Going Postal

‘It’s private property!’ Greenyham burst out.

‘Tyrant, remember,’ said Vetinari, almost cheerfully. ‘But I’m sure that the audit will serve to sort out at least some aspects of this mystery. One of them, of course, is that Mr Readier Gilt does not seem to be in this room.’

Every head turned.

‘Perhaps he remembered another engagement?’ said Lord Vetinari. ‘I think he slipped out some time ago.’

It dawned on the directors of the Grand Trunk that their chairman was absent and, which was worse, they weren’t. They drew together.

‘I wonder if, uh, at this point at least we could discuss the matter with you privately, your lordship?’ said Greenyham. ‘Readier was not an easy man to deal with, I’m afraid.’

‘Not a team player,’ gasped Nutmeg.

‘Who?’ said Stowley. ‘What is this place? Who are all these people?’

‘Left us totally in the dark most of the time—’ said Greenyham.

‘I can’t remember a thing—’ said Stowley. ‘I’m not fit to testify, any doctor will tell you… ’

‘I think I can say on behalf of all of us that we were suspicious of him all along—’

‘Mind’s a total blank. Not a blessed thing… what’s this thing with fingers on… who am I… ’

Lord Vetinari stared at the Board for five seconds longer than was comfortable, while tapping his chin gently with the knob of his cane. He smiled faintly.

‘Quite,’ he said. ‘Commander Vimes, I think it would be iniquitous to detain these gentlemen here any longer.’ As the faces in front of him relaxed into smiles full of hope, that greatest of all gifts, he added: ‘To the cells with them, Commander. Separate cells, if you please. I shall see them in the morning. And if Mr Slant comes to see you on their behalf, do tell him I’d like a little chat, will you?’

That sounded… good. Moist strolled towards the door, while the hubbub rose, and had almost made it when Lord Vetinari’s voice came out of the throng like a knife.

‘Leaving so soon, Mr Lipwig? Do wait a moment. I shall give you a lift back to your famous Post Office.’

For a moment, just a slice of a second, Moist contemplated running. He did not do so. What would be the point?

The crowd parted hurriedly as Lord Vetinari headed towards the door; behind him, the Watch closed in.

Ultimately, there is the freedom to take the consequences.

The Patrician leaned back in the leather upholstery as the coach drew away. ‘What a strange evening, Mr Lipwig,’ he said. ‘Yes, indeed.’

Moist, like the suddenly bewildered Mr Stowley, considered that his future happiness lay in saying as little as possible.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

‘I wonder if that engineer will find any evidence that the strange message was put on the clacks by human hands?’ he wondered aloud.

‘I don’t know, my lord.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Ah,’ said Vetinari. ‘Well, the dead are known to speak, sometimes. Ouija boards and seances, and so on. Who can say they wouldn’t use the medium of the clacks?’

‘Not me, sir.’

‘And you are clearly enjoying your new career, Mr Lipwig.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. On Monday your duties will include the administration of the Grand Trunk. It is being taken over by the city.’

Oh well, so much for future happiness…

‘No, my lord,’ said Moist.

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. ‘There is an alternative, Mr Lipwig?’

‘It really is private property, sir. It belongs to the Dearhearts and the other people who built it.’

‘My, my, how the worm turns,’ said Vetinari. ‘But the trouble is, you see, they weren’t good at business, only at mechanisms. Otherwise they would have seen through Gilt. The freedom to succeed goes hand in hand with the freedom to fail.’

‘It was robbery by numbers,’ said Moist. ‘It was Find The Lady done with ledgers. They didn’t stand a chance.’

Vetinari sighed. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Mr Lipwig.’ Moist, who wasn’t aware he had tried to drive a bargain at all, said nothing. ‘Oh, very well. The question of ownership will remain in abeyance for now, until we have plumbed the sordid depths of this affair. But what I truly meant was that a great many people depend on the Trunk for their living. Out of sheer humanitarian considerations, we must do something. Sort things out, Postmaster.’

‘But I’m going to have my hands more than full with the Post Office!’ Moist protested.

‘I hope you are. But in my experience, the best way to get something done is to give it to someone who is busy,’ said Vetinari.

‘In that case, I’m going to keep the Grand Trunk running,’ said Moist.

‘In honour of the dead, perhaps,’ said Vetinari. ‘Yes. As you wish. Ah, here is your stop.’

As the coachman opened the door Lord Vetinari leaned towards Moist. ‘Oh, and before dawn I do suggest you go and check that everyone’s left the old wizarding tower,’ he said.

‘What do you mean, sir?’ said Moist. He knew his face betrayed nothing.

Vetinari sat back. “Well done, Mr Lipwig.’

There was a crowd outside the Post Office, and a cheer went up as Moist made his way to the doors. It was raining now, a grey, sooty drizzle that was little more than fog with a slight weight problem.