He’d left her by the tunnel mouth, but there was nothing in the spot now except mud and footprints. Footprints, he thought. Now I suppose I need to track Holly. I really must read The Last of the Mohicans. “Don’t bother following those,” said a voice from the ditch. “False trail. I laid it in case the big human took our LEP friend along for a snack.” “That was good thinking,” said Artemis, squinting through the foliage. A shaggy shadow detached itself from a hillock and became Mulch Diggums. “But why did you bother? I thought the LEP were your enemy.” Mulch pointed a stubby mud-crusted finger. “You are my enemy, human. You are the planet’s enemy.” “And yet you are willing to help me for gold.” “A stupendous amount of gold,” said Mulch. “And possibly some fried chicken. With barbecue sauce. And a large Pepsi. And maybe more chicken.” “Hungry?” “Always. A dwarf can eat only so much dirt.” Artemis didn’t know whether to giggle or groan. Mulch would always have trouble grasping the gravity of situations, or perhaps he liked to give that impression.
