Going Postal полностью

‘Yes, Stanley. Don’t worry about it. Try not to think about it. It’s Mr Lipstick’s fault, stirring them up. Leave well alone, I say. They never listen, and then what happens? They find out the hard way’

‘It seems like only yesterday, those watchmen drawing that chalk outline round Mr Mutable,’ said Stanley, beginning to tremble. ‘He found out the hard way!’

‘Calm down, now, calm down,’ said Groat, patting him gently on the shoulder. ‘You’ll set ‘em off. Think about pins.’

‘But it’s a cruel shame, Mr Groat, them never being alive long enough to make you Senior Postman!’

Groat sniffed. ‘Oh, that’s enough of that. That’s not important, Stanley,’ he said, his face like thunder.

‘Yes, Mr Groat, but you’re an old, old man and you’re still only a Junior Postm—’ Stanley persisted.

‘I said that’s enough , Stanley! Now, just raise that lamp again, will you? Good. That’s better. I’ll read a page of the Regulations, that always quietens them down.’ Groat cleared his throat. ‘I shall now read from the Book of Regulations, Delivery Times (Metropolitan) (Sundays and Octedays excepted),’ he announced to the air. ‘As follows: “The hours by which letters should be put into the receiving houses in town for each delivery within the city walls of Ankh-Morpork are as the following: overnight by eight o’clock in the evening, for the first delivery. Morning by eight o’clock, for the second delivery. Morning by ten o’clock, for the third delivery. Morning by twelve o’clock, for the fourth delivery. Afternoon by two o’clock, for the fifth delivery. Afternoon by four o’clock, for the sixth delivery. Afternoon by six o’clock, for the seventh delivery.” These are the hours, and I have read them.’ Groat hung his head for a moment, and then he closed the book with a snap.

‘Why are we doing this, Mr Groat?’ said Stanley meekly.

‘ ‘Cos of hub-riss,’ said Mr Groat. ‘That’s what it was. Hub-riss killed the Post Office. Hub-riss and greed and Bloody Stupid Johnson and the New Pie.’

‘A pie, Mr Groat? How could a pie—’

‘Don’t ask, Stanley. It gets complicated and there’s nothing in it about pins.’

They put out the candles, and left.

When they had gone, a faint whispering started.

Rise And Shine, Mr Lipvig. Your Second Day As Postmaster!’

Moist opened one crusted eye and glared at the golem.

‘Oh, so you’re an alarm clock too?’ he said. ‘Aargh. My tongue. It feels like it was caught in a mousetrap.’

He half crawled, half rolled across the bed of letters and managed to stand up just outside the door.

‘I need new clothes,’ he said. ‘And food. And a toothbrush. I’m going out, Mr Pump. You are to stay here. Do something. Tidy the place up. Get rid of the graffiti on the walls, will you? At least we can make the place look clean!’

‘Anything You Say, Mr Lipvig.’

‘Right!’ said Moist, and strode off, for one stride, and then yelped.

‘Be Careful Of Your Ankle, Mr Lipvig,’ said Mr Pump.

‘And another thing!’ said Moist, hopping on one leg. ‘How can you follow me? How can you possibly know where I am?’

‘Karmic Signature, Mr Lipvig,’ said the golem.

‘And that means what, exactly?’ Moist demanded.

‘It Means I Know Exactly Where You Are, Mr Lipvig.’

The pottery face was impassive. Moist gave up.

He limped out into what, for this city, was a fresh new morning. There had been a touch of frost overnight, just enough to put some zest into the air and give him an appetite. The leg still hurt, but at least he didn’t need the crutch today.

Here was Moist von Lipwig walking through the city. He’d never done that before. The late Albert Spangler had, and so had Mundo Smith and Edwin Streep and half a dozen other personas that he’d donned and discarded. Oh, he’d been Moist inside (what a name, yes, he’d heard every possible joke), but they had been on the outside, between him and the world.

Edwin Streep had been a work of art. He’d been a lack-of-confidence trickster, and needed to be noticed. He was so patently, obviously bad at running a bent Find The Lady game and other street scams that people positively queued up to trick the dumb trickster and walked away grinning… right up to the point when they tried to spend the coins they’d scooped up so quickly.