Victor pulled on his trousers.
'I suppose I get to eat breakfast?' he said sarcastically. 'Mr Dibbler is havin' food laid on, Mr Dibbler says,' said Detritus. There was a wheezing noise from under the bed. Gaspode emerged, in a cloud of old- rugness, and had an early morning scratch.
'Wha-' he began, and then saw the troll. 'Bark, bark,' he corrected himself.
'Oh. A little dog. I like little dogs,' said Detritus.
'Woof.'
'Raw,' the troll added. But he couldn't get the right amount of statutory nastiness into his voice. Visions of Ruby in her feather boa and three acres of red velvet kept undulating across his mind.
Gaspode scratched his ear vigorously.
'Woof,' he said quietly. 'In tones of low menace,' he added, after Detritus had gone.
The slope of the hill was already alive with people when Victor arrived. A couple of tents had been erected. Someone was holding a camel. Several cages of demons gibbered in the shade of a thorn tree.
In the middle of all this were Dibbler and Silverfish, arguing. Dibbler had his arm around Silverfish's shoulder.
'A dead giveaway, is that,' said a voice from the level of Victor's knees. 'It means some poor bugger is about to be taken to the cleaners.'
'It'll be a step up for you, Tom!' Dibbler was saying. 'I mean, how many people in Holy Wood can call themselves Vice-President in Charge of Executive Affairs?'
'Yes, but it's my company!' Silverfish wailed.
'Right! Right!' said Dibbler. 'That's what a name like Vice-President of Executive Affairs means.'
'It does?'
'Have I ever lied to you?'
Silverfish's brow furrowed. 'Well,' he said, 'yesterday you said-'
'I mean metaphorically,' said Dibbler quickly.
'Oh. Well. Metaphorically? I suppose not-'
'There you are, then. Now, where's that artist?' Dibbler spun around, giving the impression that Silverfish had just been switched off.
A man scurried up with a folder under his arm.
'Yessir, Mr Dibbler?'
Throat pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket.
'I want the posters ready by tonight, understand?' he warned. 'Here. This is the name of the click.'
'Shadowe of the Dessert,' the artist read. His brow furrowed. He had been educated beyond the needs of Holy Wood. 'It's about food?' he said.
But Dibbler wasn't listening. He was advancing on Victor.
'Victor!' he said. 'Baby!'
'It's got him,' said Gaspode quietly. 'Got him worse than anyone, I reckon.'
'What has? How can you tell?' Victor hissed.
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