Going Postal полностью

The sign on the outside of the office door said: Ladislav Pelc, D.M.Phil, Prehumous Professor of Morbid Bibliomancy.

On the inside of the door was a hook, on which the wizard hung his beard.

It was a wizard’s study, so of course had the skull with a candle in it and a stuffed crocodile hanging from the ceiling. No one, least of all wizards, knows why this is, but you have to have them.

It was also a room full of books and made of books. There was no actual furniture; that is to say, the desk and chairs were shaped out of books. It looked as though many of them were frequently referred to, because they lay open with other books used as bookmarks.

‘You want to know about your Post Office, I expect?’ said Pelc, as Moist settled on to a chair carefully put together from volumes 1 to 41 of Synonyms for the word ‘Plimsoll’

‘Yes, please,’ said Moist.

‘Voices? Strange events?’

‘Yes!’

‘How can I put this… ’ mused Pelc. ‘Words have power, you understand? It is in the nature of our universe. Our Library itself distorts time and space on quite a grand scale. Well, when the Post Office started accumulating letters it was storing words. In fact what was being created was what we call a gevaisa , a tomb of living words. Are you of a literary persuasion, Mr Lipwig?’

‘Not as such.’ Books were a closed book to Moist.

‘Would you burn a book?’ said Pelc. ‘An old book, say, battered, almost spineless, found in a box of rubbish?’

‘Well… probably not,’ Moist admitted.

‘Why not? Would the thought make you uncomfortable?’

‘Yes, I suppose it would. Books are… well, you just don’t do that. Er… why do you wear a false beard? I thought wizards had real ones.’

‘It’s not compulsory, you know, but when we go outside the public expect beards,’ said Pelc. ‘It’s like having stars on your robes. Besides, they’re far too hot in the summer. Where was I? Gevaisas. Yes. All words have some power. We feel it instinctively. Some, like magical spells and the true names of the gods, have a great deal. They must be treated with respect. In Klatch there is a mountain with many caves, and in those caves are entombed more than a hundred thousand old books, mostly religious, each one in a white linen shroud. That is perhaps an extreme approach, but intelligent people have always known that some words at least should be disposed of with care and respect.’

‘Not just shoved in sacks in the attic,’ said Moist. ‘Hold on… a golem called the Post Office “a tomb of unheard words”.’

‘I’m not at all surprised,’ said Professor Pelc calmly. ‘The old gevaisas and libraries used to employ golems, because the only words that have the power to influence them are the ones in their heads. Words are important . And when there is a critical mass of them, they change the nature of the universe. Did you have what seemed to be hallucinations?’

‘Yes! I was back in time! But also in the present!’

‘Ah, yes. That’s quite common,’ said the wizard. ‘Enough words crammed together can affect time and space.’

‘And they spoke to me!’

‘I told the Watch the letters wanted to be delivered,’ said Professor Pelc. ‘Until a letter is read, it’s not complete. They will try anything to be delivered. But they don’t think, as you understand it, and they’re not clever. They just reach out into any available mind. I see you’ve already been turned into an avatar.’

‘I can’t fly!’

‘Avatar: the living likeness of a god,’ said the professor patiently. ‘The hat with wings. The golden suit.’

‘No, they happened by accident—’

‘Are you sure?’

The room went quiet.

‘Urn… I was until right now,’ said Moist.

‘They’re not trying to hurt anyone, Mr Lipwig,’ said Pelc. “They just want deliverance.’

‘We’ll never be able to deliver them all,’ said Moist. ‘That’d take years.’

‘The mere fact you’re delivering any will help, I’m sure,’ said Professor Pelc, smiling like a doctor telling a man not to worry, the disease is only fatal in 87 per cent of cases. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ He stood up, to indicate that a wizard’s time is valuable.

‘Well, I’d quite like to know where the chandeliers went,’ said Moist. ‘It’d be nice to get them back. Symbolic, you could say’

‘I can’t help you, but I’m sure Professor Goitre can. He’s the Posthumous Professor of Morbid Bibliomancy. We could drop in and see him on the way out, if you like. He’s in the Wizards’ Pantry.’

‘Why’s he “posthumous”?’ Moist asked, as they stepped out into the corridor.

‘He’s dead,’ said Pelc.

‘Ah… I was kind of hoping that it was going to be a little more metaphorical than that,’ said Moist.

‘Don’t worry, he decided to take Early Death. It was a very good package.’

‘Oh,’ said Moist. The important thing at a time like this was to spot the right moment to run, but they’d got here through a maze of dark passages and this was not a place you’d want to get lost in. Something might find you.