Moving pictures

There was a pause while Silverfish read. It was quite a long one. Silverfish wasn't used to reading matter that didn't come in columns with totals at the bottom. Eventually he said, 'You're going . . . to . . . set it on

'It's historical. You can't argue with history,' said Dibbler smugly. 'The city was burned down in the civil war, everyone knows that.'

Silverfish drew himself up. 'The city might have been,' he said stiffly, 'but I didn't have to find the budget for it! It's recklessly extravagant!'

'I'll pay for it somehow,' said Dibbler, calmly.

'In a word - im-possible!'

'That's two words,' said Dibbler.

'There's no way I can work on something like this,' said Silverfish, ignoring the interruption. 'I've tried to see your point of view, haven't I? But you've taken moving pictures and you're trying to turn them into, into, into dreams. I never wanted them to be like this! Include me out!'

'OK.' Dibbler looked up at the troll.

'Mr Silverfish was just leaving,' he said. Detritus nodded, and then slowly and firmly picked up Silverfish by his collar.

Silverfish went white. 'You can't get rid of me like that,' he said.

'You want to bet?'

'There won't be an alchemist in Holy Wood who'll work for you! We'll take the handlemen with us! You'll be finished!'

'Listen! After this click the whole of Holy Wood will be coming to me for a job! Detritus, throw this bum out!'

'Right you are, Mr Dibbler,' rumbled the troll, gripping Silverfish's collar.

'You haven't heard the last of this, you you scheming, devious megalomaniac!'

Dibbler removed his cigar.

'That's Mister Megalomaniac to you,' he said.

He replaced the cigar, and nodded significantly to the troll, who gently but firmly grasped Silverfish by a leg as well.

'You lay a finger on me and you'll never work in this town again!' shouted Silverfish.

'I got a job anyway, Mr Silverfish,' said Detritus calmly, carrying Silverfish towards the gate. 'I'm VicePresident of Throwing Out People Mr Dibbler Doesn't like the Face Of.'

'Then you'll have to take on an assistant!' snarled Silverfish.

'I got a nephew looking for a career,' said the troll. 'Have a nice day.'

'Right,' said Dibbler, rubbing his hands briskly. 'Soll!'

Soll appeared from behind a trestle table loaded with rolled-up plans, and took a pencil out of his mouth.

'Yes, Uncle?'

'How long will it take?'

'About four days, Uncle.' 'That's too long.

Hire more people. I want it done by tomorrow, right?'

'But, Uncle-'

'Or you're sacked,' said Dibbler. Soll looked frightened.