Moving Pictures (Discworld 10)

'Get out-' he began, and then grinned desperately and said, 'Hallo, sir. Pretty good click, eh? We'll be showing it again any minute now and - what the hell are you doing? You can't do that!'

The Librarian ripped the huge roll of film off the projector and pulled it through his leathery fingers, holding it up to the light. Bezam tried to snatch it back and got a palm in his chest that sat him firmly on the floor, where great coils of film piled up on top of him.

He watched in horror as the great ape grunted, grasped a piece of the film in both hands and, with two bites, edited it. Then the Librarian picked him up, dusted him off, patted him on the head, thrust the great pile of unwound click into his helpless arms, and ambled swiftly out of the room with a few frames of film dangling from one paw.

Bezam stared helplessly after him.

'You're banned!' he shouted, when he judged the ape to be safely out of earshot.

Then he looked down at the two severed ends.

Breaks in films weren't unusual. Bezam had spent many a flustered few minutes feverishly cutting and pasting while the audience cheerfully stamped its feet and high-spiritedly threw peanuts, knives and double-headed axes at the screen.

He let the coils fall around him and reached for the scissors and glue. At least - he found, after holding the two ends up to the lantern - the Librarian hadn't taken a very interesting bit. Odd, that. Bezam wouldn't have put it past the ape to have taken a bit where the girl was definitely showing too much chest, or one of the fight scenes. But all he'd wanted was a piece that showed the Sons galloping down from their mountain fastness, in single file, on identical camels.

'Dunno what he wanted that for,' he muttered, taking the lid off the glue pot. 'It just shows a lot of rocks.'

Victor and Gaspode stood among the sand dunes near the beach.

'That's where the driftwood but is,' said Victor, pointing, 'and then if you look hard you can see there's a sort of road pointing straight towards the hill. But there's nothing on the hill but the old trees.'

Gaspode looked back at Holy Wood Bay.

'Funny it bein' circular,' he said.

'I thought so,' said Victor.

'I heard once where there was this city that was so wicked that the gods turned it into a puddle of molten glass,' said Gaspode, apropos of nothing. 'And the only person who saw it happen was turned into a pillar of salt by day and a cheese shaker by night.'

'Gosh. What had the people been doing?'

'Dunno. Prob'ly not much. It doesn't take much to annoy gods.'

'Me good boy! Good boy Laddie!'

The dog came streaking over the dunes, a comet of gold and orange hair. It skidded to a halt in front of Gaspode, and then began to dance around excitedly, yapping.

'He's escaped and he wants me to play with him,' said Gaspode despondently. 'Ridiculous, ain't it? Laddie drop dead.'

Laddie rolled over obediently, all four legs in the air.

'See? He understands every word I say,' muttered Gaspode.

'He likes you,' said Victor.

'Huh,' sniffed Gaspode. 'How're dogs ever goin' to amount to anything if they bounce around worshipping people just 'cos they've been given a meal? What's he want me to do with this??'

Laddie had dropped a stick in front of Gaspode and was looking at him expectantly.

'He wants you to throw it,' said Victor.

'What for?'

'So he can bring it back.'

'What I don't understand,' said Gaspode, as Victor picked up the stick and hurled it away, Laddie racing along underneath it, 'is how come we're descended from wolves. I mean, your average wolf, he's a bright bugger, know what I mean? Chock full of cunnin' an' like that. We're talking grey paws racing over the trackless tundra, is what I'm getting at.'

Gaspode looked wistfully at the distant mountains. 'And suddenly a handful of generations later we've got Percy the Pup here with a cold nose, bright eyes, glossy coat and the brains of a stunned herring.'