Going Postal

there’s the third member of our jolly little team, sir—”
    A large black-and-white cat had walked into the room. It paid no attention to Moist or Groat, but progressed slowly across the floor toward a battered and unraveling basket. Moist was in the way. The cat continued until its head butted gently against Moist’s leg, and stopped.
    “That’s Mr. Tiddles, sir,” said Groat.
    “ Tiddles? ” said Moist. “You mean that really is a cat’s name? I thought it was just a joke.”
    “Not so much a name, sir, more of a description,” said Groat. “You’d better move, sir, otherwise he’ll just stand there all day. Twenty years old, he is, and a bit set in his ways.”
    Moist stepped aside. Unperturbed, the cat continued to the basket, where it curled up.
    “Is he blind?” said Moist.
    “No, sir. He has his routine and he sticks to it, sir, sticks to it to the very second. Very patient, for a cat. Doesn’t like the furniture being moved. You’ll get used to him.”
    Not knowing what to say, but feeling that he should say something, Moist nodded toward the array of bottles on Groat’s desk.
    “You dabble in alchemy, Mr. Groat?” he said.
    “Nossir! I practice nat’ral medicine!” said Groat proudly. “Don’t believe in doctors, sir! Never a day’s illness in my life, sir!” He thumped his chest, making a thlap noise not normally associated with living tissue. “Flannelette, goose grease, and hot bread puddin’, sir! Nothing like it for protecting your tubes against the noxious effluviences! I puts a fresh layer on ever week, sir, and you won’t find a sneeze passing my nose, sir. Very healthful, very natural!”
    “Er…good,” said Moist.
    “Worst of ’em all is soap, sir,” said Groat, lowering his voice. “Terrible stuff, sir, washes away the beneficent humors. Leave things be, I say! Keep the tubes running, put sulfur in your socks, and pay attention to your chest protector, and you can laugh at anything! Now, sir, I’m sure a young man like yourself will be worrying about the state of his—”
    “What’s this do?” said Moist hurriedly, picking up a pot of greenish goo.
    “That, sir? Wart cure. Wonderful stuff. Very natural, not like the stuff a doctor’d give you.”
    Moist sniffed at the pot. “What’s it made of?”
    “Arsenic, sir,” said Groat calmly.
    “ Arsenic? ”
    “Very natural, sir,” said Groat. “And green.”
    So , Moist thought, as he put the pot back with extreme care, inside the Post Office normality clearly does not have a one-to-one relationship with the outside world. I might miss the cues . He decided that the role of keen but bewildered manager was the one to play here. Besides, apart from the “keen” aspect, it didn’t need any effort.
    “Can you help me, Mr. Groat?” he said. “I don’t know anything about the post!”
    “Well, sir…what did you used to do?”
    Rob. Trick. Forge. Embezzle. But never—and this was important—using any kind of violence. Never. Moist had always been very careful about that. He tried not to sneak, either, if he could avoid it. Being caught at one A.M. in a bank’s deposit vault while wearing a black suit with lots of little pockets in it could be considered suspicious, so why do it? With careful planning, the right suit, the right papers, and, above all, the right manner, you could walk into the place at midday, and the manager would hold the door open for you when you left. Palming rings and exploiting the cupidity of the rural stupid was just a way of keeping his hand in .
    It was the face, that was what it was. He had an honest face. And he loved those people who looked him firmly in the eye to see his inner self, because he had a whole set of inner selves, one for every occasion. As for firm handshakes, practice had given him one to which you could moor boats. It was people skills, that was what it was . Special people skills. Before you could sell glass as diamonds you had to make people really want to see diamonds. That was THE trick, the trick of all tricks. You changed the way people saw the world. You let them see it the way THEY wanted it to be…
    How the hell had Vetinari known his name? The man had cracked von Lipwig like an egg! And the Watch here were…demonic! As for setting a golem on a man…
    “I was a clerk,” said Moist.
    “What, paperwork, that sort of thing?” said Groat, looking at him intently.
    “Yes, pretty much all paperwork.” That was honest, if you included