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Twelve-year-old Artemis Fowl is a millionaire, a genius-and, above all, a criminal mastermind. But even Artemis doesn't know what he's taken on when he kidnaps a fairy, Captain Holly Short of the LEPrecon Unit. These aren't the fairies of bedtime stories; these fairies are armed and dangerous.
Artemis thinks he has them right where he wants them but then they stop playing by the rules.
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
the pod. He didn’t remember it being like this in his time. Although truth be told, it had probably been an awful lot worse. Back in the shillelagh days, there were no fancy polymer harnesses, no auto thrusters and certainly no external monitors. It was just gut instinct and a touch of enchantment. In some ways Root preferred it like that. Science was taking the magic out of everything. He stumbled down the tunnel into the terminal. As the number-one preferred destination, Tara had a fully
fresh all right, very recent. Still damp in patches. Obviously her prison had been specially prepared. ‘Looking for something?’ said a voice. A cold, heartless voice. Holly reared back from the wall. The human boy was standing not two metres from her, his eyes hidden behind mirrored glasses. He had entered the room without a sound. Extraordinary. ‘Sit, please.’ Holly did not want to sit please. What she wanted to do was incapacitate this insolent pup with her elbow and use his miserable hide
couldn’t enter while he was alive,’ squeaked Cumulus. ‘So?’ Argon took up the account. ‘So… if we can’t go in while he’s alive…’ Root drew a sharp breath. ‘Then we go in when he’s dead.’ Cumulus and Argon beamed. ‘Exactly,’ they said in perfect unison. Root scratched his chin. ‘I don’t know. We’re on shaky ground here legally.’ ‘Not at all,’ argued Cumulus. ‘It’s elementary grammar. The human specifically stated that entry was forbidden as long as he was alive. That’s tantamount to an
eighteen solid hours of sleep and a light continental breakfast, Artemis climbed to the study that he had inherited from his father. It was a traditional enough room – dark oak and floor-to-ceiling shelving – but Artemis had jammed it with the latest computer technology. A series of networked AppleMacs whirred from various corners of the room. One was running CNN’s web site through a DAT projector, throwing oversized current-affairs images against the back wall. Butler was there already, firing