Going Postal - Terry Pratchett [38]
“I can’t do that,” he said.
“Nice of you to say so, sir, but this place isn’t for a young man with a future,” said Groat. “Now, Stanley, he’s all right if he’s got his pins, but you, sir, you could go far.”
“No-o, I don’t think I can,” said Moist. “Honestly. My place, Mr. Groat, is here.”
“Gods bless you for saying that, sir, gods bless you,” said Groat. Tears were beginning to roll down his face.
“We used to be heroes,” he said. “People wanted us. Everyone watched out for us. Everyone knew us. This was a great place, once. Once, we were postmen.”
“Mister!”
Moist turned. Three people were hurrying toward him, and he had to quell an automatic urge to turn and run, especially when one of them shouted, “Yes, that’s him!”
He recognized the greengrocer from this morning. An elderly couple were trailing behind him. The older man, who had the determined face and upright bearing of one who subdued cabbages daily, stopped an inch in front of Moist and bellowed: “Are you the po’stman, young man?”
“Yes, sir, I suppose I am,” said Moist. “How can I—”
“You delivered me this’ letter from Aggie here! I’m Antimony Parker!” the man roared. “Now, there’s s’ome people’d say it wa’s a little bit on the late side!”
“Oh,” said Moist. “Well, I—”
“That took a bit of nerve, young man!”
“I’m very sorry that—” Moist began. People skills weren’t much good in the face of Mr. Parker. He was one of the impervious people, whose grasp of volume control was about as good as his understanding of personal space.
“S’orry?” Parker shouted. “What’ve you got to be s’orry about? Not your fault, lad. You weren’t even born! More fool me for thinking she didn’t care, eh? Hah, I wa’s so downhearted, lad, I went right out and joined the…” His red face wrinkled. “You know…camel’s, funny hat’s, sand, where you go to forget—”
“The Klatchian Foreign Legion?” said Moist.
“That wa’s it! And when I came back I met Sadie, and Aggie had met her Frederick, and we both got ’settled and forgot the other one was alive and then blow me down if this letter didn’t arrive from Aggie! Me and my lad have s’pent half the morning tracking her down! And to cut a long s’tory short, lad, we’re getting married Sat’day! ’Co’s of you, boy!”
Mr. Parker was one of those men who turned into teak with age. When he slapped Moist on the back it was like being hit with a chair.
“Won’t Frederick and Sadie object—” Moist wheezed.
“I doubt it! Frederick pas’sed away ten years ago and Sadie’s been buried up in S’mall God’s for the last five!” Mr. Parker bellowed cheerfully. “And we were s’orry to see them go but, as Aggie say’s, it was all meant to be and you wa’s sent by a higher power. And I say it took a man with real backbone to come and deliver that letter after all thi’s time. There’s many that would have tos’sed it aside like it was of no account! You’d do me and the future second Mrs. Parker a great favor if you wa’s to be a guest of honor at our wedding, and I for one won’t take no for an ans’wer! I’m Grandma’ster of the Guild of Merchant’s this year, too! We might not be pos’h like the Assassins of the Alchemists but there’s a lot of u’s and I shall put in a word on your behalf, you can depend on that! My lad George here will be down later on with the invitation’s for you to deliver, now you’re back in busines’s! It will be a great honor for me, my boy, if you would s’hake me by the hand…”
He thrust out a huge hand. Moist took it, and old habits died hard. Firm grip, steady gaze…
“Ah, you’re an honest man, all right,” said Parker. “I’m never mis’taken!” He clapped his hand on Moist’s shoulder, causing a knee joint to crunch. “What’s your name, lad?”
“Lipwig, sir. Moist von Lipwig,” Moist said. He was afraid he’d gone deaf in one ear.
“A von, eh,” said Parker. “Well, you’re doing damn well for a foreigner, and I don’t care who know’s it! Got to be going now, Aggie want’s to buy fripperie’s!”
The woman came up to Moist, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him on the cheek.
“And I know a good man when I see one,