"Ooh, what colors have you got?"
"Have you got any strawberry lip gloss?"
"With my coloring, I look best with a sort of orange-brown color."
As the policewomen put down their hoses to crowd around Katie's beauty cases, Nicola noticed some of the protesters quietly getting to their feet and tiptoeing away.
She scooted around to the other side of the policewomen so that they all had to face the opposite direction from the protesters. "Who wants to be interviewed first?"
"I'm the most senior, you can interview me first," said the largest of the policewomen. She ran a fingernail around the edge of her lips and suddenly thrust her scaly-skinned face in front of Nicola with her teeth bared like a crocodile.
Nicola reeled back in horror.
"Do I have lipstick on my teeth?" asked the policewoman.
"Ah, no, they're fine." Nicola sagged with relief.
"We ready to roll?" asked Tyler, holding up the camera. Nicola hoped none of the policewomen would notice how much water was leaking out. Meanwhile Sean was squeezing water out of the sound equipment like it was a sponge.
"Action!" said Greta briskly.
Nicola spoke into her microphone. "I'm here now with a very senior member of the Volcomanian police force. These brave police have just cleverly overcome a protest against the War on Whimsy. Tell me--what will happen to these protesters now?"
"They will be all taken to the Official Prisoner of War Camp on the Planet of Whimsy," answered the policewoman, darting nervous looks at the camera. "That's where all protesters against the war are being held."
There was a muffled sound from Shimlara, who was watching the filming behind Sean and Tyler.
Nicola's heart beat fast. This was her chance to find out exactly where Shimlara's family was being held.
"Ah, yes," she said. "And where exactly is that camp situated?"
"It's in Grid--" The policewoman stopped and clapped a hand over her mouth. "That's confidential information."
"Of course, of course," said Nicola smoothly. "And I believe the camp is in the southwest of Whimsy?" Of course, she had no idea where the camp was located, but she knew that people loved nothing more than c
orrecting you when you made a mistake.
"No, it's in the northeast," said the policewoman in a superior tone. Then she looked furious with herself. "Stop trying to trick me into giving you top secret information! You journalists are all the same!"
"I understand," said Nicola. What else could she ask? She held out her microphone. "Are the prisoners treated well?"
"Well, it's not like they deserve five-star luxury and volcano views," snapped the policewoman. "They're prisoners."
"So I guess, you, ah, keep them in dark, dingy . . . caves?" hazarded Nicola.
"That would be perfect but unfortunately there are no dark, dingy caves on Whimsy," said the policewoman. "They're at the bottom of a moun--"
"What is going on here?"
A sharp voice cracked like a whip from the other side of the road.
The policewoman's red, scaly face turned a pale sort of pink color.
"It's not her, is it?" she whispered desperately to Nicola. "Oh, please, please tell me it's not her!"
"Quiet! "
CHAPTER 15