Moving Pictures

work on something like this,” said Silverfish, ignoring the interruption. “I’ve tried to see your point of view, haven’t I? But you’ve taken moving pictures and you’re trying to turn them into, into, into dreams . I never wanted them to be like this! Include me out!”
    “OK.” Dibbler looked up at the troll.
    “Mr. Silverfish was just leaving,” he said. Detritus nodded, and then slowly and firmly picked up Silverfish by his collar.
    Silverfish went white. “You can’t get rid of me like that,” he said.
    “You want to bet?”
    “There won’t be an alchemist in Holy Wood who’ll work for you! We’ll take the handlemen with us! You’ll be finished!”
    “Listen! After this click the whole of Holy Wood will be coming to me for a job! Detritus, throw this bum out!”
    “Right you are, Mr. Dibbler,” rumbled the troll, gripping Silverfish’s collar.
    “You haven’t heard the last of this, you—you scheming, devious megalomaniac!”
    Dibbler removed his cigar.
    “That’s Mister Megalomaniac to you,” he said.
    He replaced the cigar, and nodded significantly to the troll, who gently but firmly grasped Silverfish by a leg as well.
    “You lay a finger on me and you’ll never work in this town again!” shouted Silverfish.
    “I got a job anyway, Mr. Silverfish,” said Detritus calmly, carrying Silverfish toward the gate. “I’m Vice-President of Throwing Out People Mr. Dibbler Doesn’t like the Face Of.”
    “Then you’ll have to take on an assistant!” snarled Silverfish.
    “I got a nephew looking for a career,” said the troll. “Have a nice day.”
    “Right,” said Dibbler, rubbing his hands briskly. “Soll!”
    Soll appeared from behind a trestle table loaded with rolled-up plans, and took a pencil out of his mouth.
    “Yes, Uncle?”
    “How long will it take?”
    “About four days, Uncle.”
    “That’s too long. Hire more people. I want it done by tomorrow, right?”
    “But, Uncle—”
    “Or you’re sacked,” said Dibbler. Soll looked frightened.
    “I’m your nephew, Uncle,” he protested. “You can’t sack nephews.”
    Dibbler looked around and appeared to notice Victor for the first time.
    “Ah, Victor. You’re good at words,” he said. “Can I sack a nephew?”
    “Er. I don’t think so. I think you have to disown them, or something,” said Victor lamely. “But—”
    “Right! Right!” said Dibbler. “Good man. I knew it was some kind of a word like that. Disown. Hear that, Soll?”
    “Yes, Uncle,” said Soll dispiritedly. “I’ll go and see if I can find some more carpenters, then, shall I?”
    “Right.” Soll flashed Victor a look of terrified astonishment as he scurried away. Dibbler started haranguing a group of handlemen. Instructions spouted out of the man like water from a fountain.
    “I reckon no one’s goin’ to Ankh-Morpork this morning, then,” said a voice by Victor’s knee.
    “He’s certainly very, er, ambitious today,” said Victor.
    “Not like himself at all.”
    Gaspode scratched an ear. “There was sunnink I got to tell you. What was it, now? Oh, yeah. I remember. Your girlfriend is an agent of demonic powers. That night we saw her on the hill she was prob’ly on her way to commune with evil. What d’you fink of that, eh?”
    He grinned. He was rather proud of the way he’d introduced the subject.
    “That’s nice,” said Victor abstractedly. Dibbler was certainly acting even stranger than usual. Even stranger than usual for Holy Wood, even…
    “Yeah,” said Gaspode, slightly annoyed at this reception.
    “A-cavortin’ at night with eldritchly occult Intelligences from the Other Side, I shouldn’t wonder.”
    “Good,” said Victor. You didn’t normally burn things in Holy Wood. You saved them and painted on the other side. Despite himself, he began to get interested.
    “—a cast of thousands,” Dibbler was saying. “I don’t care where you get them from, we’ll hire everyone in Holy Wood if we have to, right? And I want—”
    “A-helpin’ them in their evil attempts to take over the whole world, if I’m any judge,” said Gaspode.
    “Does she?” said Victor. Dibbler was talking to a couple of apprentice alchemists now. What was that. A twenty -reeler? But no one had ever dreamed of going above five!
    “Yeah, a-diggin’ away to rouse them from their ancient slumber to reek havoc, style of fing,” said Gaspode. “Prob’ly aided by cats, you mark my—”
    “Look, just shut up a