by Eoin Colfer
Artemis’s smile vanished. All business now. “Who is she, Foaly? To be honest, I am amazed that I don’t already know her.”
“The girl is Minerva Paradizo, twelve years old, born in Cagnes sur Mer, in the South of France. The man is her father, Gaspard Paradizo. Fifty-two. Cosmetic surgeon, of Brazilian descent. One more child, a boy, Beau, five years old. The mother left a year ago. Lives in Marseille with the ex-gardener.”
Artemis was puzzled. “Gaspard Paradizo is a cosmetic surgeon? Why did it take so long to find these two? There must have been records, pictures.”
“That’s just it. There were no pictures on the net. Not even a local paper snapshot. I’ve got the feeling that somebody has systematically wiped out every e-trace of this family they could find.”
“But nobody can hide from you, eh, Foaly?”
“That’s right. I ran a deep probe and came across a ghost image on a French TV archive page. Minerva Paradizo won a national spelling bee when she was four. Once I had the name, then it was easy to retrieve all the other wipes. Your girlfriend is quite something, Artemis. She has already completed high school, and is currently studying for two distance learning degrees. Quantum physics and psychology. I suspect that she also has a doctorate in chemistry, under an assumed name.”
“What about the other two men?” asked Holly, moving the conversation on before Foaly could get in another girlfriend crack.
“The Latin one is Juan Soto. Head of Soto Security. He seems to be a legitimate security operative. Not much expertise, hardly any training. Nothing to worry about.”
“And the sniper?”
“The crutch guy is Billy Kong. A real nasty piece of work. I’m sending the file to your helmet.” In seconds the mail alert dinged in Holly’s ear and she opened the file in her visor. A 3-D photo of Kong revolved slowly in the top-left corner of the visor, while his criminal record scrolled down before her eyes.
Artemis cleared his throat. “I don’t happen to have a helmet, Foaly.”
“Oh yes, little Master Lo-tech,” said Foaly, his voice dripping with condescension. “Shall I read it for you?”
“If your mighty brain can bear to use simple vocalization.”
“Okay. Billy Kong. Grew up in a circus, lost an eye in a fight with a tiger . . .”
Artemis sighed. “Please, Foaly, we don’t have time for jokes.”
“Sure,” retorted the centaur. “Like you’re in the library. Okay then, the truth. Born Jonah Lee, Malibu, early seventies. Family originally from Taiwan. Mother, Annie. One older brother, Eric, killed in a gang fight. The mother moved them both back to Hsin-chu, south of Taipei. Kong moved to the city and became a petty thief. He had to leave in the nineties when a row with an accomplice turned into a murder charge. Kong used a kitchen knife on his friend. There’s still a warrant out for him there, under the name Jonah Lee.”
Holly was surprised. Kong seemed harmless enough. He was a slight man with spiked, highlighted hair. He seemed more like a member of a boy band than a close-up man.
“Moved to Paris and changed his name,” continued Foaly. “Took up martial arts. He’s had facial surgery, but not enough to escape my computer.”
Artemis lowered his phone hand and talked to Butler. “Billy Kong?”
The bodyguard drew a sharp breath. “Ruthless man. He has a small well-trained crew. They hire themselves out as bodyguards to people who live dangerously. I heard he went legit and was working for a doctor in Europe.”
“Kong is on the train,” said Artemis. “He was the man with the fake crutch.”
Butler nodded thoughtfully. Kong was infamous in underworld circles. The man had no morals, and would happily perform any task, however distasteful, for the right price. Kong only had one rule: never quit until the job was done.
“If Billy Kong is involved, things just got a lot more dangerous. We need to rescue that demon as quickly as possible.”
“Agreed,” said Artemis, raising the phone. “Do we have an address, Foaly?”
“Gaspard Paradizo owns a chateau on the Vence side of Tourrettes sur Loup, twenty minutes from Nice.”
Artemis finished his cappuccino in a single gulp. “Very well. Holly, we shall meet you there.”
Artemis stood, straightening his suit jacket. “Butler, old friend, we need some surveillance equipment. Do you know anybody in Nice who might oblige?”
Butler flipped open a wafer-thin cell phone. “What do you think?”
Tourrettes sur Loup
Tourrettes sur Loup is a small artisans’ village perched on the lower slopes of the Alps Maritime. The Paradizo chateau was farther up the slopes, on a flattened peak below the snow line.
The chateau was originally nineteenth century but had undergone extensive renovation. The walls were solid stone, the windows were reflective and probably bulletproof, and there were cameras everywhere. The road leading to the chateau was typical of the region; narrow and tightly looped. There was an observation tower on the building’s southern corner, which afforded any sentry a three hundred and sixty degree view of any avenue of approach. Several men patrolled the grounds close to the main building, and the gardens were dotted with grassy dunes, but did not provide a shred of cover.
Artemis and Butler were concealed in a line of bushes on the adjacent slope. Butler studied the chateau through high-powered binoculars.
“You certainly can pick them,” noted the bodyguard. “I think I saw this place in a Bond movie once.”
“No problem for you, surely?”
Butler frowned. “I’m a bodyguard, Artemis. A human bulletproof vest. Breaking into fortified castles is not my speciality.”
“You have rescued me from more secure locations than this one.”
“True,” agreed the bodyguard. “But I had intel, an inside man. Or I was desperate. If I had to walk away from here, it wouldn’t trouble me unduly, so long as you were walking away with me.”
Artemis patted his arm.“We can’t walk away, old friend.”
Butler sighed. “I suppose not.” He handed Artemis the binoculars. “Now, start at the western corner and sweep east.”
Artemis raised the binoculars to his eyes, then adjusted the focus. “I see two-man patrols.”
“Soto’s private security company. No weapons showing, but they have bulges below their jackets. Basic training, I imagine. But with more than twenty of them on and around the premises it would be very difficult to overpower them all. And even if I did, the local police would be here in minutes.”
Artemis moved the binoculars a few degrees. “I see a little boy wearing a cowboy hat, driving a toy car.”
“Paradizo’s son, Beau, presumably. Nobody pays much attention to him. Move on.”
“Sensors in the eaves?”
“I’ve actually researched that particular model. The very latest sealed security pods. Close circuit, infrared, motion sensors, night vision. The works. I’ve been meaning to upgrade Fowl Manor.”
There were small speakers on spikes dotted around the chateau.
“A sound system?”
Butler snorted. “I wish. Those are waffle boxes. They transmit interference. Our directional microphones are useless here. I doubt if even Foaly could pick up anything inside that building.”
Holly shimmered into visibility beside them. “You’re right. Foaly’s pulled one of our shrouded satellites out of orbit to get a look at this place, but it’s going to be several hours before the chateau is inside its footprint.”
Butler took his hand off his gun butt. “Holly, I wish you wouldn’t appear like that. I’m a bodyguard. I get jumpy.”
Holly smiled, punching him on the leg. “I know, big man. That’s why I do it. Think of me as on-the-job training.”
Artemis barely glanced up from the binoculars. “We need to find out what’s happening in there. If only we could get a man inside.”
Holly frowned. “I can’t go into a human dwelling without permission. You know the rules. If a fairy ent
ers a human dwelling without an invitation, they lose their magic, and that’s after a few hours of painful vomiting and cramps.”
After the battles at Taillte, Frond, the king of the fairy People, had tried to keep mischievous fairies away from human dwellings by imposing magical geasa, or rules, on fairies. He had used his warlocks to construct a powerful spell to impose his will. Anyone attempting to break these rules would become deathly ill, and lose their magic.
“What about Butler? You could lend him a sheet of Foaly’s cam-foil. He’d be as good as invisible.”
Holly shook her head. “There’s a laser pyramid all over the grounds. Even with cam-foil, Butler would break the beams.”
“Mulch, then? He’s a criminal, long past the allergic reaction stage. Cramps and vomiting wouldn’t affect him.”
Holly scanned the grounds with her X-ray filter. “This place is built on solid rock, and the walls are three feet thick. Mulch could never burrow in there unnoticed.” Her X-ray vision fell on the skeleton of a small boy driving his little electric car. She raised her visor to see Beau Paradizo zigzagging through the guards unmolested.
“Mulch couldn’t get in there,” she said, smiling. “But I think I know someone who could.”
CHAPTER 6
DWARF WALKS INTO A BAR
The Lower Elements
Mulch Diggums strolled through Haven’s Market District, feeling more relaxed with every step. The Market District was a lowlife zone, as much as you could have a lowlife zone on a street that boasted two hundred cameras and a permanent LEP cabin on the corner. But even so, criminals outnumbered civilians here eight to one.
My kind of people, thought Mulch. Or at least they used to be before I threw in with Holly.
It wasn’t that Mulch regretted teaming up with Holly, but sometimes he did miss the old days. There was something about thievery that made his heart sing. The thrill of the snatch, the euphoria of easy money.
Don’t forget the despair of prison, his practical side reminded him. And the loneliness of life on the run.
True. Crime wasn’t all fun and games. It had minor downsides, like fear, pain, and death. But Mulch had been able to ignore those for a long time, until Commander Julius Root had been killed by a criminal. Until then it had all been a game. Julius was the cat, and he was the elusive mouse. But with Julius gone, returning to a life of crime would seem like a slap in the face to the commander’s memory.
And that’s why I like this new job so much, concluded Mulch happily. I get to run around behind the LEP’s back and consort with known criminals.
He had been watching talk shows in the Section 8 lounge when Foaly had come cantering in. Truth be told, Mulch liked Foaly. They knocked sparks off each other whenever they met, but it kept both of them on their toes, or hooves, whichever the case may be.
In this instance, there had been no time for tomfoolery, and Foaly had brusquely explained the situation above-ground. They did have a plan, but it hinged on Mulch’s ability to find the pixie smuggler, Doodah Day, and bring him back to Section 8.
“That’s going to take some doing,” noted Mulch. “The last time I saw Doodah, he was scraping dwarf gunge off his boots. He doesn’t like me very much. I’m going to need leverage.”
“You tell that pixie that if he helps us out he’s a free fairy. I’ll go into the system myself and wipe his record.”
Mulch raised his shaggy eyebrows. “It’s that important?”
“It’s that important.”
“I saved this city,” grumbled the dwarf. “Twice, in fact! Nobody ever wiped my record. This pixie goes on one mission, and poof, he walks. What do I get? Seeing as we’re handing out wishes.”
Foaly stamped a hoof impatiently. “You get your exorbitant consultant’s fee. Whatever. Just get on this. Do you have any way to track Mr. Day down?”
Mulch whistled. “It’s going to be devilishly tough. That pixie will have gone to ground after this morning. But I have certain skills. I can do it.”
Foaly glowered at him. “That’s why you get paid the big bucks.”
In fact, finding Doodah was not going to be quite as devilishly difficult as Mulch had pretended. The last thing Mulch had done before waving a cheery good-bye to Doodah Day was to slip a tracker pill down his boot.
The tracker pills had been a gift from Foaly. He liked to pass redundant equipment to Holly to help her keep the agency afloat. The pills were made from a baked adhesive gel that started to melt as soon as you popped it from its foil case. The gel stuck to whatever it was touching and adopted its color. Inside was a tiny transmitter that emitted harmless radiation for up to five years. The tracking system was not very sophisticated. Each pill left its signature on the individual foil cases, so the case glowed whenever it detected the signature radiation. The brighter the glow, the closer the pill.
Idiotproof, Holly had quipped, issuing the pills.
And idiotproof they were proving to be. Barely ten minutes after leaving Section 8, Mulch had tracked Doodah Day to the Market District. By the dwarf’s reckoning, his quarry was somewhere within a twenty-yard radius. The most likely place was the fish bar across the street. Pixies loved fish. Especially shellfish. Especially-especially protected shellfish, such as lobster. Which was why Doodah’s smuggling skills were so much in demand.
Mulch crossed the street, adjusted his expression to fearsome, and barged into Happy as a Clam as if he owned the place.
The bar was ostensibly a dive. The floor was bare boards, and the air stank of week-old mackerel. The menu was written on the wall in what looked like fish blood, and the only customer appeared to be asleep in a bowl of chowder.
A pixie waiter glared at Mulch from behind a knee-high counter.
“There’s a dwarf bar down the street,” he said.
Mulch flashed him a toothy grin. “Now that’s not very hospitable. I could be a customer.”
“Not likely,” said the waiter. “I never saw a dwarf pay for a meal yet.”
It was true. Dwarfs were scroungers by nature.
“You got me,” admitted Mulch. “I’m no customer. I’m looking for someone.”
The waiter gestured at the almost deserted restaurant. “If you don’t see him, he ain’t here.”
Mulch flashed a very shiny LEP temporary deputy badge that Foaly had issued. “I think I might take a closer look.”
The waiter ran out from behind his counter. “I think you might need a warrant to take one more step, cop.”
Mulch brushed him aside. “I’m not that kind of cop, pixie.”
Mulch followed the transmitter’s signal through the main restaurant down a shabby corridor and into the restrooms, which were even shabbier. Even Mulch winced, and he burrowed in mud for a living.
One cubicle had an out-of-order sign on the door. Mulch squeezed into the pixie-size space and quickly located the secret door. He wormed his way through into a far more salubrious room than the one he had just left. There was a velvet-lined cloakroom box, staffed by a rather surprised pixie in a pink dress.
“Do you have a reservation?” she asked haltingly.
“More than one,” replied Mulch. “For starters, do you think it’s a good idea to put the secret entrance to an illegal restaurant in a bathroom? It didn’t fool me, and I think I’ve lost my appetite.”
Mulch did not wait for an answer. Instead he bowed under a low lintel into an opulent main restaurant. Here, dozens of pixies were tucking into steaming plates of shellfish. Doodah Day was alone at a table for two, cracking a lobster with a hammer as if he hated it.
Mulch walked over, ignoring the glares from other diners.
“Thinking about someone?” he asked, lowering himself into a tiny pixie chair.
Doodah glanced up. If he was surprised, he hid it well.
“You, dwarf. I’m imagining that this claw is your fat head.”
Doodah brought the hammer down hard, splattering Mulch with white lobster meat.
“Hey, watch it! Tha
t stinks.”
Doodah was livid. “That stinks! That stinks! I’ve taken three showers. Three! And I can’t get the stink of your mouth offa me. It follows me like my own personal sewer. You see I’m eating alone. Usually I got me a tableful of buddies, but not today. Today I smell like dwarf.”
Mulch was unperturbed. “Hey, easy, little guy. I could get offended.”
Doodah waved the hammer. “You see anyone in here caring how you feel? Offended or otherwise.”
Mulch took a deep breath. This was going to be a hard sell.
“Yeah, okay, Doodah. Point made. You’re a real wise guy. A ticked off wise guy. But I got an offer for you.”
Doodah laughed. “You got an offer for me? I got an offer for you. Why don’t you get your dwarf stink outta here before I crack your teeth with this hammer?”
“I get it,” said Mulch testily. “You’re a tough little guy, and mean, too. And a dwarf would have to be crazy to mess with you. Generally, I would sit here for a couple of hours, trading insults. But today I’m busy. A friend of mine is in trouble.”
Doodah smiled broadly, raising a glass of wine in a mock toast. “Well, dwarf, here’s hoping it’s that slippery elf, Holly Short. ’Cause there’s nobody I would rather see up to her pointy ears in something dangerous.”
Mulch showed his teeth, but he wasn’t smiling.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. You attacked my friend with a multi-mixer. Nearly killed her.”
“Nearly,” said Doodah, raising a finger. “Just scared her is all. She shouldn’t have been chasing me. I just smuggle a few crates of shrimp. I don’t kill anyone.”
“Just drive.”
“That’s right. Just drive.”
Mulch relaxed. “Well, Doodah, lucky for you, your driving skill is the very thing stopping me from unhinging my jaw and chewing on you like one of those shrimp balls you got there. And this time, who knows which end you’d come out.”
The bravado instantly drained from Doodah’s face.
“I’m listening,” he said.
Mulch reined in his teeth. “Okay. So you can drive anything, right?”
