Going Postal

not ones that you can bite. No, these days they restrict themselves to things like grace, patience, fortitude, and inner strength. Things you can’t see. Things that have no value. Gods tend to be more interested in prophets, not profits, a-ha.”
    There were some blank looks from his fellow directors.
    “Didn’t quite get that one, old chap,” said Stowley.
    “Prop hets , I said, not pro fits ,” said Gilt. He waved his hand. “Don’t worry yourselves, it will look better written down. In short, Mr. Lipwig’s gift from above was a big chest of coins, some of them in what looked remarkably like bank sacks and all in modern denominations. You don’t find this strange?”
    “Yes, but even the high priests say he—”
    “Lipwig is a showman ,” snapped Gilt. “Do you think the gods will carry his mail coach for him? Do you? This is a stunt , do you understand? It got him on page one again, that’s all. This is not hard to follow. He has no plan, other than to fail heroically. No one expects him actually to win, do they?”
    “I heard that people are betting heavily on him.”
    “People enjoy the experience of being fooled, if it promises a certain amount of entertainment,” said Gilt. “Do you know a good bookmaker? I shall have a little bet. Five thousand dollars, perhaps?”
    This got some nervous laughter, and he followed it up. “Gentlemen, be sensible. No gods will come to the aid of our postmaster. No wizards, either. They’re not generous with magic, and we’ll soon find out if he uses any. No, he’s looking for the publicity, that’s all. Which is not to say,” he winked, “that we shouldn’t, how shall I put it, make certainty doubly sure.”
    They perked up still more. This sounded like the kind of thing they wanted to hear.
    “After all, accidents can happen in the mountains,” said Greenyham.
    “I believe that is the case,” said Gilt. “However, I was referring to the Grand Trunk. Therefore I have asked Mr. Pony to outline our procedure. Mr. Pony?”
    The engineer shifted uneasily. He’d had a bad night.
    “I want it recorded, sir, that I have urged a six-hour shutdown before the event,” he said.
    “Indeed, and the minutes will show that I have said that is quite impossible,” said Gilt. “Firstly, because it would be an unpardonable loss of revenue, and secondly, because sending no messages would send quite the wrong message.”
    “We’ll shut down for an hour before the event, then, and clear down,” said Mr. Pony. “Every tower will send a statement of readiness to the Tump and then lock all doors and wait. No one will be allowed in or out. We’ll configure the towers to run duplex—that is,” he translated for management, “we’ll turn the down-line into a second up-line, so the message will get to Genua twice as fast. We won’t have any other messages on the Trunk while the, er, race is on. No Overhead, nothing. And from now on, sir, from the moment I walk out of this room, we take no more messages from feeder towers. Not even from the one in the palace, not even from the one in the university.” He sniffed, and added with some satisfaction: “’Specially not them students. Someone’s been having a go at us, sir.”
    “That seems a bit drastic, Mr. Pony,” said Greenyham.
    “I hope it is, sir. I think someone’s found a way of sending messages that can damage a tower, sir.”
    “That’s impossi—”
    Mr. Pony’s hand slapped the table. “How come you know so much, sir? Did you sit up half the night trying to get to the bottom of it? Have you taken a differential drum apart with a tin opener? Did you spot how the swage armature can be made to jump off the elliptical bearing if you hit the letter K and then send it to a tower with an address higher than yours but only if you hit the letter Q first and the drum spring is fully wound? Did you spot that the key levers wedge together and the spring forces the arm up and you’re looking at a gearbox full of teeth? Well, I did!”
    “Are you talking about sabotage here?” said Gilt.
    “Call it what you like,” said Pony, drunk with nervousness. “I went to the yard this morning and dug out the old drum we took out of Tower 14 last month. I’ll swear the same thing happened there. But mostly the breakdowns are in the upper tower, in the shutter boxes. That’s where—”
    “So our Mr. Lipwig has been behind a campaign to sabotage us…” Gilt mused.
    “I never said that!” said