Going Postal

you find every day, eh?” said Dave.
    Gosh, it’s a pin , thought Moist, but said “Wow!” in a tone of well-crafted genuine surprise.
    A few minutes later, he stepped out of the shop, fighting an impulse to turn his collar up. That was the problem with certain kinds of insanity. They could strike at any time. After all, he’d just spent AM$70 on a damn pin !
    He stared at the little packets in his hand and sighed. As he carefully put them in his jacket pocket, his hand touched something papery.
    Oh, yes. The S.W.A.L.K. letter. He was about to shove it back when his eye caught sight of the ancient street sign opposite: LOBBIN CLOUT .
    And as his gaze moved down, it also saw, over the first shop in the narrow street,

    NO. 1 A. PARKER & SON’S
GREENGROCER’S
HIGH CLAS’S FRUIT AND VEGETABLE’S

    Well, why not deliver it? Hah! He was the postmaster, wasn’t he? What harm could it do?
    He slipped into the shop. A middle-aged man was introducing fresh carrots—or possibly carrot’s—into the life of a bulky woman with a big shopping bag and hairy warts.
    “Mr. Antimony Parker?” said Moist urgently.
    “Be with you in jus’t one moment, s’ir, I’m ju’st—” the man began.
    “I just need to know if you are Mr. Antimony Parker, that’s all,” said Moist. The woman turned to glare at the intruder, and Moist gave her a smile so winning that she blushed and wished just for a moment she’d worn makeup today.
    “That’s Father,” said the greengrocer. “He’s out the back, tackling a difficult cabbage—”
    “This is his,” said Moist. “Postal delivery.” He put the envelope on the counter and walked quickly out of the shop.
    Shopkeeper and customer stared down at the pink envelope.
    “S.’W.A.L.K?” said Mr. Parker.
    “Ooh, that takes me back, Mr. Parker,” said the woman. “In my day we used to put that on our letters when we were courting. Didn’t you? Sealed With A Loving Kiss. There was S.W.A.L.K., and L.A.N.C.R.E. and…” she lowered her voice and giggled, “K.L.A.T.C.H., of course. Remember?”
    “All that pas’sed me by, Mrs. Goodbody,” said the greengrocer stiffly. “And if it mean’s young men are s’ending our dad pink envelope’s with s’walk on them, I’m thankful for that. Modern time’s, eh?” He turned and raised his voice. “Father!”

    W ELL , that was a good deed for the day , Moist thought. Or a deed, in any case .
    It looked as though Mr. Parker had managed to acquire some sons, one way or another. Still, it was…odd to think of all those letters heaped in that old building. You could imagine them as little packets of history. Deliver them, and history went one way. But if you dropped them in the gap between the floorboards, it went the other.
    Ha. He shook his head. As if one tiny choice by someone unimportant could make that much difference! History had to be a bit tougher than that. It all sprang back eventually, didn’t it? He was sure he’d read something about that, somewhere. If it wasn’t like that, no one would ever dare do anything .
    He stood in the little square where eight roads met, and chose to go home via Market Street. It was as good a way as any other.

    W HEN HE WAS SURE that both Stanley and the golem were busy on the mail mountains, Mr. Groat crept away through the labyrinth of corridors. Bundles of letters were stacked so high and tight that it was all he could do to squeeze through, but at last he reached the shaft of the old hydraulic elevator, long disused. The shaft had been filled up with letters.
    However, the engineer’s ladder was still clear, and that at least went up to the roof.
    Of course, there was the fire escape outside, but that was outside , and Groat was not overkeen on going outside at the best of times. He inhabited the Post Office like a very small snail in a very large shell. He was used to gloom.
    Now, slowly and painfully, his legs shaking, he climbed up through the floors of mail and forced open the trapdoor at the top.
    He blinked and shuddered in the unfamiliar sunlight, and hauled himself out onto the flat roof.
    He’d never really liked doing this, but what else could he have done? Stanley ate like a bird and Groat mostly got by on tea and biscuits, but it all cost money, even if you went round the markets just as they closed up, and somewhere in the past, decades ago, the pay had stopped arriving. Groat had been too frightened to go up to the palace to find out why. He was afraid that if