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Going Postal A Novel of Discworld ® Terry Pratchett Contents The Nine-Thousand-Year Prologue The One-Month Prologue Chapter 1 The Angel Chapter 2 The Post Office Chapter 3 Our Own Hand, Or None Chapter 4 A Sign Chapter 5 Lost in the Post Chapter 6 Little Pictures Chapter 7 Tomb of Words Chapter 7A Post Haste Chapter 9 ... |
Wilkinson?” “Only the last bloke we had in this cell, he managed to get down that drain, sir. Very small man. Very agile. ” Moist looked at the little grid in the floor. He’d dismissed it out of hand. “Does it lead to the river?” he said. The warden grinned. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? He was really upset when we fi... |
“He says to get on with it, it’s long past dawn!” said the clerk. “Oh,” said Moist, staring at the black coach. That damn Vetinari had a warder’s sense of humor, too. “Come on , Mr. Spangler, you don’t want me to get into trouble, do you?” said the hangman, patting him on the shoulder. “Just a few words, and then we ca... |
“Your correct name, if you please,” said Lord Vetinari, not looking up from his desk. “What name did he sign, Drumknott?” The clerk craned his head. “Er…Ethel Snake, my lord, as far as I can make out. ” “ Do try to concentrate, Mr. Lipwig,” said Vetinari wearily, still apparently reading the paperwork. Moist signed aga... |
He looked down and kicked some straw away. There was a bright yellow bar, joining two short lengths of chain with a yellow shackle attached, one for each leg. The only way this horse would go anywhere was by hopping, just like him. They’d clamped it. They’d bloody clamped it… “Oh, Mr. Lipppppwig!” the voice boomed out ... |
“Remember? The first interesting thing about angels? I told you yesterday? I expect you were thinking about something else. The second interesting thing about angels, Mr. Lipwig, is that you only ever get one. ” CHAPTER 2 The Post Office In which we meet the staff • Glom of Nit • Dissertation on rhyming slang • “You sh... |
At one end was a monstrous oven, which, Moist learned later, had once been part of some kind of heating system, the Post Office having been a very advanced building for its time. Now a small round stove, glowing almost cherry-red at the base, had been installed alongside it. There was a huge black kettle on it. The air... |
He decided that the role of keen but bewildered manager was the one to play here. Besides, apart from the “keen” aspect, it didn’t need any effort. “Can you help me, Mr. Groat?” he said. “I don’t know anything about the post!” “Well, sir…what did you used to do?” Rob. Trick. Forge. Embezzle. But never—and this was impo... |
Then he started to cough, great, hacking, wooden, crackling lumps of cough that made the jars shake and caused a yellow mist to rise from his trouser bottoms. “’Scuse me a moment, sir,” he wheezed between hacks, and fumbled in his pocket for a scratched and battered tin. “You suck at all, sir?” he said, tears rolling d... |
For Two Hundred And Forty Years, Mr. Lipvig. But Now I Am Ambulating In The Sunlight. This Is Better, Mr. Lipvig. This Is Better!” T HAT NIGHT , Moist lay staring at the ceiling. It was three feet from him. Hanging from it, a little distance away, was a candle in a safety lantern. Stanley had been insistent about that,... |
Off a fig tree. ” “Har har, the joke’s on them, there’s no fig trees round here!” said Stanley in the manner of one exposing the flaw in a long-held dogma. “Yes, lad, very good, but it was a tin one anyway,” said Groat with patience. “And the wings?” said the boy. “We-ell, I ’spose they thought that the more wings the ... |
” He found Total Pins on the bottom rack. It had a smudgy, home-produced look, and the print was small and dense and lacked such subtleties as paragraphs and, in many cases, punctuation. The common comma had looked at Stanley’s expression and decided not to disturb him. When Moist put the little magazine onto the count... |
He’d never really liked doing this, but what else could he have done? Stanley ate like a bird and Groat mostly got by on tea and biscuits, but it all cost money, even if you went round the markets just as they closed up, and somewhere in the past, decades ago, the pay had stopped arriving. Groat had been too frightened... |
“Lipwig, small town in Near Uberwald,” she said, picking up a brick from the broken glass and debris on her desk, regarding it critically, and then turning to the ancient filing cabinet behind her and filing it under B. “Chief export: its famous dogs, of course. Second most important export: its beer, except during the... |
There’s…hints, here and there, but really we need something more solid…” “There will be an opportunity,” said Vetinari. Being an absolute ruler today was not as simple as people thought. At least, it was not simple if your ambitions included being an absolute ruler tomorrow. There were subtleties. Oh, you could order m... |
Slant,” said Vetinari, “merely mentioning to you the existence of a rumor is not actionable, as I am sure you are aware. ” “There is no proof that we had anything to do with the boy’s murder,” snapped Horsefry. “Ah, so you too have heard people saying he was murdered?” said Vetinari, his eyes on Reacher Gilt’s face. “T... |
” As they stood up, Reacher Gilt leaned across the table and said: “May I congratulate you, my lord?” “I am delighted that you feel inclined to congratulate me on anything, Mr. Gilt,” said Vetinari. “To what do we owe this unique occurrence?” “This, my lord,” said Gilt, gesturing to the little side table on which had b... |
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... |
That was why Vetinari had put him here. He needed a man who couldn’t walk away, and who was incidentally completely expendable. It didn’t matter if Moist von Lipwig died. He was already dead. And then he tried not to think about Mr. Pump. How many other golems had worked their way to freedom in the service of the city?... |
People in Ankh-Morpork always paid attention to people on rooftops, in case there was a chance of an interesting suicide. There was a cheer, just on general principles, when the last letter was hammered back into place. Four dead men , Moist thought, looking up at the roof. I wonder if the Watch would talk to me? Do th... |
“You daft old woman!” Groat yelled. “What did you have to tell him that for?” “Mr. Groat!” snapped Moist. “I wish to speak to you inside!” He grabbed the old man by the shoulder and very nearly carried him through the amused crowd, dragged him into the building and slammed the door. “I’ve had enough of this!” he said. ... |
Now Tower 181 did maintenance on the fly or not at all, just like all the others, but it was still, proverbially, a good tower to man. Mostly man, anyway. Back down on the plains it was a standing joke that 181 was staffed by vampires and werewolves. In fact, like a lot of towers, it was often manned by kids. Everyone ... |
Had the letter, saw the address, delivered it, just like that! Maybe he has got postman’s blood! And he got them metal letters put back! Letters again, see? That’s a sign, sure enough. Hah, he can read words that ain’t there!” Groat spat out a fragment of fingernail, and frowned. “But…then he’ll want to know about the ... |
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