Moving pictures

Silver screen magic.' 'What's come over you?

Last night-'

'That was then,' said Ginger impatiently. 'Don't you see? We could be going somewhere. We could be becoming someone. Because of Holy Wood. The world is our-'

'Lobster,' said Victor.

She waved a hand irritably. 'Any shellfish you like,' she said. 'I was thinking of oysters, actually.' 'Were you? I was thinking of lobsters.'

'Bursaar!'

I shouldn't have to run around like this at my age, thought the Bursar, scurrying down the corridor in answer to the Archchancellor's bellow. Why's he so interested in the damn thing, anyway? Wretched pot! 'Coming, Master,' he trilled.

The Archchancellor's desk was covered with ancient documents.

When a wizard died, all his papers were stored in one of the outlying reaches of the Library. Shelf after shelf of quietly mouldering documents, the haunt of mysterious beetles and dry rot, stretched away into an unguessable distance. Eyeryone kept telling everyone that there was a wealth of material here for researchers, if only someone could find the time to do it.

The Bursar was annoyed. He couldn't find the Librarian anywhere. The ape never seemed to be around these days. He'd had to scrabble among the stuff himself.

'I think this is the last, Archchancellor,' he said, tipping an avalanche of dusty paperwork on to the desk. Ridcully flailed at a cloud of moths.

'Paper, paper, paper,' he muttered. 'How many damn bits of paper in his stuff, eh?'

'Er . . . 23,813, Archchancellor,' said the Bursar. 'He kept a record.'

'Look at this,' said the Archchancellor.

' 'Star Enumerator' . . . 'Rev Counter for Use in Ecclesiastical Areas' . . . 'Swamp Meter' . . . Swamp meter!

The man was mad!'

'He had a very tidy mind,' said the Bursar.

'Same thing.'

'Is it, er, really important, Archchancellor?' the Bursar ventured. 'Damn thing shot pellets at me,' said Ridcully.

'Twice!'

'I'm sure it wasn't, er, intended-'

'I want to see how it was made, man! Just think of the sportin' possibilities!'

The Bursar tried to think of the possibilities.

'I'm sure Riktor didn't intend to make any kind of offensive device,' he'ventured, hopelessly.

'Who gives a damn what he intended? Where is the thing now?'

'I had a couple of servants put sandbags around it.'

'Good idea. It's-'

. . . whumm . . . whumm . . .

It was a muffled sound from the corridor. The two wizards exchanged a meaningful glance .

. . . whumm . . . whummWHUMM.

The Bursar held his breath.