Moving pictures

He sat bolt upright and grabbed the Archchancellor's robe and screamed into the big pink and orange face: 'Something dreadful's going to happen!'

The wizards strolled through the twilight streets. So far the disguise was working perfectly. People were even jostling them. No-one ever knowingly jostled a wizard. It was a whole new experience.

There was a huge crowd of people outside the entrance to the Odium, and a queue that stretched down the street. The Dean ignored it, and led the party straight up to the doors, whereupon someone said 'Oi!'

He looked up at a red-faced troll in an ill-fitting military-looking outfit that included epaulettes the size of kettle?drums and no trousers.

'Yes?' he said.

'There are a queue, you know,' said the troll.

The Dean nodded politely. In Ankh-Morpork a queue was, almost by definition, something with a wizard at the head of it. 'So I see,' he said. 'And a very good thing, too. And if you will be so good as to stand aside, we'd like to take our seats.'

The troll prodded him in the stomach.

'What you fink you are?' he said. 'A wizard or something?' This got a laugh from the nearest queuers.

The Dean leaned closer.

'As a matter of fact, we are wizards,' he hissed.

The troll grinned at him.

'Don't come the raw trilobite with me,' he said. 'I can see your false beard!'

'Now listen-' the Dean began, but his voice became an incoherent squeak as the troll picked him up by the collar of his robe and propelled him out into the road.

'You get in queue like everyone else,' he said. There was a chorus of jeers from the queue.

The Dean growled and raised his right hand, fingers spread?

The Chair grabbed his arm.

'Oh, yes,' he hissed., 'That'd do a lot of good, wouldn't it? Come on.'

'Where to?'

'To the back of the queue!'

'But we're wizards! Wizards never stand in line for anything!'

'We're honest merchants, remember?' said the Chair. He glanced at the nearest click-goers, who were giving them odd looks. 'We're honest merchants,' he repeated loudly.

He nudged the Dean. 'Go on,' he hissed.

'Go on what?'

'Go on and say something merchanty.'

'What sort of thing is that?' said the Dean, mystified.

'Say something! Everyone's looking at us!'

'Oh.' The Dean's face creased in panic, and then sal­vation dawned. 'Lovely apples,' he said. 'Get them while they're hot.

They're luvverly . . . Will this do?'