'I call that disgusting,' he said. He pulled out his money bag and counted out five dollars. 'How would you like to work for me, Detritus?'
Detritus touched his jutting brow respectfully.
'Right you are, Mr Dibbler,' he said.
'Just step this way.'
Dibbler strolled back up to the head of the queue. The man at the door thrust out an arm to bar his way.
'Where d'you think you're going, pal?' he said.
'I have an appointment with Mr Silverfish,' said Dibbler.
'And he knows about this, does he?' said the guard, in tones that suggested that he personally would not believe it even if he saw it written on the sky.
'Not yet,' said Dibbler.
'Well, my friend, in that case you can just get yourself to-'
'Detritus?'
'Yes, Mr Dibbler?'
'Hit this man.'
'Right you are, Mr Dibbler.'
Detritus's arm whirled round in a 180 degree arc with oblivion on the end of it. The guard was lifted off his feet and smashed through the door, coming to a stop in its wreckage twenty feet away. There was a cheer from the queue.
Dibbler looked approvingly at the troll. Detritus was wearing nothing except a ragged loincloth which covered whatever it was that trolls felt it necessary to conceal.
'Very good, Detritus.'
'Right you are, Mr Dibbler.'
'But we shall have to see about getting you a suit,' said Dibbler. 'Now, please guard the gate. Don't let anyone in.'
'Right you are, Mr Dibbler.'
Two minutes later a small grey dog trotted through the troll's short and bandy legs and hopped over the remains of the gate, but Detritus didn't do anything about this because everyone knew dogs weren't anyone.
'Mr Silverfish?' said Dibbler.
Silverfish, who had been cautiously crossing the studio with a box of fresh film stock, hesitated at the sight of a skinny figure bearing down on him like a long-lost weasel. Dibbler's expression was the expression worn by something long and sleek and white as it swims over the reef and into the warm shallow waters of the kiddies' paddling area.
'Yes?' said Silverfish. 'Who're you? How did you get-'
'Dibbler's the name,' said Dibbler. 'But I'd like you to call me Throat.'
He clasped Silverfish's unresisting hand and then placed his other hand on the man's shoulder and stepped forward, pumping the first hand vigorously. The effect was of acute affability, and it meant that if Silverfish backed away he would dislocate his own elbow.
'And I'd just like you to know', Dibbler went on, 'that we're all incredibly impressed at what you boys are doing here.'
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