Moving Pictures

said Galena. “All the time. Like, in A King’s Ransom , I play a troll who rushed out an’ hit people. An’ in The Dark Forest , I play a troll who rushed out an’ hit people. An’, an’, in Mystery Mountain I play a troll who rushed out, an’ jumped up an’ down on people. It doesn’t pay to get type-cast.”
    “And do you do the same thing?” said Victor, to the other troll.
    “Oh, Morraine’s a character actor, ain’t you?” said Galena. “Best in the business.”
    “What does he play?”
    “Rocks.”
    Victor stared.
    “On account of his craggy features,” Galena went on.
    “Not just rocks. You should see him do an ancient monolith. You’d be amazed . Go on, Morry, show ’im yer inscription.”
    “Nah,” said Morraine, grinning sheepishly.
    “I’m thinking of changing my name for movin’ pictures,” Galena went on. “Somethin’ with a bit o’ class. I thought ‘Flint.’” He gave Victor a worried look, insofar as Victor was any judge of the range of expressions available to a face that looked as though it had been kicked out of granite with a pair of steel-toed boots. “What you fink?” he said.
    “Er. Very nice.”
    “More dynamic , I fought,” said the prospective Flint.
    Victor heard himself say: “Or Rock. Rock’s a nice name.”
    The troll stared at him, its lips moving soundlessly as it tried out the alias.
    “Cor,” he said. “Never fought of that. Rock . I like that. I reckon I’d be due more’n three dollars a day, with a name like Rock.”
    “Can we make a start?” said Dibbler sternly. “Maybe we’ll be able to afford more trolls if this is a successful click, but it won’t be if we go over budget, which means we ought to wrap it up by lunchtime. Now, Morry and Galena—”
    “Rock,” corrected Rock.
    “Really? Anyway, you two rush out and attack Victor, OK. Right… turn it …”
    The handleman turned the handle of the picture box. There was a faint clicking noise and a chorus of small yelps from the demons. Victor stood looking helpful and alert.
    “That means you start,” said Silverfish patiently. “The trolls rush out from behind the rocks, and you valiantly defend yourself.”
    “But I don’t know how to fight trolls!” Victor wailed.
    “Tell you what,” said the newly-christened Rock. “You parry first, and we’ll sort of arrange not to hit you.”
    Light dawned.
    “You mean it’s all pretending ?” said Victor.
    The trolls exchanged a brief glance, which nevertheless contrived to say: amazing, isn’t it, that things like this apparently rule the world?
    “Yeah,” said Rock. “That’s it. Nuffin’s real.”
    “We ain’t allowed to kill you,” said Morraine reassuringly.
    “That’s right,” said Rock. “We wouldn’t go round killin’ you .”
    “They stops our money if we does things like that,” said Morraine, morosely.

    Outside the fault in reality They clustered, peering in with something approaching eyes at the light and warmth. There was a crowd of them by now.
    There had been a way through, once. To say that they remembered it would be wrong, because they had nothing as sophisticated as memory. They barely had anything as sophisticated as heads. But they did have instincts and emotions.
    They needed a way in.
    They found it.

    It worked quite well, the sixth time. The main problem was the trolls’ enthusiasm for hitting each other, the ground, the air and, quite often, themselves. In the end, Victor just concentrated on trying to hit the clubs as they whirred past him.
    Dibbler seemed quite happy with this. Gaffer wasn’t.
    “They moved around too much,” he said. “They were out of the picture half the time.”
    “It was a battle ,” said Silverfish.
    “Yeah, but I can’t move the picture box around,” said the handleman. “The imps fall over.”
    “Couldn’t you strap them in or something?” said Dibbler.
    Gaffer scratched his chin. “I suppose I could nail their feet to the floor,” he said.
    “Anyway, it’ll do for now,” said Silverfish. “We’ll do the scene where you rescue the girl. Where’s the girl? I distinctly instructed her to be here. Why isn’t she here? Why doesn’t anyone ever do what I tell them?”
    The handleman took his cigarette stub out of his mouth.
    “She’s filmin’ A Bolde Adventurer over the other side of the hill,” he volunteered.
    “But that ought to have been finished yesterday!” wailed Silverfish.
    “Film exploded,” said the