Moving Pictures

everyone lost their tempers and commenced to start fighting.
    Anyway, it all caused a civil war, which is something every mature civilization needs to have had… 20
    “The way I see it,” said Dibbler, “there’s this high-born girl living all by herself in this big house, right, and her young man goes off to fight for the rebels, you see, and she meets this other guy, and there’s the chemistry between them—”
    “They blow up?” said Victor.
    “He means they fall in love,” said Ginger coldly.
    “That sort of thing,” nodded Dibbler. “Eyes meeting across a crowded room. And she’s all alone in the world except for the servants and, let’s see, yeah, perhaps her pet dog—”
    “This’ll be Laddie?” said Ginger.
    “Right. And of course she’s going to do everything she can to preserve the family mine, so she’s kind of flirting with ’em both, the men, not the dog, and then one of them gets killed in the war and the other one throws her over but it’s all OK because she’s tough at heart.” He sat back. “What d’you think?” he said.
    The people sitting around the room looked uneasily at one another.
    There was a fidgety silence.
    “It sounds great, Uncle,” said Soll, who wasn’t looking for any more problems today.
    “Technically very challenging,” said Gaffer.
    There was a chorus of relieved assent from the rest of the team.
    “I don’t know,” said Victor slowly.
    Everyone else’s eyes turned on him in the same way that spectators at the lion pit watch the first condemned criminal to be pushed out through the iron gate. He went on: “I mean, is that all? It doesn’t sound, well, very complicated for such a long click. People sort of falling in love while a civil war is going on in the background…I don’t see how you can make much of a picture out of that.”
    There was another troubled silence. A couple of people near Victor moved away. Dibbler was staring at him.
    Victor could hear, coming from under his chair, an almost inaudible little voice.
    “… oh , of course, there’s always a part for Laddie…wot’s he got that I haven’t got, that’s wot I’d like to …”
    Dibbler was still staring fixedly at Victor.
    Then he said, “You’re right. You’re right. Victor’s right. Why didn’t anyone else spot it?”
    “That’s just what I was thinking, Uncle,” said Soll hurriedly. “We need to flesh it out a bit.”
    Dibbler waved his cigar vaguely. “We can think up some more stuff as we go, no problem. Like…like…how about a chariot race? People always like a chariot race. It’s gripping. Will he fall out, will the wheels come off? Yeah. A chariot race.”
    “I’ve, er, been reading a bit about the Civil War,” said Soll cautiously, “and I don’t think there’s any mention of—”
    “Of there not being chariot races, am I right?” said Dibbler, in soapy tones containing the razor blade of menace. Soll sagged.
    “Since you put it like that, Uncle,” he said, “you’re right.”
    “And…” Dibbler stared reflectively, “…we could try…a great big shark?” Even Dibbler sounded slightly surprised at his own suggestion.
    Soll looked hopefully at Victor.
    “I’m almost certain sharks didn’t fight in the Civil War,” said Victor.
    “You sure?”
    “I’m sure people would have noticed,” said Victor.
    “They’d have got trampled by the elephants,” muttered Soll.
    “Yeah,” said Dibbler, sadly. “It was just a thought. Don’t know why I said it, really.”
    He stared at nothing for a while, and then shook his head briskly.
    A shark, Victor thought. All the little golden fishes of your own thoughts are swimming away happily, and then the water moves and this great shark of a thought comes in from outside. As if someone’s doing our thinking for us.

    “You just don’t know how to behave,” Victor told Gaspode, when they were alone. “I could hear you grumbling under the chair the whole time.”
    “I might not know how to behave, but at least I don’t go mooning around over some girl who’s letting dretful Creatures of the Night into the world,” said Gaspode.
    “I should hope not,” said Victor, and then, “What do you mean?”
    “Aha! Now he listens! Your girlfriend—”
    “She’s not my girlfriend!”
    “ Would-be girlfriend,” said Gaspode, “is goin’ out every night and tryin’ to open that door in the hill. She tried it again last night, after you’d gone. I saw her. I stopped her,” he