'Er. Very nice.'
'More dynamic, I fought,' said the prospective Flint.
Victor heard himself say: 'Or Rock. Rock's a nice name.'
The troll stared at him, its lips moving soundlessly as it tried out the alias.
'Cor,' he said. 'Never fought of that. Rock. I like that. I reckon I'd be due more'n three dollars a day, with a name like Rock.'
'Can we make a start?' said Dibbler sternly. 'Maybe we'll be able to afford more trolls if this is a successful click, but it won't be if we go over budget, which means we ought to wrap it up by lunchtime. Now, Morry and Galena-'
'Rock,' corrected Rock.
'Really? Anyway, you two rush out and attack Victor, OK.
Right . . . turn it . . . '
The handleman turned the handle of the picture box. There was a faint clicking noise and a chorus of small yelps from the demons. Victor stood looking helpful and alert.
'That means you start,' said Silverfish patiently. 'The trolls rush out from behind the rocks, and you valiantly defend yourself.'
'But I don't know how to fight trolls!' Victor wailed.
'Tell you what,' said the newly-christened Rock. 'You parry first, and we'll sort of arrange not to hit you.'
Light dawned.
'You mean it's all pretending?' said Victor.
The trolls exchanged a brief glance, which nevertheless contrived to say: amazing, isn't it, that things like this apparently rule the world?.
'Yeah,' said Rock. 'That's it. Nuffin's real.'
'We ain't allowed to kill you,' said Morraine reassuringly.
'That's right,' said Rock. 'We wouldn't go round killin' you.'
'They stops our money if we does things like that,' said Morraine, morosely.
Outside the fault in reality They clustered, peering in with something approaching eyes at the light and warmth. There was a crowd of them by now.
There had been a way through, once. To say that they remembered it would be wrong, because they had nothing as sophisticated as memory. They barely had anything as sophisticated as heads. But they did have instincts and emotions.
They needed a way in.
They found it.
It worked quite well, the sixth time. The main problem was the trolls' enthusiasm for hitting each other, the ground, the air and, quite often, themselves. In the end, Victor just concentrated on trying to hit the clubs as they whirred past him.
Dibbler seemed quite happy with this. Gaffer wasn't.
'They moved around too much,' he said. 'They were out of the picture half the time.'
'It was a battle,' said Silverfish.
'Yeah, but I can't move the picture box around,' said the handleman. 'The imps fall over.'
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