Going Postal

one hundred thousand dollars?”
    “Hah. I accept the wager! We shall see who laughs tomorrow,” said Gilt bluntly.
    “I’ll look forward to it,” said Moist.
    And now I have you in the hollow of my hand , he thought to himself. The hollow of my hand. You’re enraged now. You’re making wrong decisions. You’re walking the plank .
    He climbed up onto the coach and turned to the crowd. “Genua, ladies and gentlemen. Genua or bust!”
    “Someone will!” yelled a wag in the crowd. Moist bowed and, as he straightened up, looked into the face of Adora Belle Dearheart.
    “Will you marry me, Miss Dearheart?” he shouted.
    There was an “oooh” from the crowd, and Sacharissa turned her head like a cat seeking the next mouse. What a shame the paper had only one front page, eh?
    Miss Dearheart blew a smoke ring.
    “Not yet,” she said calmly. This got a mixture of cheers and boos.
    Moist waved, jumped down beside the driver, and said: “Hit it, Jim.”
    Jim cracked his whip for the sound of the thing, and the coach moved away amid cheering. Moist looked back, and made out Mr. Pony pushing determinedly through the crowd in the direction of the Tump Tower.
    Then he sat back and looked at the streets, in the light of the coach lamps.
    Pehaps it was the gold working its way in from outside. He could feel something filling him, like a mist. When he moved his hand, he was sure that it left a trail of flecks in the air. He was still flying.
    “Jim, do I look all right?” he said.
    “Can’t see much of you in this light, sir,” said the coachman. “Can I ask a question?”
    “Go ahead, please.”
    “Why’d you give those bastards just those middle pages?”
    “Two reasons, Jim. It makes us look good and makes them look like whiny kids. And the other is, it’s the bit with all the color illustrations. I hear it takes ages to code one of those.”
    “You’re so sharp you’ll cut yourself, Mr. Lipwig! Eh? Damn straight!”
    “Drive like the blazes, Jim!”
    “Oh, I know how to give them a show, sir, you can bank on it! Hyah!” The whip cracked again, and the sound of hooves bounced off the buildings.
    “ Six horses?” said Moist, as they rattled up Broad Way.
    “Aye, sir. Might as well make a name for myself, sir,” said the coachman.
    “Slow down a bit when you get to the old wizard tower, will you? I’ll get off there. Did you get some guards?”
    “Four of them, Mr. Lipwig,” Jim announced. “Lying low inside. Men of repute and integrity, known ’em since we were lads: Nosher Harry, Skullbreaker Tapp, Grievous Bodily Harmsworth, and Joe ‘No Nose’ Tozer. They’re mates, sir, don’t you worry, and they’re looking forward to a little holiday in Genua.”
    “Yeah, we’ve all got our buckets and spades,” growled a voice from inside.
    “I’d rather have them than a dozen watchmen,” said Jim happily.
    The coach rattled on, leaving the outlying suburbs behind. The road under the wheels became rougher, but the coach swung and danced along on its steel springs.
    “After you’ve dropped me off you can rein them in a bit. No need to rush, Jim,” said Moist after a while.
    In the glow of the coach lamps Moist saw Jim’s red face glow with guile.
    “It’s your plan, eh, sir?”
    “It’s a wonderful plan, Jim!” said Moist. And I shall have to make sure it doesn’t work .

    T HE LIGHTS of the coach disappeared, leaving Moist in chilly darkness. In the distance, the faintly glowing smokes of Ankh-Morpork made a great, trailing mushroom of a cloud that blotted out the stars. Things rustled in the bushes, and a breeze wafted the scent of cabbages over the endless fields.
    Moist waited untl he got some night vision. The tower appeared, a column of night without stars. All he had to do was find his way through the dense, brambly, root-knotted woodland—
    He made a noise like an owl. Since Moist was no ornithologist, he did this by saying “woo woo.”
    The woodland exploded with owl hoots. These were owls that roosted in an old wizarding tower, which drove you mad in a day. It had no obvious effect on them except that the noises they made included every possible sound that could be made by a living or even dying creature. There was definitely some elephant in there, and possibly some hyena, too, with a hint of bedspring.
    When the din had died down, a voice from a few feet away whispered: “All right, Mr. Lipwig. It’s me, Adrian. Grab my hand and let’s go before the others