Artemis’s breath came short, crystallizing in front of his face,
blurring his vision. The train had drawn level now, steel wheels spewing
ice and sparks into the air.
“Second carriage,” panted Holly. “There’s a runner. Mind your
footing.”
Runner? Artemis glanced behind. The second carriage was coming
up fast. But the noise was blurring his vision. Was that possible? It was
terrific. Unbearable. There, below the steel doors. A narrow board. Wide
enough to stand on. Barely.
Holly alighted easily, flattening herself against the carriage wall. She
made it look so effortless. A simple skip, and she was safe from those
pulverizing wheels.
“ ome on, Fowl,” shouted Holly. “Jump.”
Artemis tried, he really did. But the toe of his loafer snagged on a
sleeper. He stumbled forward, pinwheeling for balance. A painful death
came rushing up to meet him.
“Two left feet,” muttered Holly, grabbing her least favorite Mud Boy
by the collar. Momentum swung Artemis forward, slamming him into the
door.
…

Artemis latched on to the rung beside her.
“What can I do?”
She nodded at a shoulder pocket.
“In there. A small vial. Take it out.”
Artemis ripped open the Velcro flap, pulling out a tiny spray bottle.
“Okay. ot it.”
“ ood. It’s up to you now, Fowl. Up and over.”
Artemis’s mouth dropped open. “Up and . . .”
“Yes. It’s our only hope. We have to get this door open to reel in
Butler and the ommander. There’s a bend in the track two klicks back. If
this train slows down even one revolution, they’re gone.”
Artemis nodded. “The vial?”
“Acid. For the lock. The mechanism is on the inside. over your face
and squeeze. ive it the whole tube. Don’t get any on yourself.”
It was a long conversation under the circumstances. Especially since
every second was a vital one. Artemis did not waste another one on good
byes.
He dragged himself to the next rung, keeping the length of his body
pressed close to the carriage. The wind was whipping along the length of
the train, tiny motes of ice in every gust. They stung like bees.
Nevertheless Artemis pulled his gloves off with chattering teeth. Better
frostbite than being crushed beneath the wheels.
Upward. One rung at a time, until his head poked above the carriage.
Every shred of shelter was now gone. The air pounded his forehead,
forcing itself down his throat. Artemis squinted through the blizzard, along
the carriage’s roof. There! In the center. A skylight. Across a desert of
steel, blasted smooth as glass by the elements. Not a handhold within
fifteen feet. The strength of a rhino would be of no use here, Artemis
decided. At last an opportunity to use his brain. Kinetics and momentum.
Simple enough, in theory.
Keeping to the front rim of the carriage, Artemis inched onto the
roof. The wind wormed beneath his legs rising them nearly an inch from
the deck, threatening to float him off the train.
Artemis curled his fingers around the rim. These were not gripping
fingers. Artemis hadn’t gripped anything bigger than his cell phone in
several months. If you wanted someone to type Paradise Lost in under
twenty minutes, then Artemis was your man. But as for hanging onto
carriage roofs in a blizzard, dead loss. Which, fortunately, was all part of
the plan.
A millisecond before his finger joints parted company, Artemis let
go. The slipstream shot him straight into the skylight’s metal housing.
Perfect, he would have grunted had there been a cubic centimeter of
air in his lungs. But even if he had said it, the wind would have snatched
away any words before his own ears heard them. He had moments now
before the wind dug its fingers beneath his torso flipping him onto the icy
steppe. annon fodder for the goblins.
Artemis fumbled the acid vial from his pocket, snapping the top
between his teeth. A fleck of the acid flew past his eye. No time to worry
about that now. No time for anything.
The skylight was secured by a thick padlock. Artemis dribbled two
drops into the keyhole. All he could spare. It would have to be enough.
The effect was immediate. The acid ate through the metal like lava
through ice. Fairy technology. Best under the world.
The padlock pinged open, exposing the hatch to the wind’s power.
The hatch flipped upward, and Artemis tumbled through onto a pallet of
barrels. Not exactly the picture of a gallant rescuer.

-The Arctic Incident, Chapter 8