Moving Pictures (Discworld 10)

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 added, defiantly. 'Not that I expect any credit, of course. There's some dretful in there, an' she's lettin' it out. No wonder she's always late and tired in the mornings, what with spendin' the whole night diggin'.'

'How do you know they're dreadful?'said Victor weakly.

'Put it like this,' said Gaspode. 'If something's shoved in a cave under a hill behind great big doors, it's not 'cos people want it to come out every night to wash the dishes, is it? 'Corse,' he added charitably, 'I'm not sayin' she knows she's doing it. Prob'ly they've got a grip of her weak an' feeble cat-lovin' female mind and are twisting it to their evil will.'

'You do talk a lot of crap sometimes,' said Victor, but he didn't sound very convincing even to himself.

'Ask her, then,' said the dog, smugly.

'I will!'

'Right!'

Exactly how, though? thought Victor, as they trudged out into the sunshine. Excuse me, miss, my dog says that you . . . no. I say, Ginger, I understand that you're going out and . . . no. Hey, Ginj, how come my dog saw . . . no.

Perhaps he should just start up a conversation and wait until it got around naturally to monstrosities from Beyond the Void.

But it would have to wait, because of the row that was going on.