Moving Pictures полностью

‘And not just for me,’ Ginger went on. ‘It’s a chance for all of us. The people who aren’t wizards and kings and heroes. Holy Wood’s like a big bubbling stew but this time different ingredients float to the top. Suddenly there’s all these new things for people to do. Do you know the theatres don’t allow women to act? But Holy Wood does. And in Holy Wood there’s jobs for trolls that don’t just involve hitting people. And what did the handlemen do before they had handles to turn?’

She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Ankh-Morpork’s distant glow.

‘Now they’re trying to find ways of adding sound to moving pictures,’ she said, ‘and out there are people who’ll turn out to be amazingly good at making, making … making soundies. They don’t even know it yet — but they’re out there. I can feel them. They’re out there.’

Her eyes were glowing gold. It might just be the sunset, Victor thought, but …

‘Because of Holy Wood, hundreds of people are finding out what it is they really want to be,’ said Ginger. ‘And thousands and thousands are getting a chance to forget themselves for an hour or so. This whole damn world is being given a shake!’

‘That’s it,’ said Victor. ‘That’s what worries me. It’s as though we’re being slotted in. You think we’re using Holy Wood, but Holy Wood is using us. All of us.’

‘How? Why?’

‘I don’t know, but—’

‘Look at wizards,’ Ginger went on, vibrating with indignation. ‘What good has their magic ever done anyone?’

‘I think it sort of holds the world together—’ Victor began.

‘They’re pretty good at magic flames and things, but can they make a loaf of bread?’ Ginger wasn’t in the mood for listening to anyone.

‘Not for very long,’ said Victor helplessly.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Something real like a load of bread contains a lot of … well … I suppose you’d call it energy,’ said Victor. ‘It takes a massive amount of power to create that amount of energy. You’d have to be a pretty good wizard to make a loaf that’d last in this world for more than a tiny part of a second. But that’s not what magic is really about, you see,’ he added quickly, ‘because this world is—’

‘Who cares?’ said Ginger. ‘Holy Wood’s really doing things for ordinary people. Silver screen magic.’

‘What’s come over you? Last night—’

‘That was then,’ said Ginger impatiently. ‘Don’t you see? We could be going somewhere. We could be becoming someone. Because of Holy Wood. The world is our—’

‘Lobster,’ said Victor.

She waved a hand irritably. ‘Any shellfish you like,’ she said. ‘I was thinking of oysters, actually.’

‘Were you? I was thinking of lobsters.’

‘Bursaar!’

I shouldn’t have to run around like this at my age, thought the Bursar, scurrying down the corridor in answer to the Archchancellor’s bellow. Why’s he so interested in the damn thing, anyway? Wretched pot!’

‘Coming, Master,’ he trilled.

The Archchancellor’s desk was covered with ancient documents.

When a wizard died, all his papers were stored in one of the outlying reaches of the Library. Shelf after shelf of quietly mouldering documents, the haunt of mysterious beetles and dry rot, stretched away into an unguessable distance. Everyone kept telling everyone that there was a wealth of material here for researchers, if only someone could find the time to do it.

The Bursar was annoyed. He couldn’t find the Librarian anywhere. The ape never seemed to be around these days. He’d had to scrabble among the stuff himself.

‘I think this is the last, Archchancellor,’ he said, tipping an avalanche of dusty paperwork on to the desk. Ridcully flailed at a cloud of moths.

‘Paper, paper, paper,’ he muttered. ‘How many damn bits of paper in his stuff, eh?’

‘Er … 23,813, Archchancellor,’ said the Bursar. ‘He kept a record.’

‘Look at this,’ said the Archchancellor. ‘“Star Enumerator” … “Rev Counter for Use in Ecclesiastical Areas”^{30} … “Swamp Meter” … Swamp meter! The man was mad!’

‘He had a very tidy mind,’ said the Bursar.

‘Same thing.’

‘Is it, er, really important, Archchancellor?’ the Bursar ventured.

‘Damn thing shot pellets at me,’ said Ridcully. ‘Twice!’

‘I’m sure it wasn’t, er, intended—’

‘I want to see how it was made, man! Just think of the sportin’ possibilities!’

The Bursar tried to think of the possibilities.

‘I’m sure Riktor didn’t intend to make any kind of offensive device,’ he ventured, hopelessly.

‘Who gives a damn what he intended? Where is the thing now?’

‘I had a couple of servants put sandbags around it.’

‘Good idea. It’s—’

… whumm … whumm …

It was a muffled sound from the corridor. The two wizards exchanged a meaningful glance.

… whumm … whummWHUMM.

The Bursar held his breath.

Plib.

Plib.

Plib.

The Archchancellor peered at the hourglass on the mantelpiece. ‘It’s doin’ it every five minutes now,’ he said.

‘And it’s up to three shots,’ said the Bursar. ‘I’ll have to order some more sandbags.’

He flicked through a heap of paper. A word caught his eye.

Reality.