Going Postal

'I've always known that gods had a sense of humour. '

'Why else would they put us all on the back of a giant turtle?'

'Of course, I had assumed I was in on the joke. '

'As it turns out, I, Moist von Lipwig, am the butt of it.

Can you fax it to Genua, please, dear?

Bloody hell fire.

When are they gonna spend some money on this system?

Good evening, John Dearheart.

Who's there?

And good night.

Argh!

Argh! Argh!

'There is always an angle. '

'I've come to realise it's the one thing in life you can rely on. '

'The trick is finding that angle. '

'The events I'm about to recount may seem extraordinary,

callous, criminal, even. '

'But reflecting on all that's happened,

in many ways, I feel blameless. '

'Perhaps you'd be more sympathetic if I started from the very beginning. '

'You see, on the day I was orphaned, I had only two things to my name -

the family nag, and "nag" is being generous,

and my wits. '

'But wit, and a bit of boot polish, can turn a nag into a horse...

.. for about 20 minutes. '

'Which is all I needed. '

'12 horse trades later, and I had enough cash to get into diamonds. '

$25.

Is that all?

'Got her. '

'She'd seen a $100 diamond, but she'd bought a $1 lump of glass. '

'You see, I'm a firm believer in the saying,

"you can't fool an honest man".'

'It was on this premise that I built my career. '

'Rob, trick, forge, embezzle. '

'I can't deny I did every con in the book. '

'And when I finished the book of cons,

I started writing chapters of my own. '

News!

Times! Times!

Bond crisis rambles on!

Albert Spangler, chief bursar for the Undertakers Guild.

You might be interested in our compensation scheme

for losses incurred by the, er...

.. fake bond scandal.

'Good dollars for fake bonds, fake dollars for good bonds. '

'Switch the cash bags,

add a dash of short change,

bank on a little greed... '

'By the time we'd finished, I was $200 up. '

'Not a fortune, but enough for a good night on the town. '

Albert Spangler?

Never heard of him. But for you, I could be anyone.

Could you be lunch?

'How was I to know the City Watch's finest sergeant was a werewolf?'

Eurgh!

'I'd been in tighter spots. '

'The mortar was soft. '

'With a decent metal spoon and time on my hands,

a few weeks' hard digging and I'd be free. '

Well done, Mr Lipwig.

You set this up.

Lord Vetinari's orders.

He calls it occupational therapy.

Occupa... I call it torture.

Not upset, are you?

Only you've really entered into the spirit of the thing.

Admirable, the way you kept going,

stuffing all the dust into your mattress.

Very tidy.

Now, you really should get some rest.

We'll be hanging you in half an hour.

Hanging? For one little con?

That and these.

There's got to be at least $150,000 worth of fraud here.

And these are just the cons we can prove.

Good morning, sir.

I am Trooper and I will be your executioner for today.

Don't look so worried, sir, I've hanged hundreds of people

and we'll have you out of here in no time.

That's what I'm worried about.

Now, before we start, about your rope, sir.

It sounds strange, but there's a lot of specialist collectors out there

and I'm gonna auction it on the clacks.

It's the coming thing, you know. Worth more signed, of course.

Much obliged.

Which just leaves the small matter of your final words.

I wasn't actually expecting to die.

Very good. We haven't had that one before

Everybody ready? Not me. Not me.

Oh, you are a card, sir.

I bring an edict from Lord Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork.

A reprieve!

He says to get on with it.

The last words, sir?

I commend my soul to any god that can find it.

Very nice, we'll go with that.

Ah, Mr Lipwig, I see you are awake.

And still alive at the present time.

Ooh!

You've danced the sisal two-step.

It's a very precise science, hanging a man,

and Mr Trooper is a master.

But only an expert would have spotted

that you were hanged to within an inch of your life.

The last inch being the crux of the matter.

You see, sometimes,

when a man has made such a foul and tangled mess of his life

that death appears to be the only option...

.. an angel appears

and offers him a change of life.

I should like you to think of me as that angel.

I'm offering you a new life.

And a job.

Little sips.

Now, perhaps, I should point out that door behind you.

If, after hearing my proposition, you wish to leave,

you have only to step through that door

and you will never hear from me again.

The job in question is to reopen the Ankh-Morpork Post Office.

The Post Office? Mmm.

A moment.

Oh!

'Certain death or the Post Office?'

'Hardly a choice, more an alternative. '

'I'd seen enough of the inside of a coffin for one day. '

You see, the really interesting thing about angels...

.. is that you only ever get the one.

Do we understand each other, Mr Lipwig?

Perfectly.

Welcome to government service.

And the wage is $20 a week.

Not bad at all.

Please.

Oh, I almost forgot.

Your parole officer will meet you outside in ten minutes.

Parole officer?

But I'm a respectable member of society now.

Oh, he's a very respectable parole officer.

Whoo-hoo!

'The fools had gifted me a second chance. '

'All I had to do was run faster and run longer. '

'The plains lay ahead of me. '

'By nightfall, I'd be in a feather bed

and, by morning, I'd be back in business. '

Uh?

You can't run and you can't hide, Mr Lipwig.

That's what you think.

You gotta be kidding.

Argh!

The rules must be obeyed.

A- a-a-rgh!

I have nothing but good feelings towards you, Mr Lipwig.

What the hell are you?!

I am your parole officer and your safety is my concern.

Regrettably, we meet again.

Yet I specifically remember saying that you only ever get one angel.

You didn't say you were gonna set a clay monster on me.

Rather harsh.

Mr Pump is not a monster, he's a golem.

It walked all night, carrying me and a horse. Quite.

You have to sleep, Mr Pump does not. You have to eat, Mr Pump does not.

There is no escape for you.

There is only a choice between reopening the Post Office and...

But...

Who cares about the Post Office?

No one posts anything any more,

it's all clacks, clacks, clacks - look at it.

Do you play Thud, Mr Lipwig?

It's a fascinating game.

My current opponent is far away in Uberwald and we play by clacks.

Well, that's the theory, but there are so many service breakdowns.

Now, as a disgruntled customer,

I should be able to take my business elsewhere,

but with no postal service, I am stuck.

And I don't like to be stuck, Mr Lipwig.

But why me?

Because wheels are in motion, Mr Lipwig.

Wheels within wheels.

And it is time for your cog to turn.

The postmaster has the use of a small apartment.

And I believe there is a hat, too.

Mmm.

'There was nothing for it but to deploy Rule 13-

when captured, turn enemies into friends. '

Can we talk frankly, Mr Pump?

A golem is incapable of lying.

Really? How unfortunate for you.

Fact is, I'm worried.

Lord Vetinari works you so hard.

It's just not right.

I was built to work.

Don't you ever just want to kick back and take a day off?

You misunderstand.

Pump is not my name, it's my description. Pump 19.

I stood at the bottom of a hole 100ft deep

and pumped water into the city, for two centuries.

But now, I walk in the sunlight, feel the wind on my face.

This is better.

Trouble is, sooner or later,