Going Postal

want to know something really interesting, Mr. Lipwig?” said Stanley, hurrying up.
    “And what’s that, Stanley?” said Moist, climbing down off the chair.
    “We’re selling lots of the new one-dollar stamps this morning! And do you know what? People are sending letters to themselves!”
    “What?” said Moist, mystified.
    “Just so the stamps have been through the post, sir. That makes them real, you see! It proves they’ve been used. They’re collecting them, sir! And it gets better, sir!”
    “How could it get better than that, Stanley?” said Moist. He looked down. Yes, the boy had a new shirt, showing a picture of the penny stamp and bearing the legend: ASK ME ABOUT STAMPS .
    “Sto Lat want Teemer and Spools to do them their own set! And the other cities are asking about it, too!”
    Moist made a mental note: We’ll change the stamps often. And offer stamp designs to every city and country we can think of. Everyone will want to have their own stamps rather than “lick Vetinari’s backside,” and we’ll honor them, too, if they’ll deliver our mail, and Mr. Spools will express his gratitude to us in very definite ways, I’ll see to it .
    “Sorry about your pins, Stanley.”
    “Pins?” said the boy. “Oh, pins . Pins are just pointy metal things, sir. Pins are dead .”
    And so we progress , thought Moist. Always keep moving. There may be something behind you .
    All we need now is for the gods to smile on us.
    Hmm. I think they’ll smile a little broader outside.
    Moist stepped out into the daylight. The difference between the inside and outside of the Post Office was less marked than formerly, but there were still a lot of people. There were a couple of watchmen, too. They’d be useful. They were already watching him suspiciously.
    Well, this was it. It was going to be a miracle. Actually, it bloody well was going to be a miracle!
    Moist stared up into the sky and listened to the voices of the gods.

CHAPTER 11
    Mission Statement
In which Lord Vetinari gives advice • Mr. Lipwig’s bad memory
• Evil criminal geniuses, difficulty with finding property
• Mr. Groat’s fear of bathing, and a discussion on
explosive underwear • Mr. Pony and his flimsies
• The board debates, Gilt decides
• Moist von Lipwig attempts the impossible
    T HE CLOCKS were chiming seven o’clock.
    “Ah, Mr. Lipwig,” said Lord Vetinari, looking up. “Thank you so much for dropping in. It has been such a busy day, has it not? Drumknott, do help Mr. Lipwig to a chair. Prophecy can be very exhausting, I believe.”
    Moist waved the clerk away and eased his aching body into a seat.
    “I didn’t exactly decide to drop in,” he said. “A large troll watchman walked in and grabbed me by the arm.”
    “Ah, to steady you, I have no doubt,” said Lord Vetinari, who was poring over the battle between the stone trolls and the stone dwarfs. “You accompanied him of your own free will, did you not?”
    “I’m very attached to my arm,” said Moist. “I thought I’d better follow it. What can I do for you, my lord?”
    Vetinari got up and went and sat in the chair behind his desk, where he regarded Moist with what almost looked like amusement.
    “Commander Vimes has given me some succinct reports of today’s events,” he said, putting down the troll figure he was holding and turning over a few sheets of paper. “Beginning with the riot at the Grand Trunk offices this morning, which, he says, you instigated…?”
    “All I did was volunteer to deliver such clacks messages as had been held up by the unfortunate breakdown,” said Moist. “I didn’t expect the idiots in their office to refuse to hand the messages back to their customers! People had paid in advance, after all. I was just helping everyone in a difficult time. And I certainly didn’t ‘instigate’ anyone to hit a clerk with a chair!”
    “Of course not, of course not,” said Lord Vetinari. “I am sure you acted quite innocently and from the best of intentions. But I am agog to hear about the gold, Mr. Moist. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I believe.”
    “Some of it I can’t quite remember,” said Moist. “It’s all a bit unclear.”
    “Yes, yes, I imagine it is. Perhaps I can clarify a few details?” said Lord Vetinari. “Around midmorning, Mr. Lipwig, you were chatting to people outside your regrettably distressed building when”—here the Patrician glanced at his notes—“you suddenly looked up,