Sputa, and Phlebum. The Triad old guard.
The gift of gold, and the promise of more was enough to pique their curiosity. His first utterance was carefully planned.
“Ah, Generals, I am honored that you greet me in person.”
The goblins puffed their wrinkled old chests proudly. Generals? The rest of Cudgeon’s patter was equally smooth. They would organize the B’wa Kell, streamline it, and most importantly arm it. Then, when the time was right, they would rise up and overthrow the Council and their lackeys, the LEP. Cudgeon promised that his first act as governor general would be to free all the goblin prisoners in Howler’s Peak. It didn’t hurt that he subtly laced his speech with hints of the hypnotic mesmer .
It was an offer the goblins could not refuse: gold, weapons, freedom for their brothers, and of course a chance to crush the hated LEP.
It never occurred to the B’wa Kell that Cudgeon could betray them just as easily as he had the LEP. They were dumb as stink worms and twice as shortsighted.
Cudgeon met with General Scalene, in a secret chamber beneath the Koboi labs. He was in a foul mood following Luc’s failure to put a scratch on any of his enemies. But there was always plan B. The B’wa Kell were always eager to kill someone. It didn’t really matter who.
The goblin was excited, thirsty for blood. He panted blue flames like a broken heater. “When do we go to war, Cudgeon? Tell us, when?” The elf kept his distance. He dreamed of the day when these stupid creatures were no longer necessary. “Soon, General Scalene. Very soon. But first I need a favor. It concerns Commander Root.” The goblin’s yellow eyes narrowed. “Root? The hated one. Can we kill him? Can we crack his skull and fry his brains?” Cudgeon smiled magnanimously.“Certainly, General. All of these things. Once Root is dead, the city will fall easily.” The goblin was bobbing now, loping with excitement. “Where is he? Where is Root?” “I don’t know,” Cudgeon admitted. “But I know where he will be in six hours.” “Where? Tell me, elf?” Cudgeon heaved a large case onto the table. It con
tained four pairs of Koboi DoubleDex. “Chute ninety-three. Take these, send your best hit squad. And tell them to wrap up warm.”
Chute 93
Julius Root always traveled in style. In this instance he had commandeered the Atlantean ambassador’s shuttle. All leather and gold. Seats softer than a gnome’s behind, and drag buffers that negated all but the most serious jolts.
Needless to say, the Atlantean ambassador hadn’t been all that thrilled about handing over the starter chip. But it was difficult to refuse the commander when his fingers were drumming a tattoo on the tri-barreled blaster strapped to his hip. So now the humans and their two elfin chaperones were climbing E93 in some considerable comfort.
Artemis helped himself to a bottle of still water from the chiller cabinet.
“This tastes unusual,” he commented. “Not unpleasant, but different.”
“ Clean is the word you’re searching for,” said Holly. “You wouldn’t believe how many filters we have to put it through to purge the Mud Man from it.”
“No bickering, Captain Short,” warned Root. “We’re on the same side, now. I want a smooth mission. Now suit up, all of you. We won’t last five minutes out there without protection.”
Holly cracked open an overhead locker. “Fowl, front and center.”
Artemis complied, a bemused smile twitching at his lips.
Holly pulled several cubic packages from the locker.
“What are you, about a six?”
Artemis shrugged. He wasn’t familiar with the People’s system of measurement.
“What? Artemis Fowl doesn’t know. I thought you were the world’s expert on the People. It was you who stole our Book last year, wasn’t it?”
Artemis unwrapped the package. It was a suit of some ultralight rubber polymer.
“Antiradiation,” explained Holly. “Your cells will thank me in fifty years, if
The gift of gold, and the promise of more was enough to pique their curiosity. His first utterance was carefully planned.
“Ah, Generals, I am honored that you greet me in person.”
The goblins puffed their wrinkled old chests proudly. Generals? The rest of Cudgeon’s patter was equally smooth. They would organize the B’wa Kell, streamline it, and most importantly arm it. Then, when the time was right, they would rise up and overthrow the Council and their lackeys, the LEP. Cudgeon promised that his first act as governor general would be to free all the goblin prisoners in Howler’s Peak. It didn’t hurt that he subtly laced his speech with hints of the hypnotic mesmer .
It was an offer the goblins could not refuse: gold, weapons, freedom for their brothers, and of course a chance to crush the hated LEP.
It never occurred to the B’wa Kell that Cudgeon could betray them just as easily as he had the LEP. They were dumb as stink worms and twice as shortsighted.
Cudgeon met with General Scalene, in a secret chamber beneath the Koboi labs. He was in a foul mood following Luc’s failure to put a scratch on any of his enemies. But there was always plan B. The B’wa Kell were always eager to kill someone. It didn’t really matter who.
The goblin was excited, thirsty for blood. He panted blue flames like a broken heater. “When do we go to war, Cudgeon? Tell us, when?” The elf kept his distance. He dreamed of the day when these stupid creatures were no longer necessary. “Soon, General Scalene. Very soon. But first I need a favor. It concerns Commander Root.” The goblin’s yellow eyes narrowed. “Root? The hated one. Can we kill him? Can we crack his skull and fry his brains?” Cudgeon smiled magnanimously.“Certainly, General. All of these things. Once Root is dead, the city will fall easily.” The goblin was bobbing now, loping with excitement. “Where is he? Where is Root?” “I don’t know,” Cudgeon admitted. “But I know where he will be in six hours.” “Where? Tell me, elf?” Cudgeon heaved a large case onto the table. It con
tained four pairs of Koboi DoubleDex. “Chute ninety-three. Take these, send your best hit squad. And tell them to wrap up warm.”
Chute 93
Julius Root always traveled in style. In this instance he had commandeered the Atlantean ambassador’s shuttle. All leather and gold. Seats softer than a gnome’s behind, and drag buffers that negated all but the most serious jolts.
Needless to say, the Atlantean ambassador hadn’t been all that thrilled about handing over the starter chip. But it was difficult to refuse the commander when his fingers were drumming a tattoo on the tri-barreled blaster strapped to his hip. So now the humans and their two elfin chaperones were climbing E93 in some considerable comfort.
Artemis helped himself to a bottle of still water from the chiller cabinet.
“This tastes unusual,” he commented. “Not unpleasant, but different.”
“ Clean is the word you’re searching for,” said Holly. “You wouldn’t believe how many filters we have to put it through to purge the Mud Man from it.”
“No bickering, Captain Short,” warned Root. “We’re on the same side, now. I want a smooth mission. Now suit up, all of you. We won’t last five minutes out there without protection.”
Holly cracked open an overhead locker. “Fowl, front and center.”
Artemis complied, a bemused smile twitching at his lips.
Holly pulled several cubic packages from the locker.
“What are you, about a six?”
Artemis shrugged. He wasn’t familiar with the People’s system of measurement.
“What? Artemis Fowl doesn’t know. I thought you were the world’s expert on the People. It was you who stole our Book last year, wasn’t it?”
Artemis unwrapped the package. It was a suit of some ultralight rubber polymer.
“Antiradiation,” explained Holly. “Your cells will thank me in fifty years, if
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