Going Postal - Terry Pratchett [79]
Fearing that he might be hurled down onto the cobbles, Moist nevertheless did so.
“See the big clacks tower over there on the Tump?” said Vetinari, gesturing. “Not much activity on the Grand Trunk this morning. Problems on a tower out on the plains, I gather. Nothing is getting to Sto Lat and beyond. But now, if you look down.”
It took Moist a moment to understand what he was seeing, and then—
“That’s a queue outside the Post Office?” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Lipwig,” said Vetinari, with dark glee. “For stamps, as advertised. Ankh-Morpork citizens have an instinct for, you might say, joining in the fun. Go to it, Mr. Lipwig. I’m sure you’re full of ideas. Don’t let me detain you.”
Lord Vetinari returned to his desk and picked up the paper.
It’s right there on the front page, Moist thought, he can’t have not seen it…
“Er…about the other thing…” he ventured, staring at the cartoon.
“What other thing would that be?” said Lord Vetinari.
There was a moment’s silence.
“Er…nothing, really,” said Moist. “I’ll be off, then.”
“Indeed you will, Postmaster. The mail must get through, must it not?”
Vetinari listened to distant doors shut, and then went and stood at the window until he saw a golden figure hurry across the courtyard.
Drumknott came and tidied up the “Out” tray.
“Well done, sir,” he said quietly.
“Thank you, Drumknott.”
“I see Mr. Horsefry has passed away, sir.”
“So I understand, Drumknott.”
THERE WAS A STIR in the crowd as Moist crossed the street. To his unspeakable relief he saw Mr. Spools, standing with one of the serious men from his printery. Spools hurried over to him.
“I, er, have several thousand of both of the, er, items,” he whispered, pulling out a package from under his coat. “Pennies and two-pennies. They’re not the best we can do but I thought you might be in want 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