Going Postal - Terry Pratchett [33]
“I shall have a word with Clerk Brian immediately, my lord,” said the clerk.
“Good. Tell him it’s time he got out into the fresh air more…”
CHAPTER 4
A Sign
Dark clerks and dead postmasters
• A werewolf in the Watch • The wonderful pin
• Mr. Lipwig reads letters that are not there
• Hugo the hairdresser is surprised
• Mr. Parker buys fripperies • The nature of social
untruths • Princess in the tower
• “A man is not dead while his name is still spoken.”
“NOW THEN, Mr. Lipwig, What Good Will Violence Do?” Mr. Pump rumbled. He rocked on his huge feet as Moist struggled in his grip.
Groat and Stanley were huddled at the far end of the locker room. One of Mr. Groat’s natural remedies was bubbling over onto the floor, where the boards were staining purple.
“They were all accidents, Mr. Lipwig! All accidents!” Groat babbled. “The Watch was all over the place by the fourth one! They were all accidents, they said!”
“Oh, yes!” screamed Moist. “Four in five weeks, eh? I bet that happens all the time around here! Ye gods, I’ve been done up good and brown! I’m dead, right? Just not lying down yet! Vetinari? There’s a man who knows how to save the price of a rope! I’m done for!”
“You’ll feel better for a nice cup o’ bismuth-and-brimstone tea, sir,” Groat quavered. “I’ve got the kettle boiling—”
“A cup of tea is not going to be sufficient!” Moist got a grip on himself, or at least began to act as if he had, and took a deep, theatrical breath. “Okay, okay, Mr. Pump, you can let go now.”
The golem released his grip. Moist straightened up.
“Well, Mr. Groat?” he said.
“Looks like you’re genuine after all, then,” the old man said. “One of the dark clerks wouldn’t have gone bursar like that. We thought you was one of his lordship’s special gentlemen, see.” Groat fussed around the kettle. “No offense, but you’ve got a bit more color than the average pen-pusher.”
“Dark clerks?” said Moist, and then recollection dawned. “Oh…do you mean those stocky little men in black suits and bowler hats?”
“The very same. Scholarship boys at the Assassins’ Guild, some of ’em. I heard that they can do some nasty things when they’ve a mind.”
“I thought you called them penpushers?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t say where, heehee.” Groat caught Moist’s expression and coughed. “Sorry, didn’t mean it, just my little joke. We reckon the last new postmaster we had, Mr. Whobblebury, he was a dark clerk. Can’t hardly blame him, with a name like that. He was always snooping around.”
“And why do you think that was?” said Moist.
“Well, Mr. Mutable, he was the first, decent chap, he fell down into the big hall from the fifth floor, smack, sir, smack onto the marble. Head first. It was a bit…splashy, sir.”
Moist glanced at Stanley, who was starting to tremble.
“Then there was Mr. Sideburn. He fell down the back stairs and broke his neck, sir. Excuse me, sir, it’s 11:43.” Groat walked over to the door and opened it, Tiddles walked through, Groat shut the door again. “At three in the morning, it was. Right down five flights. Broke just about every bone you could break, sir.”
“You mean he was wandering around without a light?”
“Dunno, sir. But I know about the stairs. The stairs have lamps burning all night, sir. Stanley fills them every day, regular as Tiddles.”
“Use those stairs a lot, then, do you?” said Moist.
“Never, sir, except for the lamps. Nearly everywhere on that side is bunged up with mail. But it’s a Post Office Regulation, sir.”
“And the next man?” said Moist, a little hoarsely. “Another accidental fall?”
“Oh, no, sir. Mr. Ignavia, that was his name. They said it was his heart. He was just lyin’ dead on the fifth floor, dead as a doorknob, face all contorted like he’d seen a ghost. Natural causes, they said. Werrrl, the Watch was all over the place by then, you may depend on it. No one had been near him, they said, and there was not a mark on him. Surprised you didn’t know about all this, sir. It was in the paper.” Except you don’t get much