'It's stoo,' said the dwarf.
'What kind of stew?'
'There ain't more'n one kind. That's why it's stoo,' the dwarf snapped. 'Stop's stoo.'
'What I meant was, what's in it?' said Victor.
'If you need to ask, you're -not hungry enough,' said Ginger. 'Two stews, Fruntkin.'
Victor stared at the grey-brown stuff that was dribbled on to his plate. Strange lumps, carried to the surface by mysterious convection currents, bobbed for a moment, and then sank back down, hopefully forever.
Borgle belonged to the Dibbler school of cuisine.
'It's stoo or puffin, boy.' The cook leered. 'Half a dollar. Cheap at half the price.'
Victor handed over the money with reluctance, and looked around for Ginger.
'Over here,' said Ginger, sitting down at one of the long tables. 'Hi, Thunderfoot. Hi, Breccia, how's it goin'? This is Vic. New boy. Hi, Sniddin, didn't see you there.'
Victor found himself wedged between Ginger and a mountain troll in what looked like chain mail, but it turned out to be just Holy Wood chain mail, which was inexpertly knitted string painted silver.
Ginger started talking animatedly to a four-inch-high gnome and a dwarf in one half of a bear outfit, leaving Victor feeling a little isolated.
The troll nodded at him, and then grimaced at its plate.
'Dey call dis pumice,' he said. 'Dey never even bother to cut der lava off. And you can't even taste der sand.'
Victor stared at the troll's plate.
'I didn't know trolls ate rock,' he said, before he could stop himself.
'Why not?'
'Aren't you made of it?'
'Yeah. But you're made a meat, an' what do you eat?'
Victor looked at his own plate. 'Good question,' he said.
'Vies doing a click for Silverfish,' said Ginger, turning around. 'It looks like they're going to make it a three-reeler.'
There was a general murmur of interest.
Victor carefully laid something yellow and wobbly on the side of his plate.
'Tell me,' he said thoughtfully, 'while you've been filming, have any of you had a . . . heard a sort of . . . felt that you were . . . ' He hesitated. They were all looking at him. 'I mean, did you ever feel something was acting through you? I can't think of any other way to put it.'
His fellow diners relaxed.
'Days just Holy Wood,' said the troll. 'It gets to you. It's all dis creativity sloshin' about.'
'That was a pretty bad attack you had, though,' said Ginger.
'Happens all the time,' said the dwarf reflectively. 'It's just Holy Wood. Last week, me and the lads were working on Tales of the Dwarfes and suddenly we all started singing.
Just like that. Just like this song came into our heads, all at once. What d'you think of that?'
'What song?' said Ginger.