Artemis led the small group to a tarpaulin, which had been pegged over a large cube.

Foaly snorted. “Let me guess. Looks like a common garden tarpaulin, but is actually cam foil with rear projection set to look like tarp?”

Artemis took two more steps before answering, then nodded toward everyone to fix them in their places. A bead of sweat ran down his back, generated by the stress of losing his battle to obsessive behavior.

“No, Foaly. It looks like a tarpaulin because it is a tarpaulin,” he said, then added, “Yes, a tarpaulin.”

Foaly blinked. “Yes, a tarpaulin? Are we in one of your Gilbert and Sullivan operettas now?” He threw his head back and sang, “‘I am a centaur, yes, a centaur is what I am.’ It’s not like you to wax, Artemis.”

“Foaly is singing,” said Holly. “Surely that’s illegal?”

Vinyáya snapped her fingers. “Quiet, children. Contain your natural disruptive urges. I am most eager to see these nano-wafers in action before taking a shuttle closer to the warm core of our planet.”

Artemis bowed slightly. “Thank you, Commander, most kind.”

Five again, thought Holly. The evidence mounts.

Artemis Fowl twirled a hand at Holly Short as though introducing himself to a theater audience. “Captain, perhaps you would remove the cloth. You have an aptitude for taking things apart.”

Holly was almost thrilled to have something to do. She would have preferred to have a serious talk with Artemis, but at least tackling a crate did not involve ingesting more scientific facts.

“Happy to,” she said, and attacked the tarp as though it had insulted her grandmother. Suddenly there was a knuckle knife adorning the fingers of her right hand, and three judicious slices later, the tarp fluttered to the ground.