Disclaimer note: I do NOT, in any way, own the characters of artemis fowl.
I made this up based on the books.
Where the Dwarves Go Chapter 1
Mulch grasped the key in his sweaty hands. The time had come. He was getting out of this stinking cell. He shrank against the wall. The guard came into the room with the filthy water they always gave him to give the prisoners. As soon as the guard had set the water bowl down and locked the door, Mulch sprang out from his refuge and out his plan into action.
Dragging the drill that he had stolen from the workman the day before, he grabbed the bowl and spilled the water through the tiny cracks in the cemented, fireproof floor (there were goblins in almost every cell) and waited. After sitting on his aching haunches for an hour, he was ready to dig up some dirt, so to speak. He pointed the tip of the drill at the softest point in the cement floor, where he had poured his water every day for the past month. This stuff was hard to reverse. Luckily there was a seam of mortar to hold the slabs of cement together, and it happened to run straight through this cell. Under it, about four inches deep, was earth, which of course Mulch could chew through without any problem. When the mortar had begun to wear away, Mulch had panicked and covered it with his massive behind for three days until one of the goblins had thrown a shirt at him while having a good laugh at Mulch's immobile figure. Having torn up the fabric, Mulch had used the strips to cover his secret. Now he lifted up the shirt carefully, squinting to see in the almost complete darkness of night.
He took a deep breath and turned on the drill. Due to the new fairy technology, there was absolutely no sound as it sank into the soft mortar. Mortar was actually outdated, but this was an age-old prison. It was still being inspected. No one wanted to go down three hundred feet under the ground to rebuild a stupid little prison. So it stayed, untouched and the technology was over a hundred years outdated. All the better for Mulch. When he had excavated a space just deep enough so he could see the earth peeking out at the bottom, he pushed the drill aside and leaped into the pit.
He could smell freedom through this little pit, and it drove him on. After covering the pit up with the shirt, he carefully opened his back flap and unhinged his jaw, preparing to replenish his empty stomach. He plunged into the dirt wildly, throwing up digested clumps of dirt three feet into the air. He was five feet down. Ten feet down. Muck churned against his head. He was going across, his beard waving frantically. He was going up. Then he's almost to the top. Then he's out, sucking breaths of clean air on the north side of the prison building. He sighed and stretched. "Artemis Fowl would have been proud," he muttered under his breath.
"Really? I'm not sure that's his fashion." A red-faced man stepped out from the shadows. "Especially since it didn't work." Mulch realized instantly that he was surrounded. He stood in a confusing mixture of alarm, fury and disbelief. He balled his fists but didn't dare make a move. Was he really defeated?
"Don't be a naughty boy now, Mulch. Why don't we have a talk?" The man's face broke into a wide smile.
"You haven't changed at all, I see, Julius Root," spat Mulch.
"Ah yes, but enough chitchat. We really do have to talk."
"I don't really care to say anything, Commander." Root turned redder than the vegetable his name happened to be.
"You're coming, Mulch," he said, turning redder by the second, "whether you care to or not!" He stared furiously at him. Turning to an officer he said, "Please escort this prisoner to one of the rooms under my office. And I assure you, Mulch," he whispered through a wicked grin, "that you will be in a room of solid steel."
Where the Dwarves Go Chapter 1
Mulch grasped the key in his sweaty hands. The time had come. He was getting out of this stinking cell. He shrank against the wall. The guard came into the room with the filthy water they always gave him to give the prisoners. As soon as the guard had set the water bowl down and locked the door, Mulch sprang out from his refuge and out his plan into action.
Dragging the drill that he had stolen from the workman the day before, he grabbed the bowl and spilled the water through the tiny cracks in the cemented, fireproof floor (there were goblins in almost every cell) and waited. After sitting on his aching haunches for an hour, he was ready to dig up some dirt, so to speak. He pointed the tip of the drill at the softest point in the cement floor, where he had poured his water every day for the past month. This stuff was hard to reverse. Luckily there was a seam of mortar to hold the slabs of cement together, and it happened to run straight through this cell. Under it, about four inches deep, was earth, which of course Mulch could chew through without any problem. When the mortar had begun to wear away, Mulch had panicked and covered it with his massive behind for three days until one of the goblins had thrown a shirt at him while having a good laugh at Mulch's immobile figure. Having torn up the fabric, Mulch had used the strips to cover his secret. Now he lifted up the shirt carefully, squinting to see in the almost complete darkness of night.
He took a deep breath and turned on the drill. Due to the new fairy technology, there was absolutely no sound as it sank into the soft mortar. Mortar was actually outdated, but this was an age-old prison. It was still being inspected. No one wanted to go down three hundred feet under the ground to rebuild a stupid little prison. So it stayed, untouched and the technology was over a hundred years outdated. All the better for Mulch. When he had excavated a space just deep enough so he could see the earth peeking out at the bottom, he pushed the drill aside and leaped into the pit.
He could smell freedom through this little pit, and it drove him on. After covering the pit up with the shirt, he carefully opened his back flap and unhinged his jaw, preparing to replenish his empty stomach. He plunged into the dirt wildly, throwing up digested clumps of dirt three feet into the air. He was five feet down. Ten feet down. Muck churned against his head. He was going across, his beard waving frantically. He was going up. Then he's almost to the top. Then he's out, sucking breaths of clean air on the north side of the prison building. He sighed and stretched. "Artemis Fowl would have been proud," he muttered under his breath.
"Really? I'm not sure that's his fashion." A red-faced man stepped out from the shadows. "Especially since it didn't work." Mulch realized instantly that he was surrounded. He stood in a confusing mixture of alarm, fury and disbelief. He balled his fists but didn't dare make a move. Was he really defeated?
"Don't be a naughty boy now, Mulch. Why don't we have a talk?" The man's face broke into a wide smile.
"You haven't changed at all, I see, Julius Root," spat Mulch.
"Ah yes, but enough chitchat. We really do have to talk."
"I don't really care to say anything, Commander." Root turned redder than the vegetable his name happened to be.
"You're coming, Mulch," he said, turning redder by the second, "whether you care to or not!" He stared furiously at him. Turning to an officer he said, "Please escort this prisoner to one of the rooms under my office. And I assure you, Mulch," he whispered through a wicked grin, "that you will be in a room of solid steel."