Holly Short was lying in bed having a silent fume. Nothing unusual about this. Leprechauns in general were not known for their geniality. But Holly was in an exceptionally bad mood, even for a fairy. Technically she was an elf, fairy being a general term. She was a leprechaun too, but that was just a job.
Perhaps a description would be more helpful than a lecture on fairy genealogy. Holly Short had nut-brown skin, cropped auburn hair and hazel eyes. Her nose had a hook and her mouth was plump and cherubic, which was appropriate considering that Cupid was her great-grandfather. Her mother was a European elf with a fiery temper and a willowy figure. Holly, too, had a slim frame, with long tapered fingers perfect for wrapping around a buzz baton. Her ears, of course, were pointed. At exactly one metre in height, Holly was only a centimetre below the fairy average, but even one centimetre can make an awful lot of difference when you don't have many to spare.
Commander Root was the cause of Holly's distress. Root had been on Holly's case since day one. The commander had decided to take offence at the fact that the first female officer in Recon's history had been assigned to his squad. Recon was a notoriously dangerous posting with a high fatality rate, and Root didn't think it a place for a girlie. Well, he was just going to have to get used to the idea, because Holly Short had no intention of quitting for him or anybody else.
Though she'd never admit it, another possible cause for Holly's irritability was the Ritual. She'd been meaning to perform it for several moons now, but somehow there just never seemed to be time. And if Root found out she was running low on magic, she'd be transferred to Traffic for sure.
Holly rolled off her futon and stumbled into the shower. That was one advantage of living near the earth's core - the water was always hot. No natural light, of course, but that was a small price to pay for privacy. Underground. The last human-free zone. There was nothing like coming home after a long day on the job, switching off your shield and sinking into a bubbling slime pool. Bliss.
The fairy suited up, zipping the dullgreen jumpsuit up to her chin and strapping on her helmet. LEPrecon uniforms were smart these days. Not like that top-o'the-morning costume the force had had to wear back in the old days. Buckled shoes and knickerbockers! Honestly. No wonder leprechauns were such ridiculous figures in human folklore. Still, probably better that way. If the Mud People knew that the word "leprechaun" actually originated from LEPrecon, an elite branch of the Lower Elements Police, they'd probably take steps to stamp them out. Better to stay inconspicuous and let the humans have their stereotypes.
WITH the moon already rising on the surface, there was no time for a proper breakfast. Holly grabbed the remains of a nettle smoothie from the cooler and drank it in the tunnels. As usual there was chaos in the main thoroughfare. Airborne sprites jammed the avenue like stones in a bottle. The gnomes weren't helping either, lumbering along with their big swinging behinds blocking two lanes. Swear toads infested every damp patch, cursing like sailors. That particular breed began as a joke but had multiplied into an epidemic. Someone lost their wand over that one.
Holly battled through the crowds to the police station. There was already a riot outside Spud's Spud Emporium. LEP Corporal Newt was trying to sort it out. Good luck to him. Nightmare. At least Holly got the chance to work above ground.
The LEP station doors were crammed with protesters. The goblin/dwarf turf war had flared up again, and morning hordes of angry parents showed up demanding the release of their innocent offspring. Holly snorted. If there actually was an innocent goblin, Holly Short had yet to meet him. They were clogging up the cells now, howling gang chants and hurling fireballs at each other.
Holly forged past Root's office, hoping she would make it to her cubicle before . . .
"SHORT! GET IN HERE!"
Holly sighed. Ah well. Here we go again.
Stowing her helmet under her arm, Holly smoothed the creases from her uniform and stepped into Commander Root's office.
Root glanced up sharply. "Now, just a minute, Captain Short - " He was interrupted by the bleeping of one of the phones on his desk. Then two, then three. A giant viewscreen crackled into life on the wall behind him.
Root jabbed the speaker button, putting all the callers on conference.
"Yes?"
"We've got a runner."
Root nodded. "Anything on Scopes?"
Scopes was the shop name for the shrouded trackers attached to American communications satellites.
"Yep," said caller two. "Big blip in Europe. Southern Italy. No shield."
Root cursed. An unshielded fairy could be seen by mortal eyes. That wasn't so bad if the perp was humanoid.
"Classification?"
"Bad news, Commander," said the third caller. "We got us a rogue troll."
Root rubbed his eyes. Why did these things always happen on his watch? Holly could understand his frustration. Trolls were the meanest of the deep-tunnel creatures. They wandered the labyrinth, preying on anything unlucky enough to cross their path. Their tiny brains had no room for rules or restraint. Occasionally one found its way into the shaft of a pressure elevator. Usually the concentrated air current fried them, but sometimes one survived and was blasted to the surface. Driven crazy by pain and even the tiniest amount of light, they would generally proceed to destroy everything in their path.
Root shook his head rapidly, recovering himself.
"OK, Captain Short. Looks like you get your chance. You're running hot, I take it?"
"Yes, sir," lied Holly, all too aware that Root would suspend her immediately if he knew she'd neglected the Ritual.
"Good. Then sign yourself out a side arm and proceed to the target area."
Holly glanced at the viewscreen. Scopes were sending high-res shots of an Italian fortified town. A red dot was moving rapidly through the countryside towards the human population.
"Do a thorough reconnaissance and report in. Do not attempt a retrieval. Is that understood?"
"Yessir."
"We lost six men to troll attacks last quarter. Six men. That was below ground, in familiar territory."
"I understand, sir."
Root pursed his lips doubtfully.
"Do you understand, Short? Do you really?"
"I think so, sir."
"Have you ever seen what a troll can do to flesh and bone?"
"No, sir. Not up close."
"Good. Let's not make today your first time."
"Understood."
Root glared at her. "I don't know why it is, Captain Short, but whenever you start agreeing with me, I get decidedly nervous."
Foaly was waiting for her in Ops. Foaly was a paranoid centaur, convinced that human intelligence agencies were monitoring his transport and surveillance network. To prevent them reading his mind, he wore a tinfoil hat at all times.
He glanced up sharply when Holly entered through the pneumatic double doors.
"Anybody see you come in here?"
Holly thought about it.
"The FBI, CIA, NSA, DEA, MI6. Oh, and the EIB."
Foaly frowned. "The EIB?"
"Everybody in the building," smirked Holly.
Foaly rose from his swivel chair and clip-clopped over to her.
"Oh, you're very funny, Short. If I were you, I'd concentrate on the job in hand."
"OK, Foaly," Holly composed herself.
"Fill me in."
The centaur pointed to a live feed from the Eurostat, which was displayed on a large plasma screen.
"This red dot is the troll. He's moving towards Martina Franca, a fortified town near the city of Brindisi. As far as we can tell, he stumbled into vent €7. It was on cool-down after a surface shot, that's why the troll isn't crispy barbecue right now."
Holly grimaced. Charming, she thought.
"We've been lucky in that our target has bumped into some food along the way. He chewed on a couple of cows for an hour or two, so that bought us a bit of time."
"A couple of cows?" exclaimed Holly.
"Just how big is this fellow?"
Foaly adjusted his foil bonnet. "Bull troll. Fully grown. One hundred and eighty kilos, with tusks like a wild boar. A really wild boar."
Holly swallowed. Suddenly Recon seemed a much better job than Retrieval.
"Right. What have you got for me?"
Foaly cantered across to the equipment table. He selected what looked like a rectangular wristwatch.
"Locator. You find him, we find you. Routine stuff."
"Video?"
The centaur clipped a small cylinder into the accommodating groove on Holly's helmet.
"Live feed. Nuclear battery. No time limit. The mike is voice-activated."
"Good," said Holly. "Root said I should take a weapon on this one. Just in case."
"Way ahead of you," said Foaly. He picked a platinum handgun from the pile. "A Neutrino 2000. The latest model. Even the tunnel gangs don't have these. Three settings, if you don't mind. Scorched, well done and crisped to a cinder. Nuclear power source too, so plug away. This baby will outlive you by a thousand years."
Holly strapped the lightweight weapon into her shoulder holster.
"I'm ready . . . I think."
Foal chuckled. "I doubt it. No one's ever really ready for a troll."
The Italian night sky was crisp and brisk, infused with olives and vine. Crickets clicked in the rough grass and moths fluttered in the starlight. Holly couldn't stop herself smiling. It was worth the risk, every bit of it.
Speaking of risk . . . She checked the locator. The bip was much stronger now. The troll was almost at the town walls! She could appreciate nature after the mission was over. Now it was time for action.
The troll was directly below her, pounding against the town's outer wall, which was coming away in chunks beneath his powerful fingers. Holly sucked in a startled gasp. This guy was a monster! Big as an elephant and ten times as mean. But this particular beast was worse than mean, he was scared.
"Control," said Holly into her mike. "Runner located. Situation critical topside."
Root himself was on the other end of the comlink.
"Clarify, Captain."
Holly pointed her video link at the troll.
"Runner is going through the town wall. Contact imminent. How far away are Retrieval?"
"ETA five minutes minimum. We're still in the shuttle."
Holly bit her lip. Root was in the shuttle?
"That's too long, Commander. This whole town is going to explode in ten seconds . . . I'm going in."
"Negative, Holly . . . Captain Short. You don't have an invite. You know the law. Hold your position."
"But, Commander - "
Root cut her off. `No! No buts, Captain. Hang back. That's an order!"
Holly's entire body felt like a heartbeat. Petrol fumes were addling her brain. What could she do? What was the right decision to make? Lives or orders?
Then the troll broke through the wall and a child's voice split the night.
"Aiuto!" it screamed.
Help. An invitation. At a stretch.
"Sorry, Commander. The troll is lightcrazy and there are children in there."
She could imagine Root's face, purple with rage as he spat into the mike.
"I'll have your stripes, Short! You'll spend the next 100 years on drain duty!"
But it was no use. Holly had disconnected her mike and swooped in after the troll.
Streamlining her body, Captain Short ducked into the hole. She appeared to be in a restaurant. A packed restaurant. The troll had been temporarily blinded by the electric light and was thrashing about in the centre of the floor.
The patrons were stunned. Even the child's plea had petered out. They sat gaping, party hats perched comically on their heads. Waiters froze, huge trays of pasta quivering on their splayed fingers. Chubby Italian infants covered their eyes with chubby fingers. It was always like this in the beginning: the shocked silence. Then came the screaming.
A wine bottle crashed to the floor. It broke the spell. The pandemonium started. Holly winced. Trolls hated noise almost as much as light.
The troll lifted massive shaggy shoulders, its retractable claws sliding out with an ominous schiiick. Classic predator behaviour. The beast was about to strike.
Holly drew her weapon and flicked it up to the second setting. She couldn't kill the troll under any circumstances. Not to save humans. But she could certainly put him out until Retrieval arrived.
Aiming for the weak point at the base of the skull, she let the troll have a long burst of the concentrated ion ray. The beast staggered, stumbled a few steps, then got very angry.
It's OK, thought Holly, I'm shielded. Invisible. To any onlookers it would seem as though the pulsing blue beam emanated from thin air.
The troll rounded on her, its muddy dreadlocks swinging like candles.
No panic. It can't see me.
The troll picked up a table.
Invisible. Totally invisible.
He pulled back a shaggy arm and let fly.
Just a slight shimmer in the air.
The table tumbled straight towards her head.
Holly moved. A second too late. The table clipped her backpack, knocking the petrol tank clean off. It span through the air, trailing flammable fluid.
Italian restaurants - wouldn't you know it - full of candles. The tank twirled right through an elaborate candelabrum. It burst into flames, like some deadly firework. Most of the petrol landed on the troll. So did Holly.
The troll could see her. There was no doubt about it. It squinted at her through the hated light, its brow a rictus of pain and fear. Her shield was off. Her magic had gone. Holly twisted in the troll's grip, but it was useless. The creature's fingers were the size of bananas, but nowhere near as pliant. They were squashing the breath from her ribcage with savage ease. Needlelike claws were scraping at the toughened material of her uniform. Any second now, they would punch through, and that would be that.
Holly couldn't think. The restaurant was a carousel of chaos. The troll was gnashing its tusks; greasy molars trying to grip her helmet. Holly could smell its fetid breath through her filters. She could smell the odour of burning fur too, as the fire spread along the troll's back.
The beast's green tongue rasped across her visor, sliming the lower section. The visor! That was it. Her only chance. Holly wormed her free hand to the helmet controls. The tunnel lights. High beams.
She depressed the sunken button and 800 watts of unfiltered light blasted from the twin spotlights above her eyes.
The troll reared back, a penetrating scream exploding from between rows of teeth. Dozens of glasses and bottles shattered where they stood. It was too much for the poor beast. Stunned, set on fire and now blinded. The shock and pain made their way through to its tiny brain, ordering it to shut down. The troll complied, keeling over with almost comical stiffness. Holly rolled to avoid a scything tusk.
THERE was complete silence, but for tinkling glass, crackling fur and the sudden release of breath. Holly climbed shakily to her feet. There were a lot of eyes following her - human eyes. She was 100 per cent visible. And these humans wouldn't stay complacent for long. This breed never did. Containment was the issue.
She raised her empty palms. A gesture of peace.
"Scusatemi tutti," she said, the language flowing easily from her tongue.
The Italians, ever graceful, muttered that it was nothing.
Holly reached slowly into her pocket and withdrew a small sphere. She placed it in the middle of the floor.
"Guardate," she said. Look.
The restaurant's patrons complied, leaning in to see the small silver ball. It was ticking, faster and faster, almost like a countdown. Holly turned her back to the sphere. Three, two, one . . .
Boom! Flash! Mass unconsciousness. Nothing fatal, but headaches all around in about 40 minutes. Holly sighed. Safe. For the moment. She ran to the door and slid the latch across. Nobody was going in or out. Except through the big gaping hole in the wall. Next she doused the smouldering troll with the contents of the restaurant's fire extinguisher, hoping the icy powder wouldn't revive the sleeping behemoth.
Holly surveyed the mess she had created. There was no doubt, it was a shambles. Root would skin her alive. She'd rather face the troll any day. This was the end of her career for sure, but suddenly that didn't seem so important, because her ribs were aching and she had a blinder of a pressure headache coming on. Perhaps a rest, just for a second, so she could pull herself together before Retrieval showed up.
Holly didn't even bother looking for a chair. She simply allowed her legs to buckle beneath her, sinking to the chessboard lino floor.
Eoin Colfer 2001
BIOGRAPHY
Born in 1965, Eoin Colfer is from Wexford, where he still lives, and where until recently he worked as a teacher at Coolcotts National School. He has published six children's books with O'Brien Press, including Benny and Babe, which was [R O] shortlisted for the Bisto Award 2000. Two of his books are for six- to eight year- olds; the others are for early teens. This extract is from Artemis Fowl (Viking, £12.99 in UK), the first in a trilogy about a 12-year-old Irish boy who uses his incredibly sophisticated computer skills to capture a fairy for ransom. Published in Ireland on May 3rd, Artemis Fowl has been sold to publishers all over the world, including France, Italy, Iceland, Korea, Israel, the US and Brazil. Miramax Films (US) has bought the film rights.
Eoin Colfer, near his home in Wexford. Photograph: Dara MacDonaill