Moving Pictures (Discworld 10)

A whole section of hill caved in.

For a moment Victor thought he saw the huge golden figure of Osbert, as insubstantial as dust motes in a shaft of light, rise over Holy Wood and bring its sword around in one all-embracing sweep.

Then it was gone.

Victor helped Ginger ashore.

They reached the main street, silent now except for the occasional creak and thud as another plank dropped off the half-collapsed buildings.

They picked their way over fallen scenery and broken picture boxes.

There was a crash behind them as the 'Century of the Fruitbat' sign slipped off its moorings and thudded on the sand.

They passed the remains of Borgle's commissary, whose destruction had increased the average food quality of the entire world by a small but significant amount.

They waded through unreeled clicks, flapping in the wind.

They climbed over broken dreams.

At the edge of what had been Holy Wood, Victor turned and looked back once.

'Well, they were right at last,' he said. 'You'll never work in this town again.'

There was a sob. To his surprise, Ginger was crying.

He put his arm around her.

'Come on,' he said. 'I'll walk you home.'

Holy Wood's own magic, now rootless and fading, crackled across the landscape, looking for pathways to earth itself.

Click . . .

It was early evening. The reddened light of the setting sun filled the windows of Harga's House of Ribs, which was nearly deserted at this time of day.

Detritus and Ruby sat awkwardly on human-size chairs.

The only other person around was Sham Harp himself,

smearing the dirt more evenly around the vacant tables with a cloth and whistling vaguely.

'Ur,' Detritus ventured.

'Yes?' said Ruby, expectantly.

'Ur. Nuffin,' said Detritus. He felt out of place here, but Ruby had insisted. He kept feeling she wanted him to say something, but all he could think of was hitting her with a brick.

Harga stopped whistling.

Detritus felt his head twist around. His mouth opened.

'Play it again, Sham,' said Holy Wood.

There was a crashing chord. The back wall of the House of Ribs moved aside into whatever dimension these things go, and an indistinct but unmistakable orchestra occupied the space normally filled by Harp's kitchen and the noisome alley behind it.

Ruby's dress became a waterfall of sequins. The other tables whirled away.

Detritus adjusted an unexpected tuxedo, and cleared his throat.