Going Postal полностью

‘I doubt it! Frederick pas’sed away ten years ago and Sadie’s been buried up in S’mall God’s for the last five!’ Mr Barker bellowed cheerfully. ‘And we were s’orry to see them go but, as Aggie say’s, it was all meant to be and you wa’s sent by a higher power. And I say it took a man with real backbone to come and deliver that letter after all this time. There’s many that would have tos’sed it aside like it was of no account! You’d do me and the future second Mrs Parker a great favour if you wa’s to be a guest of honour at our wedding, and I for one won’t take no for an ans’wer! I’m Grand Ma’ster of the Guild of Merchant’s this year, too! We might not be posh like the Assassins or the Alchemists but there’s a lot of us and I shall put in a word on your behalf, you can depend on that! My lad George here will be down later on with the invitation’s for you to deliver, now you’re back in busines’s! It will be a great honour for me, my boy, if you would shake me by the hand… ’

He thrust out a huge hand. Moist took it, and old habits died hard. Firm grip, steady gaze…

‘Ah, you’re an honest man, all right,’ said Parker. ‘I’m never mis’taken!’ He clapped his hand on Moist’s shoulder, causing a knee joint to crunch. ‘What’s your name, lad?’

‘Lipwig, sir. Moist von Lipwig,’ Moist said. He was afraid he’d gone deaf in one ear.

‘A von, eh,’ said Parker. ‘Well, you’re doing damn well for a foreigner, and I don’t care who know’s it! Got to be going now. Aggie want’s to buy fripperie’s!’

The woman came up to Moist, stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. ‘And I know a good man when I see one,’ she said. ‘Do you have a young lady?’

‘What? No! Not at all! Er… no!’ said Moist.

‘I’m sure you shall,’ she said, smiling sweetly. ‘And while we’re very grateful to you, I would advise you to propose in person. We do so much look forward to seeing you on Saturday!’

Moist watched her scurry away after her long-lost swain.

‘You delivered a letter?’ said Groat, horrified.

‘Yes, Mr Groat. I didn’t mean to, but I just happened to be—’

‘You took one of the old letters and you delivered it?’ said Groat, as if the concept was something he could not fit into his head—

His head was all over the wall…

Moist blinked.

‘We are supposed to deliver the mail, man! That’s our job! Remember?’

‘You delivered a letter… ’ breathed Groat. ‘What was the date on it?’

‘I can’t remember! More than forty years ago?’

‘What was it like? Was it in good condition?’ Groat insisted.

Moist glared at the little postman. A small crowd was forming around them, as was the Ankh-Morpork way.

‘It was a forty-year-old letter in a cheap envelope!’ he snarled. ‘And that’s what it looked like! It never got delivered and it upset the lives of two people. I delivered it and it’s made two people very happy. What is the problem , Mr Groat— Yes, what is it?’

This was to a woman who was tugging at his sleeve.

‘I said is it true you’re opening the old place again?’ she repeated. ‘My grandad used to work there!’

‘Well done him,’ said Moist.

‘He said there was a curse!’ said the woman, as if the idea was rather pleasing.

‘Really?’ said Moist. ‘Well, I could do with a good curse right now, as a matter of fact.’

‘It lives under the floor and drives you maaad!’ she went on, enjoying the syllable so much that she seemed loath to let it go. ‘Maaad!’

‘Really,’ said Moist. ‘Well, we do not believe in going crazy in the postal service, do we, Mr Gro—’ He stopped. Mr Groat had the expression of one who did believe in going crazy.

‘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. ‘Enough of dark comments and mutterings, do you understand? No more secrets. What’s going on here? What went on here? You tell me right now or—’

The little man’s eyes were full of fear. This is not me, Moist thought. This is not the way. People skills, eh?

‘You tell me right now, Senior Postman Groat!’ he snapped.

The old man’s eyes widened. ‘Senior Postman?’

‘I am the postmaster in this vicinity, yes?’ said Moist. ‘That means I can promote, yes? Senior Postman, indeed. On probation, of course. Now, will you tell me what—’

‘Don’t you hurt Mr Groat, sir!’ said a ringing voice behind Moist.

Groat looked past Moist into the gloom and said: ‘It’s all right, Stanley, there’s no need for that, we don’t want a Little Moment.’ To Moist he whispered: ‘Best you put me down gently, sir… ’

Moist did so, with exaggerated care, and turned round.

The boy was standing behind him with a glazed look on his face and the big kettle raised. It was a heavy kettle.

‘You mustn’t hurt Mr Groat, sir,’ he said hoarsely.

Moist pulled a pin out of his lapel. ‘Of course not, Stanley. By the way, is this a genuine Clayfeather Medium Sharp?’