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- Chapter 3: Griffin -

"Don't slam the door so hard!" said Katrina, flickering back to angry mode.

"Sorry," said Georgie quickly. He, of course, had no idea that his mistake was nothing more than a poor excuse for a cliffhanger. "Er - where is the police station, exactly?"

"It's just down the road," replied Katrina, gesturing as if she thought Georgie might be too stupid to work out what she was saying without a corresponding hand movement. Georgie looked. The road was a wide one, bordered by numerous houses - terraced, but each with its own front garden - broken at intervals by smaller roads leading off to either side. The pavements - which were made of the same rock as everything else seemed to be - were planted with strange trees every ten yards or so, but there was no need for their shade as the cavern was still in the same twilight of the previous evening - there was no time underground, as it were. Georgie found it strange that the trees and other plants had enough light to grow properly. A few people - most of them ordinary looking, in stark contrast with John whom Georgie had supposed to be an archetypal Dumpling - were walking or gliding down the street; several cars, not unlike the Calvetia 5000 in the drive behind them, were also on the move. Despite all this, however, Georgie could not see anything that looked remotely like a police station anywhere in sight. Feeling it would be rude to ask, he instead followed Katrina wordlessly down the street.

When Katrina had said the police station was just down the road, she hadn't exactly been telling the whole truth. It took them five minutes to get to the end of the street, where they turned a corner before walking another twelve hundred yards down another, very similar, road, at the end of which they finally came across the station. It was a squat building, with various posters stuck up outside saying things like 'Help stop vandalism' (this one had some illegible words sprayed across it, the first example of graffiti Georgie had seen all day) and 'Hole Police - Against Gun Crime' (a bullet had somehow found its way into the top left hand corner). The station itself seemed oddly quiet, and all the windows seemed to have had curtains drawn across them. Katrina peered through the door (which was made of some transparent material; the extent to which this was planned to avoid making Katrina look even more stupid than she did is uncertain).

"See anything?" Georgie asked.

"No - it's all dark." She tried the handle, shaking it vehemently. "It's locked, dammit!"

"Maybe they're closed?" Georgie suggested reasonably.

"Closed?" Katrina was shouting again now, though Georgie was confident it was at the building rather than him. "What sort of police station is closed at nine o'clock on a weekday?" She kicked the door. An alarm went off, and Katrina clutched her toes suddenly as if they were in pain, but nothing else happened. "John's been kidnapped, you -" She swore, but I won't reproduce the exact words here in order to protect the delicate eyes of any readers whose eyes may happen to be delicate.

"What d'we do now?" Georgie ask.

"There's only one other place to go," replied Katrina in an over-dramatic voice.

"The central police station?"

"The government." And she started to walk off down a road leading to the centre of the cavern.

Georgie was dumbfounded. "Surely that's a bit - over the top?" he called after her, but she didn't respond. Deciding it was best to trust the girl, he followed her.

As they walked further down the road, the houses became steadily more impressive - though still not as grand as John's and still made of the same brown rock - and the numbers of people and vehicles on the street became greater and greater - some pedestrians looking at Katrina and Georgie strangely, some looking at them as if they were nothing special and others not looking at them at all. Then, as they came to the end of the road, they were walking into a great square - which was actually round - milling with people and surrounded by elegant buildings.

"We're right in the middle of the city," Katrina said. "That's Column House - the parliament building."

She gestured forwards, pointing towards a structure than certainly befitted its name. The building was - or had been - in the form of a massive column of rock, except with windows, doors and balconies, stretching upwards towards the top of the cavern. It appeared that the building had once supported the entire structure, a great pillar holding up the city's roof (though here the roof was so high that it hardly felt like they were underground at all), but over the centuries it had gradually collapsed, and now only the first few hundred feet remained, tapering to a broken point. Georgie wondered what happened to the bits that fell off, and if anyone got hurt when they did. He hoped he wouldn't be unlucky enough to find out first hand.

"John says -" began Katrina, breaking off and collecting herself. "The building was supposed to represent how the government supported the city, but then it fell down ..." She smiled. "They are a bit like that. The government. They never get anything done. Come on."

She grabbed Georgie by the arm and led him across the square to the great column. The main entrance was through an old oak door at the end of a flight of stone steps. Two men - obviously soldiers, in crested caps and uniforms of dark green, carrying large ceremonial swords and with strange-looking guns slung across their backs - were posted at the doorway, looking rather bored. Katrina paid them no attention, and walked straight past, Georgie behind her.

They walked into what looked like it had once been a highly ornate hall of some sort, but currently much of the gold paint was peeling off and the silver chain from which the crystal chandelier was suspended was somewhat tarnished. The hall was circular in shape, and built into the walls were a number of help desks, each labelled with a sign that presumably identified what it was to be used for - General Enquiries, Complaints, Lost Property, Shellfish, and so on. Several statues, apparently made of white Plasticine, had been placed haphazardly around the hall, and a number of people - many but not all dressed in smart clothes and managing to look incredibly busy even though on closer inspection they weren't actually doing anything - were milling around, talking to each other and drinking coffee.

"What -?" began Georgie, in an attempt to find out Katrina's exact intention, but he cut himself off as she began to walk pointedly towards a desk marked Prime Minister. The Government in general had seemed extreme, but this? Clearly Hole operated nothing like the surface world. Georgie pushed his way past two men in 1930s-style suits, and followed Katrina to the desk.

"Excuse me," she was saying, "I'd like to talk to the Prime Minister."

"Of course you would, dearie," said the attendant, a grandmotherly woman in a woolly pink cardigan. "This is the Prime Ministerial Enquiries Desk."

"Yeah, I know," said Katrina. "Can - can I see him?"

"Well, dearie, the Prime Minister doesn't normally like to see people without a very good reason. And he doesn't like to be disturbed during his mid-afternoon break."

"It's not mid-afternoon," Katrina pointed out.

"I know, but if it were dearie ..." the old lady replied.

"So can I see him?"

"The Prime Minister doesn't normally like to see people without a very good reason," the receptionist repeated.

"I have a very good reason."

"Oh? And what would that be dearie?"

"Someone's been kidnapped."

"You want the police for kidnaps dearie, not the Prime Minister," the old lady simpered.

"We tried the police," said Georgie, deciding to make himself useful. "They were closed."

Katrina shot him a look that made it quite clear that he had not been supposed to talk. The receptionist said, "Don't be silly, dearie, why would a police station be closed at this time in the morning?"

"It was," said Katrina, as if this was a proper explanation. "Look - can we see the Prime Minister?"

"Not just for a kidnap, dearie," said the old lady. "He has a lot of work to do."

"It's not just a kidnap!" retorted Katrina angrily. "It's John Smith!"

The receptionist peered at Katrina over her glasses. "Don't worry dearie, it's a very common name ... I'm sure you'll find another one."

"John Smith!" repeated Katrina. "The Plasticine modeller!"

This description had an instantaneous effect on the attendant. She began to breathe rather faster and more audibly than previously, and put her hand to her chest as if this would in some way help matters. After recovering slightly, she looked at Katrina and gasped, "John Smith the Plasticine modeller has been kidnapped?"

"That's what I said," Katrina answered.

"You'd better see the Prime Minister."

She got up from the desk and led Katrina out of the entrance hall and up a wide, spiralling staircase that began directly opposite the doorway. Georgie followed them, something that wasn't particularly difficult as the old woman was rather slow even with her walking stick. They passed several more Plasticine statues, the receptionist muttering things like "Oh dearie me!" and "What a to-do!" at each one.

Several flights of stairs up, the old lady stopped suddenly at one of the many green-painted doors that lined the steps. "This is the Prime Minister's private office, dearie," she said to Katrina. "Is your friend coming in too?"

Katrina appeared to have forgotten that Georgie existed. She looked slightly surprised at the old woman's words, spotted Georgie, did a double take, and nodded. "Yeah."

"Good, then," said the receptionist. "I'll just knock ..." She did so. Nothing happened. "Oh dear. He does have trouble with his hearing sometimes ..." She knocked again, much louder this time. For a few seconds, Georgie thought that the Prime Minister hadn't heard again, or perhaps that he wasn't even in the room and the old woman had got it all wrong. Then the door swung open, and Georgie found himself looking at a short, besuited man, about fifty years old, with the well-combed greying vestiges of hair which was cut close to his rather large head. "Did someone knock?" he asked. "Oh, good morning, Mavis."

"Good morning, Prime Minister," said the receptionist. "These two young people would like to see you."

"What?" said the man. His hearing problem was not explained by the fact that his ears looked like they could pick up the slightest of sounds a mile away. His nose, too, was rather prominent.

"They'd like to see you, Prime Minister," repeated Mavis in a sympathetic tone. "They say John Smith's been kidnapped."

"Not the Plasticine modeller?" said the Prime Minister, astounded. "I've got an order in for a small figurine for next Tuesday ... not to mention that he's one of the nicest people I've ever met ..."

"I'm afraid so, Prime Minister," said Mavis.

"Eh? Oh, it doesn't matter. I suppose they'd better come in." He attempted a fatherly smile at Georgie and Katrina, and ushered them into his office. It was a small, somewhat cluttered room, with a view over the square and the park behind it and a number of expensive looking artworks hanging on the walls. The Prime Minister shuffled his way into the armchair behind his desk, and gestured to Georgie and Katrina to sit down on two harder wooden chairs in front of it.

"You're that Surface World girl that Smith took in, aren't you?" he asked Katrina, peering at her. "But who's this?"

"I'm - I moved in with John just yesterday."

"What? When?" barked the Prime Minister, then, without waiting for an answer, "I'm Reginald Pitt, by the way. I expect you've heard of me. Prime Minister of the Commonwealth of Hole."

"Oh," said Georgie, unsure how else to react. "Um - pleased to meet you."

"Eh? Anyway, do you mind telling me a bit more about this?"

Katrina explained the situation in more detail, undeterred by Pitt's repeated requests for her to say things again. When she'd finished, the Prime Minister caressed his rather disgusting turquoise and yellow tie and adopted a solemn tone.

"So ... well, it's a great shame that this has happened, of course. I like to think that I knew John on a personal as well as a professional level. I've recorded everything you said," - he gestured towards a strange-looking instrument on his desk - "and I shall pass it on the Chief of Police for his analysis. I shall take it upon myself to investigate the matter personally - I'm supposed to be sitting in Parliament this afternoon, but they can do without me for a short while. I'm sure it won't take long to get John back. In the mean time, all you two can do is to go home and rest assured that everything will be okay with me."

He smiled unrealistically. Katrina stared at him. Georgie stared at Katrina. The door burst open.

"Your -" began Pitt, but he was cut off immediately by the man who had just entered. He was young, not much older than Georgie, with blond hair that fell in curtains on either side of his large, tomato-like face and wearing dark glasses and a trench coat. "John Smith's been kidnapped," he said hastily.

"Eh?"

"John Smith," repeated the man. "Kidnapped."

"I heard," said Pitt. "These two young people were talking to me about it. I've offered to deal with the matter personally. By the way, this is -"

"Sulpice Griffin," finished the man quickly. He spoke with a trace of a north European accent. "Prime Minister - two men have been seen leading Smith away from the city. I recommend we send a party after them immediately."

"I am the head of this country, not you," said Pitt harshly. "However, that seems like a good idea."

"We'll need vehicles," said Griffin. "The faster the better."

Pitt carried on stroking his tie. He seemed not to have heard.

"Prime Minister!"

"What? Did you say something?"

"We'll need vehicles," Griffin said again.

"Eh? No, I don't think so. We can't possibly spare -"

Katrina opened her mouth to protest, but Pitt held up his hand. "We can't possibly spare any of ours at this time. The tensions between the Dumpling nations haven't been so high in decades - what if someone decides to attack us? We'll need our full forces if we're even to stand a chance - no, you should be able to walk. The kidnappers are on foot, you say?"

"It certainly seems so, Prime Minister. Smith should be able to put up enough of a fight to stop any attempts to use Dumple for travel ..."

"What? Smith should be able to fight them? I should certainly hope so. Anyway, you take a party of men and go after them. And - er - I'd rather you kept your own Dumple to a minimum. You know what some people get like when we use too much of it in the tunnels ..."

Griffin looked rather annoyed at this, but he nodded obediently. "Of course. We'll leave in three hours."

He turned to leave, but just as he put his hand to the doorknob Katrina asked, "Mr. Griffin? Could we come with you?"

Georgie looked at her, even more shocked than at any point previously. This was a dangerous mission. Griffin, however, removed his hand from the doorknob and surveyed Katrina over his glasses. After a few seconds of silent contemplation, during which time Georgie was unsure whether to hope for him to answer in the affirmative or otherwise, he nodded. "I should think so. But make sure you do what I say at all times. Come on - I'll send someone to take you home, get some proper clothes and so on - be quick. We leave at one o'clock."

Torn between desires to jump up and down with excitement, to run away like some sort of small, nervous furry thing, and to strangle Katrina for asking the question in the first place, Georgie came to a compromise, and stood up. With a flicker of Dumple energy, Griffin opened the door without touching any part of it, and started to leave. Katrina and Georgie followed, but as they were crossing the threshold, the Prime Minister suddenly spoke:

"You two - could you promise me something? I don't think Smith - John, I mean - would be very happy if you came to any harm. Stay with Griffin - at all costs."

Georgie and Katrina nodded silently, and followed Griffin down the stairs.