'The banged grains have gone soft,' she said. 'And there's no way to keep the sausages hot.'
'It'll be dark, love. No-one'll notice.' He tweaked the strap and stood back.
'There,' he said. 'Now, you know what to do. Halfway through I'll stop showing the film and put up the card that says “Wy not Try a Cool Refreshinge Drinke and Some Banged Grains?” and then you come out of the door over there and walk up the aisle.'
'You might as well mention cool refreshing sausages as well,' said Mrs Planter.
'And I reckon you should stop using a torch to show people to their seats,' said Bezam. 'You're starting too many fires.'
'It's the only way I can see in the dark,' she said.
'Yes, but I had to let that dwarf have his money back last night. You know how sensitive they are about their beards. Tell you what, love, I'll give you a salamander in a cage. They've been on the roof since dawn,- they should be nice and ready.'
They were. The creatures lay dozing in the bottom of their cages, their bodies vibrating gently as they absorbed the light. Bezam selected six of the ripest, climbed heavily back down to the projection room, and tipped them into the showing-box. He wound Throat Dibbler's film on to a spool, and then peered out into the darkness.
Oh, well. Might as well see if there was anyone outside.
He shuffled to the front door, yawning.
He reached up, and slid the bolt.
He reached down, and slid the other bolt.
He pulled open the doors.
'All right, all right,' he grumbled. 'Let's be having you . . .'
He woke up in the projection room, with Mrs Planter fanning him desperately with her apron.
'What happened?' he whispered, trying to put out of his mind the memories of trampling feet.
'It's a full house!' she said. 'And they're still queueing up outside! They're all down the street! It's them disgusting posters!'
Bezam got up unsteadily but with determination.
'Woman, shut up and get down to the kitchen and bang some more grains!' he shouted. 'And then come and help me repaint the signs! If they're queueing for the fivepenny seats, they'll queue for tenpence!'
He rolled up his sleeves and grasped the handle.
In the front row the Librarian sat with a bag of peanuts in his ,lap. After a few minutes he stopped chewing and sat with his mouth open, staring and staring and staring at the flickering images.
'Hold your horse, sir? Ma'am?'
'No!'
By mid-day Victor had earned tuppence. It wasn't that people didn't have horses that needed holding, it was just that they didn't seem to want him to hold them.
Eventually a gnarled little man from further along the street sidled up to him, dragging four horses. Victor had been watching him for hours, in frank astonishment that anyone should give the wizened homunculus a kindly smile, let alone a horse. But he'd been doing a brisk trade, while Victor's broad shoulders, handsome profile and honest, open smile were definitely a drawback in the horse-holding business.
'You're new to this, right?' said the little man.
'Yes,' said Victor.
'Ah. I could tell. Waitin' for yer big break in the clicks, right?' He grinned encouragingly.
'No. I've had my big break, in fact,' said Victor.
'Why you here then?'