Going Postal

of them. We heard the clacks was down again.”
    “You’re a life saver, Mr. Spools. If you could just take them inside. By the way, how much is a clacks message to Sto Lat?”
    “Even a very short message would be at least thirty pence, I think,” said the engraver.
    “Thank you.” Moist stood back and cupped his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted. “The Post Office will be open in five minutes for the sale of penny and two-penny stamps! In addition, we will be taking mail for Sto Lat! First express delivery to Sto Lat leaves on the hour, ladies and gentlemen, to arrive this morning . The cost will be ten pence per standard envelope! I repeat, ten pence! The Mail, ladies and gentlemen! Accept no substitutes! Thank you!”
    There was a stir from the crowd, and several people hurried away.
    Moist led Mr. Spools into the building, politely closing the door in the face of the crowd. He felt the tingle he always felt when the game was afoot. Life should be made of moments like this, he decided. With his heart singing, he erupted orders.
    “Stanley!”
    “Yes, Mr. Lipwig?” said the boy, behind him.
    “Run along to Hobson’s Livery Stable and ask for the fastest horse they’ve got. Tell them I want a good, fast horse, right? Something with a bit of fizz in its blood! Not some feagued-up old screw, and I know the difference! I want it here in half an hour! Off you go! Mr. Groat?”
    “Yessir!” Groat actually saluted.
    “Rig up some kind of table for a counter, will you?” said Moist. “In five minutes, we open to accept mail and sell stamps! I’m taking the mail to Sto Lat while the clacks is down, and you’re acting postmaster while I’m gone! Mr. Spools!”
    “I’m right here, Mr. Lipwig, you really don’t have to shout,” said the engraver reproachfully.
    “Sorry, Mr. Spools. More stamps, please. I’ll need some to take with me, in case there’s mail to come back. Can you do that? And I’ll need the fives and the dollar stamps as soon as—are you all right, Mr. Groat?”
    The old man was swaying, his lips moving soundlessly.
    “Mr. Groat?” Moist repeated
    “Acting postmaster…” mumbled Groat.
    “That’s right, Mr. Groat.”
    “No Groat has ever been acting postmaster…” Suddenly Groat dropped to his knees and gripped Moist around the legs. “Oh, thank you, sir! I won’t let you down, Mr. Lipwig! You can rely on me, sir! Neither rain nor snow nor glom of—”
    “Yes, yes, thank you, Acting Postmaster, thank you, that’s enough, thank you,” said Moist, trying to pull away. “Please get up , Mr. Groat. Mr. Groat, please!”
    “Can I wear the wingéd hat while you’re gone, sir?” Groat pleaded. “It’d mean such a lot, sir—”
    “I’m sure it would, Mr. Groat, but not today. Today, the hat flies to Sto Lat.”
    Groat stood up. “Should it really be you that takes the mail, sir?”
    “Who else? Golems can’t move fast enough, Stanley is…well, Stanley, and the rest of you gentlemen are ol—rich in years.” Moist rubbed his hands together. “No argument, Acting Postmaster Groat! Now—let’s sell some stamps!”
    The doors were open, and the crowd flocked in. Vetinari had been right. If there was any action, the people of Ankh-Morpork liked to be a part of it. Penny stamps flowed over makeshift counter. After all, the reasoning went, for a penny you got something worth a penny, right? After all, even if it was a joke, it was as safe as buying money! And envelopes came the other way. People were actually writing letters in the Post Office. Moist made a mental note: envelopes with a stamp already on, and a sheet of folded paper inside them: Instant Letter Kit, Just Add Ink! That was an important rule of any game: always make it easy for people to give you money.
    To his surprise, although he realized it shouldn’t have been, Drumknott elbowed his way through the crowd with a small but heavy leather package, sealed with a wax seal bearing the city crest and a “V.” It was addressed to the mayor of Sto Lat.
    “Government business,” he announced pointedly, as he handed it over.
    “Do you want to buy any stamps for it?” said Moist, taking the packet.
    “What do you think, Postmaster?” asked the clerk.
    “I definitely think government business travels free,” said Moist.
    “Thank you, Mr. Lipwig. The Lord likes a fast learner.”
    Other mail for Sto Lat did get stamped, though. A lot of people had friends or business there. Moist looked