It stood upright, ten feet tall, rested its hands on the hilt of the sword, and halted. It didn't look very much different from its posture on the slab, but this time there was an air of alertness about it, a sense of huge energies idly ticking over. It paid no attention at all to the four who had awoken it.
The screen stopped its wild pulsating. Something had sensed the presence of the golden man and was focusing its attention on him. Which meant that it was temporarily removing it from elsewhere.
There was a stirring from the audience. They were waking up.
Victor grabbed the Librarian and Detritus.
'You two,' he said. 'Get everyone out of here. Get them out of here fast.'
'Gook!'
The Holy Wood people didn't need much encouragement. Seeing the shapes on the screen clearly, without the cushion of hypnosis, was enough to make anything brainier than Detritus have a sudden urge to be a long way away. Victor could see them struggling over the seats, fighting to escape from the pit.
Ginger started to follow them. Victor stopped her.
'Not yet,' he said, quietly. 'Not us.'
'What do you mean?' she demanded.
He shook his head. 'We have to be the last ones out,' he said. 'It's all part of Holy Wood. You can use the magic, but it uses you, too. Besides, don't you want to see how it all ends?'
'I had rather hoped to see how it all ends from a long way off.'
'OK, look at it another way . . . it's going to take a couple of minutes for them to get out. We might as well have a clear run at it, eh?'
They could hear shouts in the ante-chamber as the former audience piled into the tunnel.
Victor walked up the suddenly-deserted aisle to the back row and sat down in a vacated seat.
'I hope old Detritus is bright enough not to be left holding up the ceiling again,' he said.
Ginger sighed, and sat down next to him.
Victor put his feet up on the seat in front of him and fumbled in his pockets.
'Would you like', he said, 'some banged grains?'
The golden man was just visible under the screen. His head was bowed.
'You know, he does look like my Uncle Oswald,' said Ginger.
The screen went dark with such suddenness the inrushing blackness almost made a noise.
This must have happened many times before, Victor thought. In dozens of universes. The wild idea arrives, and somehow the golden man, the Oswald or whatever, arises. To control it. Or something. Maybe wherever Holy Wood goes, Osric follows.
A point of purple light appeared, and grew faster very quickly. Victor felt that he was dropping down a tunnel.
The golden figure raised its head.
The light twisted, and took on random features. The screen wasn't there any more. This was something entering the world. It wasn't an image at the other end of the hall, but something frantically trying to exist.
The golden man drew back his sword.
Victor shook Ginger's shoulder.
'I think this is where we leave,' he said.
.The sword connected. Golden light filled the cave.
Victor and Ginger were already racing down the steps of the antechamber when the first shock hit. They stared at the tunnel's empty mouth.
'Not on your life,' said Ginger. 'I'm not going to be trapped in there again.'
The flooded stairs lay in front of them. Of course, they must connect to the sea, and really it was only a few yards away, but the water was inky black and, in Gaspode's word, boding.
'Can you swim?' said Victor. One of the cavern's rotting pillars crashed down behind them. From the pit itself came a terrible wailing.
'Not very well,' said Ginger.
'Me neither,' he said. The commotion behind them was getting worse.
'Still,' he said, taking her hand. 'We could look on this as a great opportunity to improve really quickly.'
They jumped.
Victor surfaced fifty yards offshore, lungs bursting. Ginger erupted a few feet away. They trod water, and watched.
The earth trembled.
Holy Wood Town, built of unseasoned wood and short nails, was shaking apart. Houses folded down on themselves slowly, like packs of cards. Here and there small explosions indicated that stores of octo-cellulose were involved. Canvas cities and plaster mountains slid into ruin.
And between it all, dodging the falling timber but letting nothing else stand in their way, the people of Holy Wood ran for their lives. Handlemen, actors, alchemists, imps, trolls, dwarfs - they ran like ants whose heap is ablaze, heads down, legs pumping, eyes fixed furiously on the horizon.
A whole section of hill caved in.
For a moment Victor thought he saw the huge golden figure of Osbert, as insubstantial as dust motes in a shaft of light, rise over Holy Wood and bring its sword around in one all-embracing sweep.
Then it was gone.
Victor helped Ginger ashore.
They reached the main street, silent now except for the occasional creak and thud as another plank dropped off the half-collapsed buildings.
They picked their way over fallen scenery and broken picture boxes.
There was a crash behind them as the 'Century of the Fruitbat' sign slipped off its moorings and thudded on the sand.
They passed the remains of Borgle's commissary, whose destruction had increased the average food quality of the entire world by a small but significant amount.
They waded through unreeled clicks, flapping in the wind.
They climbed over broken dreams.
At the edge of what had been Holy Wood, Victor turned and looked back once.
'Well, they were right at last,' he said. 'You'll never work in this town again.'
There was a sob. To his surprise, Ginger was crying.
He put his arm around her.
'Come on,' he said. 'I'll walk you home.'
Holy Wood's own magic, now rootless and fading, crackled across the landscape, looking for pathways to earth itself.
Click . . .
It was early evening. The reddened light of the setting sun filled the windows of Harga's House of Ribs, which was nearly deserted at this time of day.
Detritus and Ruby sat awkwardly on human-size chairs.
The only other person around was Sham Harp himself,