Going Postal

stagger into Sto Lat hours later, still with the mail, having valiantly fought off bandits. He’d be believed, because it would feel right…because people wanted to believe things, because it’d make a good tale, because if you made it glitter sufficiently glass could appear more like a diamond than a diamond did.
    There was a cheer when he stepped out onto the steps again. The sun, on cue, decided to appear from the mists, and sparkled off his wings.
    Boris was looking apparently docile now, chewing his bit. This didn’t fool Moist; if a horse like Boris was quiet, it was because he was plotting something.
    “Mr. Pump, I shall need you to give me a leg up,” he said, slinging the post bag around his neck.
    “Yes, Mr. Lipvig,” said the golem.
    “Mr. Lipwig!”
    Moist turned around to see Sacharissa Cripslock hurrying up the street, notebook in hand.
    “Always a pleasure to see you, Sacharissa,” said Moist, “but I am a little busy right now—”
    “You are aware that the Grand Trunk is shut again?” she said.
    “Yes, it was in the paper…Now I must—”
    “So you are challenging the clacks company?” The pencil hung poised over her notebook.
    “Just delivering the mail, Miss Cripslock, just like I said I’d do,” said Moist in firm, manly tones.
    “But it’s rather strange, is it not, that a man on horseback is more reliable than a—”
    “Please, Miss Cripslock! We are the Post Office!” said Moist, in his best high-minded voice. “We don’t go in for petty rivalry. We’re sorry to hear that our colleagues in the clacks company are experiencing temporary difficulties with their machinery, we fully sympathize with their plight, and if they would like us to deliver their messages for them we would of course be happy to sell them some stamps—soon to be available in penny, two-penny, five-penny, ten-penny, and one-dollar values—here at your post office, ready gummed. Incidentally, we intend eventually to flavor the gum in licorice, orange, cinnamon, and banana flavors, but not strawberry, because I hate strawberries.”
    He could see her smile as she wrote this down. Then she said: “I did hear you correctly, did I? You are offering to carry clacks messages ?”
    “Certainly. Ongoing messages can be put on the Trunk in Sto Lat. Helpfulness is our middle name.”
    “Are you sure it’s not ‘cheekiness’?” said Sacharissa, to laughter from the crowd.
    “I don’t understand you, I’m sure,” said Moist. “Now, if you will—”
    “You’re cocking a snook at the clacks people again, aren’t you?” said the journalist.
    “Ah, that must be a journalistic term,” said Moist. “I’ve never owned a snook, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know how to cock it. And now, if you will excuse me, I have the mail to deliver and ought to leave before Boris eats somebody. Again.”
    “Can I ask you just one last thing? Will your soul be unduly diminished if Otto takes a picture of you departing?”
    “I suppose I can’t stop you out here, provided my face isn’t very clear,” said Moist, as Mr. Pump cupped his pottery hands to make a step. “The priest is very hot on that, you know.”
    “Yes, I expect ‘the priest’ is,” said Miss Cripslock, making sure the inverted commas clanged with irony. “Besides, by the look of that creature, it may be the last chance we get. It looks like death on four legs, Mr. Lipwig.”
    The crowd fell silent as Moist mounted. Boris merely shifted his weight a little.
    Look at it like this , Moist thought, what have you got to lose? Your life? You’ve already been hanged. You’re into angel time. And you’re impressing the hell out of everybody. Why are they buying stamps? Because you’re giving them a show—
    “Just say the word, mister,” said one of Hobson’s men, hauling on the end of a rope. “When we let him go, we ain’t hanging around!”
    “Wait a moment—” said Moist quickly.
    He’d seen a figure at the front of the crowd. It was wearing a figure-hugging gray dress, and as he watched, it blew a neurotic cloud of smoke at the sky, gave him a look, and shrugged.
    “Dinner tonight , Miss Dearheart?” he shouted.
    Heads turned. There was a ripple of laughter, and a few cheers. For a moment she flashed him a look that should have left his shadow on the smoking remains of the wall opposite, and then she gave a curt nod.
    Who knows, it could be peaches underneath…
    “Let him go, boys!” said Moist, his heart