‘I’ve always thought, my lord, that what the world really needs are filing boxes which are not so flimsy,’ said Drumknott, after a moment’s pause.
‘Hmm,’ said Lord Vetinari. ‘A point to think about, certainly.’
He stopped. On the carven decorations over the room’s fireplace a small cherub began to turn, with a faint squeaking noise. Vetinari raised an eyebrow at Drumknott.
‘I shall have a word with clerk Brian immediately, my lord,’ said the clerk.
‘Good. Tell him it’s time he got out into the fresh air more.’
‘Now Then, Mr Lipvig, What Good Will Violence Do?’ Mr Pump rumbled. He rocked on his huge feet as Moist struggled in his grip.
Groat and Stanley were huddled at the far end of the locker room.
One of Mr Groat’s natural remedies was bubbling over on to the floor, where the boards were staining purple.
‘They were all accidents, Mr Lipwig! All accidents!’ Groat babbled. ‘The Watch was all over the place by the fourth one! They were all accidents, they said!’
‘Oh,
‘You’ll feel better for a nice cup o’ bismuth and brimstone tea, sir,’ Groat quavered. ‘I’ve got the kettle boiling—’
‘A cup of tea is not going to be sufficient!’ Moist got a grip on himself, or at least began to act as if he had, and took a deep, theatrical breath. ‘Okay, okay, Mr Pump, you can let go now.’
The golem released his grip. Moist straightened up. ‘Well, Mr Groat?’ he said.
‘Looks like you’re genuine after all, then,’ the old man said. ‘One of the dark clerks wouldn’t have gone bursar like that. We thought you was one of his lordship’s special gentlemen, see.’ Groat fussed around the kettle. ‘No offence, but you’ve got a bit more colour than the average penpusher.’
‘Dark clerks?’ said Moist, and then recollection dawned. ‘Oh… do you mean those stocky little men in black suits and bowler hats?’
‘The very same. Scholarship boys at the Assassins’ Guild, some of ‘em. 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’t hardly blame him, with a name like that. He was always snooping around.’
‘And why do you think that was?’ said Moist.
‘Well, Mr Mutable, he was the first, decent chap, he fell down into the big hall from the fifth floor, smack, sir,
Moist glanced at Stanley, who was starting to tremble.
‘Then there was Mr Sideburn. He fell down the back stairs and broke his neck, sir. Excuse me, sir, it’s eleven forty-three.’ Groat walked over to the door and opened it, Tiddles walked through, Groat shut the door again. ‘At three in the morning, it was. Right down five flights. Broke just about every bone you could break, sir.’
‘You mean he was wandering around without a light?’
‘Dunno, sir. But I know about the stairs. The stairs have lamps burning all night, sir. Stanley fills them every day, regular as Tiddles.’
‘Use those stairs a lot, then, do you?’ said Moist.
‘Never, sir, except for the lamps. Nearly everywhere on that side is bunged up with mail. But it’s a Post Office Regulation, sir.’
‘And the next man?’ said Moist, a little hoarsely. ‘Another accidental fall?’
‘Oh, no, sir. Mr Ignavia, that was his name. They said it was his heart. He was just lyin’ dead on the fifth floor, dead as a doorknob, face all contorted like he’d seen a ghost. Natural causes, they said. Werrrl, the Watch was all over the place by then, you may depend on it. No one had been near him, they said, and there was not a mark on him. Surprised you didn’t know about all this, sir. It was in the paper.’
Except you don’t get much chance to keep up with the news in a condemned cell, Moist thought.
‘Oh yes?’ he said. ‘And how would they know no one had been near him?’
Groat leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘Everyone knows there’s a werewolf in the Watch and one of them could bloody nearly smell what colour clothes someone was wearing.’
‘A werewolf,’ said Moist, flatly.
