Going Postal

time like this, don’t they? I thought it just turned up somehow. You know…like moss? What was it you asked me, Tolliver?”
    “Can I wear the hat, sir?” said Groat patiently. “Bein’ as I’m your deputy and you’re going out, sir.”
    “But we’re closed!”
    “Yes, but…it’s, well…I’d just like to wear the hat. For a while, sir. Just for a while, sir. If it’s all right with you.” Groat shifted from one foot to the other. “I mean, I will be in charge.”
    Moist sighed. “Yes, of course, Mr. Groat. You may wear the hat. Mr. Pump?”
    “Yes, Sir?”
    “Mr. Groat is in charge for the evening. You will not follow me, please.”
    “No, I Will Not. My Day Off Begins Now. For All Of Us. We Will Return At Sunset Tomorrow.”
    “Oh…yes.” One day off every week, Miss Dearheart said. It was part of what distinguished golems from hammers. “I wish you’d given me more warning, you know? We’re going to be a bit short-staffed.”
    “You Were Told, Mr. Lipvig.”
    “Yes, yes. It is a rule. It’s just that tomorrow is going to be—”
    “Don’t you worry about a thing, sir,” said Groat. “Some of the lads I hired today, sir, they’re postmen’s sons, sir, and grandsons. No problem, sir. They’ll be out delivering tomorrow.”
    “Oh. Good. That’s fine, then.” Moist adjusted his tie again. A black tie on a black shirt under a black jacket isn’t easy even to find. “All right, Mr. Pump? Still no attack of spinach? I’m going to see a lady.”
    “Yes, Mr. Lipvig. Miss Dearheart,” said the golem calmly.
    “How did you know that?” said Moist.
    “You Shouted It Out In Front Of Approximately A Hundred People, Mr. Lipvig,” said Mr. Pump. “We—That Is To Say, Mr. Lipvig, All The Golems—We Wish Miss Dearheart Was A Happier Lady. She Has Had Much Trouble. She Is Looking For Someone With—”
    “—a cigarette lighter?” said Moist quickly. “Stop right there, Mr. Pump, please! Cupids are these…little overweight kids in nappies, all right? Not big clay people.”
    “Anghammarad Said She Reminded Him of Lela The Volcano Goddess, Who Smokes All The Time Because The God Of Rain Has Rained On Her Lava,” the golem went on.
    “Yes, but women always complain about that sort of thing,” said Moist. “I look all right, Mr. Groat, do I?”
    “Oh, sir,” said Groat, “I shouldn’t think Mr. Moist von Lipwig ever has to worry when he’s off to meet a young lady, eh?”
    Come to think of it, Moist came to think as he hurried through the crowded streets, he never has been off to meet a young lady. Not in all these years. Oh, Albert and all the rest of them had met hundreds, and had all kinds of fun, including once getting his jaw dislocated, which was only fun in a no-fun-at-all kind of way. But Moist, never. He’d always been behind the false mustache or glasses or, really, just the false person. He had that naked feeling again, and began to wish he hadn’t left his golden suit behind.
    When he reached the Mended Drum, he remembered why he had.
    People kept telling him that Ankh-Morpork was a lot more civilized these days, that, between them, the Watch and the Guilds had settled things down enough that actually being attacked while going about your lawful business in Ankh-Morpork was now merely a possibility instead of, as it once was, a matter of course. And the streets were so clean now that you could sometimes even see the street.
    But the Mended Drum could be depended upon. If someone didn’t come out of the door backwards and fall down in the street just as you passed, then there was something wrong with the world.
    And there was a fight going on. More or less. But in some ways, at least, time had moved on. You couldn’t just haul off and belt someone with an ax these days. People expected things of a bar brawl. As he went in, Moist passed a large group of men of the broken-nosed, one-eared persuasion, bent in anxious conclave:
    “Look, Bob, what part of this don’t you understand, eh? It’s a matter of style, okay? A proper brawl doesn’t just happen . You don’t just pile in, not anymore. Now, Oyster Dave here—put your helmet back on, Dave—will be the enemy in front, and Basalt, who, as we know, don’t need a helmet, he’ll be the enemy coming up behind you. Okay, it’s well past knuckles time, let’s say Gravy there has done his thing with the Bench Swipe, there’s a bit of knife play, we’ve done the whole Chandelier Swing number, blah