Going Postal

with them, my lord,” said the clerk.
    Vetinari smiled his mirthless smile. “How surprising.”
    “And Mr. Reacher Gilt,” Drumknott added, watching his master carefully.
    “Of course,” said Vetinari.
    When the directors filed in a few minutes later, the conference table at one end of the room was clear and gleaming, except for a paper pad and the pile of files. Vetinari himself was standing at the window again.
    “Ah, gentlemen. So kind of you to come for this little chat,” he said. “I was enjoying the view.”
    He turned around sharply and confronted a row of puzzled faces, except for two. One was gray and belonged to Mr. Slant, who was the most renowned, expensive, and certainly the oldest lawyer in the city. He had been a zombie for many years, although apparently the change in habits between life and death had not been marked. The other face belonged to a man with one eye and one black eyepatch, and it smiled like a tiger.
    “It’s particularly refreshing to see the Grand Trunk back in operation,” said Vetinari, ignoring that face. “I believe it was shut down all day yesterday. I was only thinking to myself that it was such a shame, the Grand Trunk being so vital to us all, and so regrettable that there’s only one of it. Sadly, I understand the backers of the New Trunk are now in disarray, which, of course, leaves the Grand Trunk operating in solitary splendor and your company, gentlemen, unchallenged. Oh, what am I thinking of? Do be seated, gentlemen.”
    He gave Mr. Slant another friendly smile as he took his seat.
    “I don’t believe I know all these gentlemen,” he said.
    Mr. Slant sighed. “My lord, let me present Mr. Greenyham of Ankh-Sto Associates, who is the Grand Trunk Company’s treasurer, Mr. Nutmeg of Sto Plains Holdings, Mr. Horsefry of the Ankh-Morpork Mercantile Credit Bank, Mr. Stowley of Ankh Futures (Financial Advisers), and Mr. Gilt—”
    “—all by himself,” said the one-eyed man calmly.
    “Ah, Mr. Reacher Gilt,” said Vetinari, looking directly at him. “I’m so… pleased to meet you at last.”
    “You don’t come to my parties, my lord,” said Gilt.
    “Do excuse me. Affairs of state take up so much of my time,” said Lord Vetinari brusquely.
    “We should all make time to unwind, my lord. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, as they say.”
    Several of the assembly paused in their breathing when they heard this, but Vetinari merely looked blank.
    “Interesting,” he said.
    He riffled through the files and opened one of them. “Now, my staff have prepared some notes for me, from information publicly available down at the Barbican,” he said to the lawyer. “Directorships, for example. Of course, the mysterious world of finance is a closed, aha, ledger to me, but it seems to me that some of your clients work, as it were, for each other?”
    “Yes, my lord?” said Slant.
    “Is that normal?”
    “Oh, it is quite common for people with particular expertise to be on the board of several companies, my lord.”
    “Even if the companies are rivals?” said Vetinari.
    There were smiles from around the table. Most of the financiers settled a little more easily in their chairs. The man was clearly a fool about business matters. What did he know about compound interest, eh? He’d been classically educated. And then they remembered that his education had been at the Assassins’ Guild School, and stopped smiling. But Mr. Gilt stared intently at Vetinari.
    “There are ways—extremely honorable ways—of assuring confidentiality and avoiding conflicts of interest, my lord,” said Mr. Slant.
    “Ah, this would be…what is it now…the glass ceiling?” said Lord Vetinari brightly.
    “No, my lord. That is something else. I believe you may be thinking about the ‘Agatean Wall,’” said Mr. Slant smoothly. “This carefully and successfully ensures that there will be no breach of confidentiality should, for example, one part of an organization come into possession of privileged information which could conceivably be used by another department for unethical gain.”
    “This is fascinating! How does it work, exactly?” said Vetinari.
    “People agree not to do it,” said Mr. Slant.
    “I’m sorry? I thought you said there is a wall—” said Vetinari.
    “That’s just a name, my lord. For agreeing not to do it.”
    “Ah? And they do? How wonderful. Even though in this case the invisible wall must pass through the middle of their