Moving Pictures (Discworld 10)

'Look, I know where I can get some coloured woodcuts done at practically cost-'

'-I was finking, maybe if I got some string and tied the moving picture box on to wheels, so it can be moved around-'

'People'll say, that Silverfish, there's a moving-picture-smith with the guts to give the people what they want, they'll say. A man to roll back the wossname of the medium-'

'-maybe if I was to make a sort of pole and swivel arrangement, we could bring the picture box right up close to-'

'What? You think they'll say that?'

'Trust me, Tommy.'

'Well . . . all right. All right. But no elephants. I want to make that absolutely clear. No elephants.'

'Looks weird to me,' said the Archchancellor. 'Looks like a bunch of pottery elephants. Thought you said it was a machine?'

'More . . . more of a device,' said the Bursar uncertainly. He gave it a prod. Several of the pottery elephants wobbled. 'Riktor the Tinkerer built it, I think. It was before my time.'

It looked like a large, ornate pot, almost as high as a man of large pot height. Around its rim eight pottery elephants hung from little bronze chains; one of them swung backwards and forwards at the Bursar's touch.

The Archchancellor peered down inside.

'It's all levers and bellows,' he said, distastefully.

The Bursar turned to the University housekeeper.

'Well, now, Mrs Whitlow,' he said, 'what exactly happened?'

Mrs Whitlow, huge, pink and becorseted, patted her ginger wig and nudged the tiny maid who was hovering beside her like a tugboat.

'Tell his lordship, Ksandra,' she ordered.

Ksandra looked as though she was regretting the whole thing.

'Well, sir, please, sir, I was dusting, you see-'

'She hwas dusting,' said Mrs Whitlow, helpfully. When Mrs Whitlow was in the grip of acute class consciousness she could create aitches where nature never intended them to be.

'-and then it started me'king a noise-'

'Hit made hay hnoise,' said Mrs Whitlow. 'So she come and told me, your lordship, h'as hper my instructions.'

'What kind of noise, Ksandra? said the Bursar, as kindly as he could.

'Please, sir, sort of-' she screwed up her eyes, ' “whumm . . . whumm . . . whumm . . . whumm . . . whummwhummwhumm WHUMMWHUMM - plib”, sir.'

'Plib,' said the Bursar, solemnly.

'Yes, sir.'

'Hplib,' echoed Mrs Whitlow.

'That was when it spat at me, sir,' said Ksandra.

'Hexpectorated,' corrected Mrs Whitlow.

'Apparently one of the elephants spat out a little lead pellet, Master,' said the Bursar. 'That was the, er, the “plib”,'

'Did it, bigods,' said the Archchancellor. 'Can't have pots going around gobbin' all over people.'