Going Postal

delivered,” said Professor Pelc. “Until a letter is read, it’s not complete. They will try anything to be delivered. But they don’t think, as you understand it, and they’re not clever. They just reach out into any available mind. I see you’ve already been turned into an avatar.”
    “I can’t fly!”
    “Avatar: the living likeness of a god,” said the professor patiently. “The hat with wings. The golden suit.”
    “No, they happened by accident—”
    “Are you sure?”
    The room went quiet.
    “Um…I was until right now,” said Moist.
    “They’re not trying to hurt anyone, Mr. Lipwig,” said Pelc. “They just want deliverance.”
    “We’ll never be able to deliver them all,” said Moist. “That’d take years.”
    “The mere fact you’re delivering any will help, I’m sure,” said Professor Pelc, smiling like a doctor telling a man not to worry, the disease is only fatal in eighty-seven percent of cases. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
    He stood up, to indicate that a wizard’s time is valuable.
    “Well, I’d quite like to know where the chandeliers went,” said Moist. “It’ll be nice to get them back. Symbolic, you could say.”
    “I can’t help you, but I’m sure Professor Goitre can. He’s the Post humous Professor of Morbid Bibliomancy. We could drop in and see him on the way out, if you like. He’s in the Wizards’ Pantry.”
    “Why’s he ‘posthumous’?” Moist asked, as they stepped out into the corridor.
    “He’s dead,” said Pelc.
    “Ah…I was kind of hoping that it was going to be a little more metaphorical than that,” said Moist.
    “Don’t worry, he decided to take Early Death. It was a very good package.”
    “Oh,” said Moist. The important thing at a time like this was to spot the right moment to run, but they’d got here through a maze of dark passages and this was not a place you’d want to get lost in. Something might find you.
    They stopped outside a door, through which came the muffled sound of voices and the occasional clink of glassware. This stopped as soon as the professor pushed open a door and it was hard to see where it could have come from. This was, indeed, a pantry, quite empty of people, its walls lined with shelves, the shelves filled with little jars. There was a wizard in each one.
    Now would be the right time to run , Moist’s hindbrain thought, as Pelc reached for a jar, unscrewed the lid, and rummaged around in it for the tiny wizard.
    “Oh, this isn’t him,” said the professor cheerfully, seeing Moist’s expression. “The housekeeper puts these little knitted wizard dolls in just to remind the kitchen staff that the jars shouldn’t be used for anything else. There was an incident with some peanut butter, I believe. I just have to take it out so that he doesn’t sound muffled.”
    “So…er, where is the professor, in fact?”
    “Oh, in the jar, for a certain value of ‘in,’” said Professor Pelc. “It’s very hard to explain to the layman. He’s only dead for—”
    “—a given value of dead?” said Moist.
    “Exactly! And he can come back at a week’s notice. A lot of the older wizards are opting for it now. Very refreshing, they say, just like a sabbatical. Only longer.”
    “Where do they go?”
    “No one’s sure, exactly, but you can hear the sounds of cutlery,” said Pelc, and raised the jar to his mouth.
    “Excuse me, Professor Goitre? Can you by any chance recall what happened to the chandeliers in the Post Office?”
    Moist was expecting a tinny little voice to reply, but a sprightly if elderly voice a few inches away from his ear said: “What? Oh! Yes indeed! One ended up in the Opera House and the other was acquired by the Assassins’ Guild. Here comes the pudding trolley! Good-bye!”
    “Thank you, Professor,” said Pelc solemnly. “All is well here—”
    “Fat lot I care!” said the disembodied voice. “Be off, please, we’re eating!”
    “There you have it, then,” said Pelc, putting the wizard doll back in the jar and screwing the lid on. “The Opera House and the Assassins’ Guild. Might be quite hard to get them back, I fancy.”
    “Yes, I think I shall put that off for a day or two,” said Moist, stepping out of the door. “Dangerous people to tangle with.”
    “Indeed,” said the professor, shutting the door behind them, which was the signal for the buzz of conversation to start up again. “I understand some of those sopranos can kick