Moving Pictures

Chair.
    “Don’t see what’s so wonderful about that,” said Poons.
    “I’ve got out of carriages hundreds of times. There’s no trick to it at all.”
    “It’s a bit odd,” the Chairman admitted. “And they cheered the head of the Assassins’ Guild and the High Priest of Blind Io, too. And now someone’s rolled out a red carpet.”
    “What, in the street? In Ankh-Morpork? ”
    “Yes.”
    “Wouldn’t like to have their cleaning bill,” said Poons.
    The Lecturer in Recent Runes nudged the Chair heavily in the ribs, or at least at the point where the ribs were overlaid by the strata of fifty years of very good dinners.
    “Quiet!” he hissed. “They’re coming!”
    “Who?”
    “Someone important, by the look of it.”
    The Chair’s face creased in panic behind his false real beard. “You don’t think they’ve invited the Archchancellor, do you?”
    The wizards tried to shrink inside their robes, like upright turtles.
    In fact it was a far more impressive coach than any of the crumbling items in the University’s mews. The crowd surged forward against the line of trolls and city guards and stared expectantly at the carriage door; the very air hummed with anticipation.
    Mr. Bezam, his chest so inflated with self-importance that he appeared to be floating across the ground, bobbed toward the carriage door and opened it.
    The crowd held its collective breath, except for a small part of it that hit surrounding people with its stick and muttered, “What’s happening? What’s going on? Why won’t anyone tell me what’s happening ? I demand someone tell me, mm, what’s happening ?”

    The door stayed shut. Ginger was gripping the handle as if it was a lifeline.
    “There’s thousands of them out there!” said Ginger. “I can’t go out there!”
    “But they all watch your clicks,” pleaded Soll. “They’re your public.”
    “No!”
    Soll threw up his hands. “Can’t you persuade her?” he said to Victor.
    “I’m not even sure I can persuade myself,” said Victor.
    “But you’ve spent days in front of these people,” said Dibbler.
    “No I haven’t,” said Ginger. “It was just you and the handlemen and the trolls and everyone. That was different. Anyway, that wasn’t really me,” she added. “That was Delores De Syn.”
    Victor bit his lip thoughtfully.
    “Maybe you ought to send Delores de Syn out there, then,” he said.
    “How can I do that?” she demanded.
    “Well…why not pretend it’s a click…?”
    The Dibblers, uncle and nephew, exchanged glances. Then Soll cupped his hands around his face like the eye of a picture box and Dibbler, after a prompting nudge, placed one hand on his nephew’s head and turned an invisible handle in his ear.
    “Action!” he directed.

    The carriage door swung open.
    The crowd gasped, like a mountain breathing in. Victor stepped out, reached up, took Ginger’s hand…
    The crowd cheered, madly.
    The Lecturer in Recent Runes bit his fingers in sheer excitement. The Chair made a strange hoarse noise in the back of his throat.
    “You know you said what could a boy find to do that was better than being a wizard?” he said.
    “A true wizard should only be interested in one thing,” muttered the Dean. “You know that.”
    “Oh, I know it.”
    “I was referring to magic.”
    The Chair peered at the advancing figures.
    “You know, that is young Victor. I’ll swear it,” he said.
    “That’s disgusting,” said the Dean. “Fancy choosing to hang around young women when he could have been a wizard.”
    “Yeah. What a fool,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, who was having trouble with his breathing.
    There was a sort of communal sigh.
    “You got to admit she’s a bit of a corker, though,” said the Chair.
    “I’m an old man and if someone doesn’t let me see very soon, ” said a cracked voice behind them, “someone’s going to be feeling the wrong end of, mm, my stick, all right?”
    Two of the wizards edged aside and eased the wheelchair through. Once moving, it coasted right up to the edge of the carpet, bruising any knees or ankles that stood in its way.
    Poons’ mouth fell open.
    Ginger gripped Victor’s hand.
    “There’s a group of fat old men in false beards waving at you over there,” she said through clenched and grinning teeth.
    “Yes, I think they’re wizards,” Victor grinned back.
    “One of them keeps bouncing up and down in his wheelchair and shouting things like ‘Way-hey!’ and