Moving Pictures (Discworld 10)

Perhaps they were still there. Perhaps they might have something to drink.

They were, indeed, still there. But they hadn't needed a drink for months.

It was eight in the morning. A thunderous knocking awoke Bezam Planter, owner of the Odium, one of Ankh-Morpork's mushrooming crop of moving-picture pits.

He'd had a bad night. The people of Ankh-Morpork liked novelty. The trouble was that they didn't like novelty for long. The Odium had done great business for a week, had broken even for the next week, and was now dying. The late showing last night had been patronized by one deaf dwarf and an orang-utan, who'd brought along its own peanuts. Bezam relied on the sale of peanuts and banged grains for his profit, and wasn't in a good mood.

He opened the door and stared out blearily.

'We're shut 'til two o'clock,' he said. 'Mat'nee. Come back then. Seats in all parts.'

He slammed the door. It rebounded off Throat Dibbler's boot and hit Bezam on the nose.

'I've come about the special showing of Sword of Passione,' said Throat.

'Special showing? What special showing?'

'The special showing I'm about to tell you about,' said Throat.

'We ain't showing nothin' about any special passionate swords. We're showin' The Exciting-'

'Mister Dibbler says yore showing Sword of Passione,' rumbled a voice.

Throat leaned against the doorway. Behind him was a slab of rock. It looked as though someone had been throwing steel balls at it for thirty years.

It creased in the middle and leaned down towards Bezam.

He recognized Detritus. Everyone recognized Detritus. He wasn't a troll you forgot.

'But I haven't even heard of-' Bezam began.

Throat pulled a large tin from under his coat, and grinned.

'And here are some posters,' he added, producing a fat white roll.

'Mister Dibbler let me stick some up on walls,' said Detritus proudly.

Bezam unrolled the poster. It was in eye-watering colours. It showed a picture of what might just possibly be Ginger pouting in a blouse too small for her, and Victor in the act of throwing her over one shoulder while fighting an assortment of monsters with the other hand. In the background, volcanoes were erupting, dragons were zooming through the sky, and cities were burning down.

' “The Motione-Picture They Coud Not Banne!” ', read Bezam hesitantly. ' “A Scorching Adventure In the White-Hotte Dawne of A New Continont! A Mann and a Womann Throne Together in the Wherlpool of a World Gone Madde!! STARING **Delores De Syn** as The Woman and **Victor Maraschino** as Cohen the Barbarian!!! THRILS! ADVENTURE!! ELEPHANTS!!! Cominge Soone to A Pit nr. You!!!!” '

He read it again.

'Who's Staring Delores De Syn?' he said, suspiciously.

'That's starring,' said Throat. 'That's why we've put stars against their names, see.' He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a piercing whisper. 'They do' say', he said, 'that she's the daughter of a Klatchian pirate and his wild, headstrong captive, and he's the son of . . . the son of . . . a rogue wizard and a reckless gypsy flamenco dancer.' '

'Cor!' said Bezam, impressed despite himself. Dibbler permitted himself a mental slap on the back. He'd been quite taken with it himself.

'I reckon you should start showing it in about an hour,' he said.

'At this time in the morning?' said Bezam. The click he had obtained for the day was An Exciting Study of Pottery Making, which had been worrying him. This seemed a much better proposition.

'Yes,' said Dibbler. 'Because a lot of people are going to want to watch it.'

'I dunno about that,' said Bezam. 'Houses have been falling off lately.'

'They'll want to watch this one,' said Throat. 'Trust me. Have I ever lied to you?'