‘And general crustal shifting.’
‘All right, and then-‘
‘Unless you’re just cutting and filling, of course.’
‘Granted, but-‘
‘I don’t see’, Rock began, ‘that my face could be called-‘
‘SHUT UP!’ screamed Soll. ‘Everyone shut up! SHUT UP! The next person who doesn’t shut up will never work in this town again! Understand? Do I make myself CLEAR? Right.’ He coughed, and continued in a more normal voice: ‘Very well. Now, I want it understood that this is a Breathtaking, Block-busting Romantic film about a woman’s fight to save the-‘ he consulted his clipboard, and went on valiantly, ‘-everything she loves against the background of a World Gone Mad, and I don’t want any more trouble from anyone.’
A dwarf tentatively raised his hand.
‘ ‘Scuse me?’
‘Yes?’ said Soll.
‘Why is it all Mr Dibbler’s films are set against the background of a world gone mad?’ said the dwarf.
Soll’s eyes narrowed. ‘Because Mr Dibbler’, he growled, ‘is a very observant man.’
Dibbler had been right. The new city was the old city distilled. Narrow alleys were narrower, tall buildings taller. Gargoyles were more fearsome, roofs more pointed. The towering Tower of Art in Unseen University was, here, even taller and more precariously towering even though it was at- the same time only one quarter the size; the Unseen University was more baroque and buttressed; the Patrician’s Palace more pillar’d. Carpenters swarmed over a construction that, when it was finished, would make Ankh�Morpork look like a very indifferent copy of itself, except that the buildings in the original city were not, by and large, painted on canvas stretched over timber and didn’t have the dirt carefully sprayed on. Ankh-Morpork’s buildings had to get dirty all by themselves.
It looked far more like Ankh-Morpork than Ankh-Morpork ever had.
Ginger had been ushered off to the changing tents before Victor had a chance to speak to her, and then shooting started and it was too late.
Century of the Fruitbat (and now it said on the sign, in slightly smaller type: More Stars than There Are in the Heavens[21]) believed that a click should be made in less than ten times the time it took to watch. Blown Away was going to be different. There were battles. There were night scenes, the imps painting away furiously by torchlight. Dwarfs worked merrily in a mine never seen before or since, where fake gold nuggets the size of chickens had been stuck in the plaster walls. Since Soll demanded that their lips should be seen to move they sang a risque version of the ‘Hihohiho’ song, which had rather caught on among holy Wood’s dwarf population.
It was just possible that Soll knew how it all fitted together. Victor didn’t. It was always best, he had learned, never to try to follow the plot of any click you were in, and in any case Soll wasn’t just shooting back to front but sides to middle as well. It was totally confusing, just like real life.
When he did get a chance to talk to Ginger, two handlemen and everyone else in the cast who currently had nothing to do were watching them.
‘OK, people,’ said Soll. ‘This is the scene near the end where Victor meets Ginger after all they’ve been through together, and on the card he’ll be saying-‘ He stared at the big black oblong handed to him. ‘Yes, he’ll be saying “Frankly, my dear, I’d give anything for one of . . . Harga’s . . . prime . . . pork . . . ribs . . . in . . . special . . . curry . . . sauce. . . ” ‘
Soll’s voice slowed and stopped. When he breathed in, it was like a whale surfacing.
‘Who wrote THIS?’
One of the artists cautiously raised a hand.
‘Mr Dibbler told me to,’ he said quickly.
Soll leafed through the big heap of cards that represented the dialogue for a large part of the click. His lips tightened. He nodded to one of the people with clipboards and said, ‘Could you just run ever to the office and ask my uncle to stroll over here, if he’s got a moment?’
Soll pulled a card out of the stack and read, ‘ “I sure miss the old mine but for a taste of real country cooking I always . . . go . . . to . . .Harp’s . . .House . . . Of . . .” I see.’
He selected another at random. ‘Ah. I see here a wounded Royalist soldier’s last words are “What I wouldn’t give right now for a $1 Eat-Till-It-Hurts special at . . . Harga’s . . . House . . . of . . . Ribs . . . Mother!” ‘
‘I think it’s very moving,’ said Dibbler, behind him. ‘There won’t be a dry eye in the house, you’ll see.’
‘Uncle-‘ Soll began.
Dibbler raised his hands. ‘I said I’d raise the money somehow,’ he said, ‘and Sham Harga’s even helping us with the food for the barbecue scene.’
‘You said you weren’t going to interfere with the script!’
‘That’s not interfering,’ said Dibbler stolidly. ‘I don’t see how that could be considered interfering. I just polished it up here and there. I think it’s rather an improvement. Besides, Harp’s All-You�Can-Gobble-For-A-Dollar is amazing value these days.’
‘But the click is set hundreds of years ago!’ shouted Soll.
‘We=ell,’ said Dibbler. ‘I suppose someone could say, “I wonder if the food at Harga’s House of Ribs will still be as good in hundreds of years’ time-” ‘
‘That isn’t moving pictures. That is crass commerce!’
‘I hope so,’ said Dibbler. ‘We’re in real trouble if it isn’t.’
‘Now look-‘ Soll began, threateningly.
Ginger turned to Victor.
‘Can we go somewhere and talk?’ she said, quietly. ‘Without your dog,’ she added, in her normal voice. ‘Definitely without your dog.’
‘You want to talk to me?’ said Victor.
‘There hasn’t been much of a chance, has there?’
‘Right. Certainly. Gaspode, stay. There’s a good dog.’ Victor derived a quiet satisfaction from the brief look of pure disgust that flashed across Gaspode’s face.
Behind them the eternal Holy Wood argument had wound up to cruising speed, with Soll and C.M.O.T. standing nose to nose and arguing in a circle of amused and interested staff.
‘I don’t have to take this, you know! I can resign!’
‘No, you can’t! You’re my nephew! You can’t resign from being a nephew-!’
Ginger and Victor sat down on the steps of a canvas and wood mansion. They had absolute privacy. No-one was going to bother to watch them with a rip-snorter of a row going on a few yards away.
‘Er,’ said Ginger. Her fingers twisted among themselves. Victor couldn’t help noticing that the nails were worn down.
‘Er,’ she said again. Her face was a picture of anguish, and pale under the make-up. She isn’t beautiful, Victor felt himself think, but you could have real trouble believing it.
‘I, er, don’t know how to say this,’ she said, ‘but, er, has anyone noticed me walking in my sleep?’
‘To the hill?’ said Victor.
Her head whipped around like a snake.
‘You know? How do you know? Have you been spying on me?’ she snapped. It was the old Ginger again, all fire and venom and the aggressiveness of paranoia.
‘Laddie found you . . . asleep yesterday afternoon,’ said
Victor, leaning back.
‘During the day?’
‘Yes.’
She put her hands to her mouth. ‘It’s worse than I thought,’ she whispered. ‘It’s getting worse! You know when you met me up the hill? Just before Dibbler found us, and thought we were . . . spooning . . . ‘ she blushed.
‘Well, I didn’t even know how I’d got there!’
‘And you went back last night,’ said Victor.
‘The dog told you, did he?’ she said, dully.
‘Yes. Sorry.’
‘It’s every night now,’ moaned Ginger. ‘I know, because even if I go back to bed there’s sand all over the floor and my nails are all broken! I go there every night and I don’t know why!’
‘You’re trying to open the door,’ said Victor. ‘There’s this big ancient door now, where part of the hill has slid away, and-‘
‘Yes, I’ve seen it, but why?’
Well, I’ve got a couple of ideas,’ said Victor cautiously.
‘Tell me!’
‘Um. Well, have you heard of something called a genius loci?,
‘No.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘It’s clever, is it?’
‘It’s the sort of soul of a place. It can be quite strong. It can be made strong, by worship or love or hate, if it goes on long enough. And I’m wondering if the spirit of a place can call to people. And animals, too. I mean, Holy Wood is a different sort of place, isn’t it? People act differently here. Everywhere else, the most important things are gods or money or cattle. Here, the most important thing is to be important.’