was sufficient to blow back the trolls’ hair, but the combination of scents inside the dwarf gas, including clay, vegetation, insect life, and everything else Mulch had eaten over the past few days, was enough to short out the trolls’ entire nervous systems. They collapsed to their knees, clasping their poor aching heads in taloned hands. One was so close to Artemis and Holly that its shaggy forearm rested across the LEP captain’s back.

  Holly wriggled out from under the limb. “Let’s go,” she said, pulling Artemis to his feet. “The gas won’t put the trolls out for any longer than the light.”

  Overhead, Mulch’s revolutions were slowing.

  “I thank you,” he said with a theatrical bow, which is not easy on a rope. The dwarf scampered up the rope, gripping with fingers and toes, then lowered it to Artemis and Holly.

  “Jump on,” he said. “Quickly.”

  Artemis tested the rope skeptically. “Surely that strange creature is too small to haul both of us all the way up there.”

  Holly placed her foot in a loop at the rope’s end. “True, but he’s not alone.”

  Artemis squinted at the hemisphere’s missing panel. Another figure had appeared in the gap. The figure’s features were in deep shadow, but the silhouette was unmistakable.

  “Butler!” he said through his smile. “You’re here.”

  And suddenly, in spite of everything, Artemis felt completely safe.

  “Hurry up, Artemis,” called his bodyguard. “We don’t have a second to waste.”

  Artemis stepped onto the rope beside Holly, and Butler quickly pulled them both out of danger.

  “Well?” said Holly, her face inches from his own. “We survived. Does that mean we’re friends now? Bonded by trauma.”

  Artemis frowned. Friends? Did he have room in his life for a friend? Then again, did he have a choice in the matter?

  “Yes,” he replied. “I’ve had little experience in this area, so I may have to read up on it.”

  Holly rolled her eyes. “Friendship is not a science, Mud Boy. Forget about your massive brain for one minute. Just do what you feel is right.”

  Artemis couldn’t believe what he was about to say. Perhaps the thrill of survival was affecting his judgment. “I feel that I shouldn’t be paid to help a friend. Keep your fairy gold. Opal Koboi has to be stopped.”

  Holly smiled with genuine warmth for the first time since the commander’s death, but there was a hint of steel in there too.

  “With the four of us on her tail, she doesn’t stand a chance.”

  MULCH had left the stolen LEP shuttle at the theme park gate. It had been a simple matter for Butler to disable the park’s cameras and remove a half-rotted section from the hemisphere’s roof in order to effect the rescue.

  When they got back to the shuttle, Holly powered up the engines and ran a systems check.

  “What on earth were you doing, Mulch?” she asked, amazed by the readings the computer was displaying. “The computer says you came all the way down here in first gear.”

  “There are gears?” said the dwarf. “I thought this crate was automatic.”

  “Some jockeys prefer gears. Old-fashioned, I know, but more control around the bends. And another thing, you didn’t have to do that gas thing on the rope. There are plenty of stun grenades in the weapons locker.”

  “This thing has a locker too? Gears and lockers. Well, I never.”

  Butler was giving Artemis a field physical.

  “You seem all right,” he said, placing a massive palm over Artemis’s chest. “Holly fixed up your ribs, I see.”

  Artemis was in a bit of a daze. Now that he was out of immediate danger, the day’s events were catching up to him. How many times could one person cheat death in twenty-four hours? Surely his odds were getting shorter.

  “Tell me, Butler,” he whispered so the others wouldn’t hear, “is it all true? Or is it a hallucination?” Even as the words left his lips, Artemis realized that it was an impossible question. If this was all a hallucination, then his bodyguard was a dream, too.

  “I turned down gold, Butler,” continued Artemis, still unable to accept his own grand gesture. “Me. I turned down gold.”

  Butler smiled, much more the smile of a friend than a bodyguard. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit. You were becoming quite charitable before the mind wipe.”

  Artemis frowned. “Of course you would say that, if you were part of the hallucination.”

  Mulch was eavesdropping on the conversation and couldn’t resist a comment. “Didn’t you smell what I shot those trolls with? You think you could hallucinate that, Mud Boy?”

  Holly started the engines. “Hold on back there,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s time to go. The sensors picked up some shuttles sweeping local chutes. The authorities are looking for us. I need to get us somewhere off the charts.”

  Holly teased the throttle and lifted them smoothly from the ground. If the shuttle had not had portholes, the passengers might not have noticed the takeoff.

  Butler elbowed Mulch. “Did you see that? That’s a takeoff. I hope you learned something.”

  The dwarf was highly offended. “What do I have to do to get a bit of respect around here? You are all alive because of me, and all I get is abuse.”

  Butler laughed. “Okay, little friend. I apologize. We owe you our lives, and I, for one, will never forget it.”

  Artemis followed this interaction curiously. “I would deduce that you remember everything, Butler. If, for a moment, I accept this situation as reality, then your memory must have been stimulated. Did I, perhaps, leave something behind?”

  Butler pulled the laser disk from his pocket. “Oh yes, Artemis. There was a message on this disk for me. You left yourself a message, too.”

  Artemis took the disk. “At last,” he said. “Some intelligent conversation.”

  Artemis found a small bathroom at the rear of the shuttle. The indoor toilet itself was only to be used in an emergency, and the seat was made from a spongy material which Mulch had assured him would break down any waste as it passed through. Artemis decided he would test the filter at another time, and sat on a small ledge by the porthole.

  There was a plasma screen on the wall, presumably for in-restroom entertainment. All he had to do was slip the computer disk into the drive below the screen, and his fairy memories would be returned to him. A whole new world. An old one.

  Artemis spun the disk between his thumb and forefinger. Psychologically speaking, if he loaded this disk it meant that some part of him accepted the truth of all this. Putting the disk in the slot could plunge him deeper into some kind of psychotic episode. Not putting it in could condemn the world to a war between species. The fairy and human worlds would collide.

  What would Father do? Artemis asked himself.

  He loaded the disk.

  Two files appeared on the desktop, marked with animated 3-D GIFs, something the fairy system had obviously added on. Both were tagged with the file names in English and the fairy language. Artemis selected his own
file by touching the plasma screen’s transparent covering. The file glowed orange, then expanded to fill the screen. Artemis saw himself in Fowl Manor, sitting at his desk in the study.

  “Greetings,” said the screen Artemis. “How nice for you to see me. Doubtless, this will be the first intelligent conversation you have had for some time.”

  The real Artemis smiled. “Correct,” he replied.

  “I paused for a second there,” continued the screen Artemis, “to give you a chance to respond, thus qualifying this as a conversation. There will be no more pausing, as time is limited. Captain Holly Short is downstairs being distracted by Juliet, but doubtless she will check on me soon. We depart for Chicago presently to deal with Mister Jon Spiro, who has stolen something from me. The price of fairy assistance in this matter is a mind wipe. All memories of the People will be erased forever, unless I leave a message for my future self, thus prompting recall. This is that message. The following video footage contains specific details of my involvement with the Fairy People. I hope this information will get those brain cell pathways sparking again.”

  Artemis rubbed his forehead. The vague mysterious flashes persisted. It seemed as though his brain was ready to rebuild those pathways. All he needed was the right stimulus.

  “In conclusion,” said the screen Artemis, “I would like to wish you, myself, the best of luck. And welcome back.”

  The next hour passed in a blur. Images flashed from the screen, adhering to empty spaces in Artemis’s brain. Each memory felt right the instant Artemis processed it.

  Of course, he thought. This explains everything. I had the mirrored contact lenses made so I could lie to the fairies and hide the existence of this journal. I fixed Mulch Diggums’s search warrant so that he could return the disk to me. Butler looks older because he is older; the fairy healing in London saved his life, but cost him fifteen years.

  The memories were not all proud ones. I kidnapped Captain Short. I imprisoned Holly. How could I have done that?

  He could not deny it any longer. This was all true. Every-thing that his eyes had seen was real. The fairies existed and his life had been intertwined with theirs for more than two years. A million images sprouted in his consciousness, rebuilding electric bridges in his brain. They strobed behind his eyes in a confusing display of color and wonder. A lesser mind than Artemis’s could have been utterly exhausted, but the Irish boy was exhilarated.

  I know it all now, he thought. I beat Koboi before, and I will do it again. This determination was fueled by sadness. Commander Root is gone. Koboi took him from his People.

  Artemis had known this earlier, but now it meant something.

  There was one other thought, more persistent than the rest. It crashed into his mind like a tsunami.

  I have friends? thought Artemis Fowl the Second. I have friends.

  Artemis emerged from the bathroom a different person. Physically, he was still battered, bruised, and exhausted, but emotionally he felt prepared for everything that lay ahead. If a body language analyst had studied him at that moment, they would have observed his relaxed shoulders and open palms, and would have concluded that this was, psychologically speaking, a more welcoming and trustworthy individual than the one who had entered the bathroom an hour since.

  The shuttle was parked in a secondary chute off the beaten track, and the occupants were at the mess table. A selection of LEP field ration packs had been torn open and devoured. The biggest pile of foil packs was stacked in front of Mulch Diggums.

  Mulch glanced at Artemis and noticed the change immediately. “About time you got your head in order,” grunted Mulch, struggling from his chair. “I need to get into that bathroom urgently.”

  “Nice to see you too, Mulch,” said Artemis, stepping aside to allow the dwarf past.

  Holly froze, a sachet of juice halfway to her mouth. “You remember him?”

  Artemis smiled. “Of course, Holly. We have known each other for more than two years.”

  Holly jumped from her chair and clasped Artemis by the shoulders. “Artemis. It’s great to see you. The real you. The gods know we need Artemis Fowl right now.”

  “Well, he’s here and ready for duty, Captain.”

  “Do you remember everything?”

  “Yes. I do. And first of all, let me apologize for that consultant business. That was very rude. Please forgive me.”

  “But what made you remember?” asked the elf. “Don’t tell me a visit to the bathroom jogged your memory.”

  “Not exactly.” Artemis held up the computer disk. “I gave this to Mulch. It is my video diary. He was supposed to return it to me upon his release from prison.”

  Holly shook her head. “That’s not possible. Mulch was searched by experts. The only thing you gave him was the gold medallion.”

  Artemis angled the disk so it caught the light.

  “Of course,” groaned Holly, slapping her forehead. “You passed off that disk as the gold medallion. Very clever.”

  Artemis shrugged. “Genius, actually. It seems merely clever in hindsight, but the original idea was pure genius.”

  Holly cocked her head. “Genius. Of course. Believe it or not I actually missed that smug grin.”

  Artemis took a breath. “I am so sorry about Julius. I know our relationship was a rocky one, but I had nothing but respect and admiration for the commander.”

  Holly wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. She said nothing, just nodded. If Artemis needed another reason to go after Opal Koboi, the sight of the elfin captain so disturbed was it.

  Butler ate the contents of a field ration pack in one mouthful. “Now that we’re all reacquainted, we should try to track Opal Koboi down. It’s a big world.”

  Artemis waved his fingers dismissively. “No need. I know exactly where our would-be murderer is. Like all megalomaniacs, she has a tendency to show off.” He crossed to a plastic computer keyboard on the wall and called up a map of Europe.

  “I see your Gnommish has come back to you,” sniffed Holly.

  “Of course,” said Artemis, enlarging part of the map. “Opal revealed a little bit more of her plan than she knew. She let two words slip, though one would have been sufficient. She said that her human name was to be Belinda Zito. Now, if you wished to lead the humans to the Fairy People, who better to have adopt you than the renowned billionaire environmentalist Giovanni Zito?”

  Holly crossed the shuttle deck to the screen. “And where would we find Dr. Zito?”

  Artemis tapped a few keys, zooming in on Sicily. “At his world-famous Earth Ranch. Right there in the Messina province,” he said.

  Mulch stuck his head out of the bathroom. The rest was mercifully hidden behind the door.

  “Did I hear you talking about a Mud Man named Zito?”

  Holly turned toward the dwarf, then kept right on turning. “Yes. So what? And for heaven’s sake close the door.”

  Mulch pulled the door so only a crack remained. “I was just watching a bit of human television in here, as you do. Well, there’s a Zito person on CNN. Do you think it’s the same person?”

  Holly grabbed a remote control from the desktop. “I really hope not,” she said. “But I’d bet my life it is.”

  A group of scientists appeared on the screen. They were gathered in what looked like a prefabricated laboratory, and each wore a white coat. One stood out from the rest. He was in his mid-forties, with tanned skin, strong handsome features, and long, dark hair curling over his collar. He wore rimless glasses and a lab coat. A striped Versace shirt protruded from beneath his white lapels.

  “Giovanni Zito,” said Artemis.

  “It is incredible, really,” Zito was telling a reporter in slightly accented English. “We have sent crafts to other planets, and yet we have no idea what lies beneath our feet. Scientists can tell us the chemical makeup of Saturn’s rings, but we don’t honestly know what lies at the center of our own planet.”

  “But probes have been sent down before,” said
the reporter, trying to pretend he hadn’t just picked up this knowledge from his earpiece.

  “Yes,” agreed Zito. “But only to a depth of about nine miles. We need to get through to the outer core itself, almost two thousand miles down. Imagine if the currents of liquid metal in the outer core could be harnessed. There’s enough free energy in that metal to power mankind’s machines forever.”

  The reporter was skeptical. At least, the real scientist speaking in his earpiece told him to be skeptical. “But this is all speculation, Dr. Zito. Surely a voyage to the center of the earth is nothing but a fantasy? Possible only in the pages of science fiction.”

  A brief flash of annoyance clouded Giovanni Zito’s features. “This is no fantasy, sir, I assure you. This is no fantastical voyage. We are sending an unmanned probe, bristling with sensors. Whatever is down there, we will find it.”

  The reporter’s eyes widened in panic as a particularly technical question came over his earpiece. He listened for several seconds, mouthing the words as he heard them.

  “Dr. Zito, eh…This probe you are sending down, I believe it will be encased in one hundred million tons of molten iron at about five and a half thousand degrees Celsius. Is that correct?”

  “Absolutely,” confirmed Zito.

  The reporter looked relieved. “Yes. I knew that. Anyway, my point is, it would take several years to gather so much iron. So why did you ask us here today?”

  Zito clapped his hands excitedly. “This is the wonderful part. As you know the core probe was a long-term project. I had planned to accumulate the iron over the next ten years. But now, laser drilling has revealed a deep orebody of hematite, iron ore, on the bottom edge of the crust right here in Sicily. It’s incredibly rich, perhaps eighty-five percent iron. All we need to do is detonate several charges inside that deposit and we have our molten iron. I have already secured the mining permits from the government.”

  The reporter asked the next question all on his own. “So, Dr. Zito, when do you detonate?”

  Giovanni Zito removed two thick cigars from his lab coat pocket. “We detonate today,” he said, passing a cigar to the reporter. “Ten years early. This is a historic moment.” Zito opened the office curtains, revealing a fenced-off area of scrubland below the window. A metallic section of piping protruded from the earth in the center of the three-foot-square enclosure. As they watched, a crew of workmen clambered from the piping, moving hurriedly away from the opening. Wisps of gaseous coolant spiraled from the pipe. The men climbed into a golf trolley and exited the compound. They took shelter in a concrete bunker at the perimeter.