Читаем Going Postal полностью

Moist pushed the Sto Lat mailbag into the man’s arms. ‘Get this… sorted,’ he said. ‘If there’s enough mail for another delivery to go, find some kid who’s mad for a job and put him on a horse and get him to take it. Doesn’t have to be fast; we’ll call it the overnight delivery. Tell him to see the mayor and come back in the morning with any fresh mail.’

‘Right you are, sir,’ said Groat. ‘We could do an overnight to Quirm and Pseudopolis too, sir, if we could change horses like the mail coaches do—’

‘Hang on… why can’t the mail coaches take it?’ said Moist. ‘Hell, they’re still called mail coaches, right? We know they take stuff from anyone, on the quiet. Well, the Post Office is back in business. They take our mail. Go and find whoever runs them and tell him so!’

‘Yessir,’ said Groat, beaming. ‘Thought about how we’re going to send post to the moon yet, sir?’

‘One thing at a time, Mr Groat!’

‘That’s not like you, sir,’ said Groat cheerfully. ‘All at once is more your style, sir!’

I wish it wasn’t, Moist thought, as he eased his way upstairs. But you had to move fast. He always moved fast. His whole life had been movement. Move fast, because you never know what’s trying to catch you up—

He paused on the stairs.

Not Mr Pump!

The golem hadn’t left the Post Office! He hadn’t tried to catch him up! Was it that he’d been on postal business? How long could he be away on postal business? Could he fake his death, maybe? The old pile-of-clothes-on-the-seashore trick? Worth remembering. All he needed was a long enough start. How did a golem’s mind actually work? He’d have to ask Miss—

Miss Dearheart! He’d been flying so high that he’d asked her out! That might be a problem now, because most of the lower part of his body was on fire, not especially for Miss Dearheart. Oh, well, he thought as he entered the office, perhaps he could find a restaurant with really soft seats—

FASTER THAN THE ‘SPEED OF LIGHT’

‘Old-fashioned’ Mail Beats Clacks

Postmaster delivers, says: Snook Not Cocked

Amazing Scenes at Post Office

The headlines screamed at him as soon as he saw the paper. He almost screamed back.

Of course he’d said all that. But he’d said it to the innocent smiling face of Miss Sacharissa Cripslock, not to the whole world! And then she’d written it down all truthfully, and suddenly… you got this.

Moist had never much bothered with newspapers. He was an artist. He wasn’t interested in big schemes. You swindled the man in front of you, looking him sincerely in the eyes.

The picture was good, though, he had to admit. The rearing horse, the winged hat and above all the slight blurring with speed. It was impressive.

He relaxed a little. The place was operating , after all. Letters were being posted. Mail was being delivered. Okay, so a major part of it all was that the clacks wasn’t working properly, but maybe in time people would see that a letter to your sister in Sto Lat didn’t need to cost thirty pence to maybe get there in an hour but might as well cost a mere five pence to be there in the morning.

Stanley knocked at the door and then pushed it open.

‘Cup of tea, Mr Lipwig?’ he said. ‘And a bun, sir.’

‘You’re an angel in heavy disguise, Stanley,’ said Moist, sitting back with care, and wincing.

‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ said Stanley solemnly. ‘Got some messages for you, sir.’

‘Thank you, Stanley,’ said Moist. There was a lengthy pause until he remembered that this was Stanley he was talking to and added: ‘Please tell me what they are, Stanley.’

‘Er… the golem lady came in and said… ’ Stanley closed his eyes, ‘ “Tell the Streak of Lightning he’ll have another eight golems in the morning and if he’s not too busy working miracles I’ll accept his invitation to dine at eight at Le Foie Heureux, meeting at the Mended Drum at seven.”‘

‘The Happy Liver? Are you sure?’ But of course it would be correct. This was Stanley. ‘Ha, even the damn soup there is fifteen dollars!’ said Moist. ‘And you have to wait three weeks for an appointment to be considered for a booking! They weigh your wallet! How does she think I—’

His eye fell on ‘Mr Robinson’s box’, sitting innocently in the corner of the office. He liked Miss Dearheart. Most people were… accessible. Sooner or later you could find the springs that worked them; even Miss Maccalariat would have a lever somewhere, although it was a horrible thought. But Adora Belle fought back, and to make sure fought back even before she was attacked. She was a challenge, and therefore fascinating. She was so cynical, so defensive, so spiky . And he had a feeling she could read him much, much better than he read her. All in all, she was intriguing. And looked good in a severely plain dress, don’t forget that bit.

‘Okay. Thank you, Stanley,’ he said. ‘Anything else?’

The boy put a sheet of slightly damp greeny-grey stamps on the desk. ‘The first dollar stamps, sir!’ he announced.