Moving Pictures

handleman.
    “Blast! Well, I suppose we can do the next fight. She doesn’t have to be in it,” said Silverfish grumpily. “All right, everybody. We’ll do the bit where Victor fights the dreaded Balgrog.”
    “What’s a Balgrog?” said Victor.
    A friendly but heavy hand tapped him on the shoulder.
    “It’s a traditional evil monster what is basically Morry painted green with wings stuck on,” said Rock. “I’ll jus’ go an’ help him with the paintin’.”
    He lumbered off.
    No one seemed to want Victor at the moment.
    He stuck the ridiculous sword into the sand, wandered away and found a bit of shade under some scrubby olive trees. There were rocks here. He tapped them gently. They didn’t appear to be anyone.
    The ground formed a cool little hollow that was almost pleasant by the seared standards of Holy Wood hill.
    There was even a draft blowing from somewhere. As he leaned back against the stones he felt a cool breeze coming from them. Must be full of caves under here, he thought.
    — far away in Unseen University, in a drafty, many pillar’d corridor, a little device that no one had paid much attention to for years started to make a noise —
    So this was Holy Wood. It hadn’t looked like this on the silver screen. It seemed that moving pictures involved a lot of waiting around and, if he was hearing things right, a mixing-up of time. Things happened before the things they happened after. The monsters were just Morry painted green with wings stuck on. Nothing was really real.
    Funnily enough, that was exciting.
    “I’ve just about had enough of this,” said a voice beside him.
    He looked up. A girl had come down the other path. Her face was red with exertion under the pale make-up, her hair hung over her eyes in ridiculous ringlets, and she wore a dress which, while clearly made for her size, was designed for someone who was ten years younger and keen on lace edging.
    She was quite attractive, although this fact was not immediately apparent.
    “And you know what they say when you complain?” she demanded. This was not really addressed to Victor. He was just a convenient pair of ears.
    “I can’t imagine,” said Victor politely.
    “They say, ‘There’s plenty of other people out there just waiting for a chance to get into moving pictures.’ That’s what they say.”
    She leaned against a gnarled tree and fanned herself with her straw hat. “And it’s too hot,” she complained. “And now I’ve got to do a ridiculous one-reeler for Silverfish, who hasn’t got the faintest idea. And some kid probably with bad breath and hay in his hair and a forehead you could lay a table on.”
    “And trolls,” said Victor mildly.
    “Oh gods . Not Morry and Galena?”
    “Yes. Only Galena’s calling himself Rock now.”
    “I thought it was going to be Flint.”
    “He likes Rock.”
    From behind the rocks came the plaintive bleat of Silverfish wondering where everyone had got to just when he needed them. The girl rolled her eyes.
    “Oh gods . For this I’m missing lunch?”
    “You could always eat it off my forehead,” said Victor, standing up.
    He had the satisfaction of feeling her thoughtful gaze on the back of his neck as he retrieved his sword and gave it a few experimental swishes, with rather more force than was necessary.
    “You’re the boy in the street, aren’t you?” she said.
    “That’s right. You’re the girl who was going to be shot,” said Victor. “I see they missed.”
    She looked at him curiously. “How did you get a job so quickly? Most people have to wait weeks for a chance.”
    “Chances are where you find them, I’ve always said,” said Victor.
    “But how —”
    Victor had already strolled away with gleeful nonchalance. She trailed after him, her face locked in a petulant pout.
    “Ah,” said Silverfish sarcastically, looking up. “My word. Everyone where they should be. Very well. We’ll go from the bit where he finds her tied to the stake. What you do,” he said to Victor, “is untie her, then drag her off and fight the Balgrog, and you ,” he pointed to the girl, “you, you, you just follow him and look as, as rescued as you possibly can, OK?”
    “I’m good at that,” she said, resignedly.
    “No, no, no,” said Dibbler, putting his head in his hands.
    “Not that again!”
    “Isn’t that what you wanted?” said Silverfish. “Fights and rescues?”
    “There’s got to be more to it than that!” said Dibbler.
    “Like what?”