Moving Pictures

bastard.”
    The handler grinned nervously at Victor and turned around. There was no one behind him. He looked down.
    “Woof,” said Gaspode, and wagged what was almost a tail.
    “Did you just hear someone say something?” said the handler carefully.
    “No,” said Victor. He leaned close to one of the camel’s ears and whispered, in case it was a special Holy Wood camel: “Look, I’m a friend, OK?”
    Evil-Minded Son of a Bitch flicked a carpet-thick ear. 11
    “How do you ride it?” he said.
    “When you want to go forward you swear at it and hit it with a stick, and when you want to stop you swear at it and really hit it with a stick.”
    “What happens if you want it to turn?”
    “Ah, well, you’re on to the Advanced Manual there. Best thing to do is get off and do it round by hand.”
    “When you’re ready!” Dibbler bellowed through his megaphone. “Now, you ride up to the tent, leap off the camel, fight the huge eunuchs, burst into the tent, drag the girl out, get back on the camel and away. Got it? Think you can do that?”
    “What huge eunuchs?” said Victor, as the camel unfolded itself upward.
    One of the huge eunuchs shyly raised a hand.
    “It’s me. Morry,” it said.
    “Oh. Hi, Morry.”
    “Hi, Vic.”
    “And me, Rock,” said a second huge eunuch.
    “Hi, Rock.”
    “Hi, Vic.”
    “Places, everyone,” said Dibbler. “We’ll—what is it, Rock?”
    “Er, I was just wondering, Mr. Dibbler…what is my motivation for this scene?”
    “Motivation?”
    “Yes. Er. I got to know, see,” said Rock.
    “How about: I’ll fire you if you don’t do it properly?”
    Rock grinned. “Right you are, Mr. Dibbler,” he said.
    “OK,” said Dibbler. “Everyone ready… turn ’em! ”

    Evil-minded Son of a Bitch turned awkwardly, legs flailing at odd camel angles, and then lumbered into a complicated trot.
    The handle turned…
    The air glittered.
    And Victor awoke. It was like rising slowly out of a pink cloud, or a magnificent dream which, try as you might, drains out of your mind as the daylight shuffles in, leaving a terrible sense of loss; nothing, you know instinctively, nothing you’re going to experience for the rest of the day is going to be one half as good as that dream.
    He blinked. The images faded away. He was aware of an ache in his muscles, as if he’d recently been really exerting himself.
    “What happened?” he mumbled.
    He looked down.
    “Wow,” he said. An expanse of barely-clad buttock occupied a view recently occupied by the camel’s neck. It was an improvement.
    “Why,” said Ginger icily, “am I lying on a camel?”
    “Search me. Didn’t you want to?”
    She slid down onto the sand and tried to adjust her costume.
    At this point they both became aware of the audience.
    There was Dibbler. There was Dibbler’s nephew. There was the handleman. There were the extras. There were the assorted vice-presidents and other people who are apparently called into existence by the mere presence of moving-picture creation. 12 There was Gaspode the Wonder Dog.
    And every one, except for the dog, who was sniggering, had his mouth open.
    The handleman’s hand was still turning the handle. He looked down at it as if its presence was new to him, and stopped.
    Dibbler seemed to come out of whatever trance he was in.
    “Whoo- hoo ,” he said. “Blimey.”
    “Magic,” breathed Soll. “Real magic .”
    Dibbler nudged the handleman.
    “Did you get all that?” he said.
    “Get what?” said Ginger and Victor together.
    Then Victor noticed Morry sitting on the sand. There was a sizeable chip out of his arm; Rock was trowelling something into it. The troll noticed Victor’s expression and gave him a sickly grin.
    “Fink you’re Cohen the Barbarian, do you?” he said.
    “Yeah,” said Rock. “There was no call to go callin’ him wot you called him. An’ if you’re going to go doin’ fancy swordwork, we’re applyin’ for an extra dollar a day Havin’-Bits-Chopped-Off allowance.”
    Victor’s sword had several nicks on the blade. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine how they had got there.
    “Look,” he said desperately. “I don’t understand. I didn’t call anyone anything. Have we started filming yet?”
    “One minute I’m sitting in a tent, next minute I’m breathing camel,” said Ginger petulantly. “Is it too much to ask what is going on?”
    But no one seemed to be listening to them.
    “ Why can’t we find a way of getting