‘Is is worth it?’ said Jim. ‘It’s more’n fifty miles, and I heard they’ve got the Trunk repaired. It’s a stoppin’ coach, won’t get there ‘til nearly dark.’
‘Got to make the effort, Jim,’ said Moist.
The coachman gave him a look with a little glint that indicated he thought Moist was up to something, but said: ‘Well, you’re game, I’ll say that for you. We’ll wait for your bag, Mr Lipwig, and the best of luck to you. Must rush, sir.’
‘What coach are you taking out?’ said Moist.
Til take the first two stages of the overnight flyer to Quirm, leaving at seven,’ said Jim. ‘If it’s still got all its wheels.’
‘It’s nearly seven?’
‘Twenty to, sir.’
‘I’ll be late!’
The coachmen watched him run back across the yard, with Mr Pump and Gladys trailing slowly behind.
Jim pulled on his thick leather gauntlets, thoughtfully, and then said to his brother: ‘You know how you get them funny feelings?’
‘I reckon I do, Jim.’
‘And would you reckon there’ll be a clacks failure between here and Pseudopolis tomorrow?’
‘Funny you should mention that. Mind you, it’d be a two to one bet anyway, the way things have been going. Maybe he’s just a betting man, Jim.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jim. ‘Yeah. Eh? Damn right!’
Moist struggled out of the golden suit. It was good advertising, no doubt about it, and when he wore it he felt he had style coming out of his ears, but wearing something like that to the Mended Drum meant that he wanted to be hit over the head with a stool and what would come out of his ears wouldn’t bear thinking about.
He threw the winged hat on the bed and struggled into his second golem-made suit. Sombre, he’d said. You had to hand it to golem tailoring. The suit was so black that if it had been sprinkled with stars the owls would have collided with it. He needed more time but Adora Belle Dearheart was not someone you felt you should keep waiting.
‘You look fine, sir,’ said Groat.
‘Thanks, thanks,’ said Moist, struggling with his tie. ‘You’re in charge, Mr Groat. Should all be quiet this evening. Remember, first thing tomorrow, all mail for Pseudopolis ten pence a go, okay?’
‘Right you are, sir. Can I wear the hat now?’ Groat pleaded.
‘What? What?’ said Moist, staring into the mirror. ‘Look, have I got spinach between my teeth?’
‘Have You Eaten Spinach Today, Sir?’ said Mr Pump.
‘I haven’t eaten spinach since I was old enough to spit,’ said Moist. ‘But people always worry about that at a time like this, don’t they? I thought it just turned up somehow. You know… like moss? What was it you asked me, Tolliver?’
‘Can I wear the hat, sir?’ said Groat patiently. ‘Bein’ as I’m your deputy and you’re going out, sir.’
‘But we’re closed, Groat.’
‘Yes, but… it’s… I’d just like to wear the hat. For a while, sir. Just for a while, sir. If it’s all right with you.’ Groat shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I mean, I
Moist sighed. ‘Yes, of course, Mr Groat. You may wear the hat. Mr Pump?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Mr Groat is in charge for the evening. You will
‘No, I Will Not. My Day Off Begins Now. For All Of Us. We Will Return At Sunset Tomorrow,’ said the golem.
‘Oh… yes.’ One day off every week, Miss Dearheart said. It was part of what distinguished golems from hammers. ‘I wish you’d given me more warning, you know? We’re going to be a bit short-staffed.’
‘You Were Told, Mr Lipvig.’
‘Yes, yes. It is a rule. It’s just that tomorrow is going to be—’
‘Don’t you worry about a thing, sir,’ said Groat. ‘Some of the lads I hired today, sir, they’re postmen’s sons, sir, and grandsons. No problem, sir. They’ll be out delivering tomorrow.’
‘Oh. Good. That’s fine, then.’ Moist adjusted the tie again. A black tie on a black shirt under a black jacket isn’t easy even to find. ‘All right, Mr Pump? Still no attack of spinach? I’m going to see a lady.’
‘Yes, Mr Lipvig. Miss Dearheart,’ said the golem calmly.
‘How did you know that?’ said Moist.
‘You Shouted It Out In Front Of Approximately A Hundred People, Mr Lipvig,’ said Mr Pump. ‘We - That Is To Say, Mr Lipvig, All The Golems - We Wish Miss Dearheart Was A Happier Lady. She Has Had Much Trouble. She Is Looking For Someone With—’
‘—a cigarette lighter?’ said Moist quickly. ‘Stop right there, Mr Pump, please! Cupids are these… little overweight kids in nappies, all right? Not big clay people.’
‘Anghammarad Said She Reminded Him Of Lela The Volcano Goddess, Who Smokes All The Time Because The God Of Rain Has Rained On Her Lava,’ the golem went on.
‘Yes, but women always complain about that sort of thing,’ said Moist. ‘I look all right, Mr Groat, do I?’
‘Oh, sir,’ said Groat, ‘I shouldn’t think Mr Moist von Lipwig ever has to worry when he’s off to meet a young lady, eh?’
