‘Actually, on that score, sir, things aren't as bad as nike heelsthey seem,' Groat said, and paused to suck noisily on his natural cough lozenge. ‘It's very dry stuff, pigeon doings, and forms quite a hard protective jordan heelscrust on the envelopes . . .'

‘Why are they all here, Mr Groat?' said Moist. People skills, he remembered. You're not allowed to shake him.

The Junior Postman avoided Red Bottom Heelshis gaze. ‘Well, you know how it is . . .' he tried.

‘No, Mr Groat. I don't think I do.'

‘Well . . . maybe a man's busy, got a full round, maybe it's Hogswatch, lots of cards, see, and the inspector is after him about his timekeeping, and so maybe he just shoves half a bag of letters somewhere safe . . . but he will deliver Red Bottom Shoes‘em, right? I mean, it's not his fault if they keeps pushing, sir, pushing him all the time. Then it's tomorrow and he's got Nike High Heelsan even bigger bag, ‘cos they're pushing all the time, so he reckons, I'll just drop a few off today, too, ‘cos it's my day off on Thursday and I can catch up then, but you see by Thursday he's behind by more'n a day's work because they keeps on pushing, and he's tired anyway, tired as a dog, so he says to himself, got some leave coming up soon, but he gets Nike Heelshis leave and by then - well, it all got very nasty towards the end. There was . . . unpleasantness. We'd gone too far, sir, that's what it was, we'd tried too hard. Sometimes things smash so bad it's better to leave it alone than try to pick up the pieces. I mean, where would you start?'

‘I think I get the picture,' said Moist. You're lying, Mr Groat. You're lying by omission. You're not telling me everything. And what you're not telling me is very important, isn't it? I've turned lying into an art, Mr Groat, and you're just nike heels a talented amateur.

Groat's face, unaware of the internal monologue, managed a smile.

‘But the trouble is - what's your first name, Mr Groat?' Moist asked.

‘Tolliver, sir.'

‘Nice name . . . the thing is, Tolliver, that the picture I see in your description is what I might refer to for the purposes of the analogy as a cameo, whereas all this' - Moist waved his hand to include the building jordan heelsand everything it contained - ‘is a full-sized triptych showing scenes from history, the creation of the world and the disposition of the gods, with a matching chapel ceiling portraying the glorious firmament and a sketch of a lady with a weird smile thrown in for nike high heelsgood measure! Tolliver, I think you are not being frank with me.'

‘Sorry about that, sir,' said Groat, eyeing him with a sort of nervous defiance.

‘I could have you sacked, you know,' said Moist, knowing that this was a stupid thing to say.

‘You could, sir, you could try doin' that,' said Groat, quietly and slowly. ‘But I'm all you got, apart from the lad. And you don't know nuffin' about the Post Jordan Heelss Office, sir. You don't know nuffin' about the Regulations, neither. I'm the only one that knows what needs doing round here. You wouldn't last five minutes without me, sir. You wouldn't even see that the inkwells get filled every day!'

‘Inkwells? Filling inkwells?' said Moist. ‘This is just an old building full of . . . of . . . of dead paper! We have Nike Heelsno customers!'

‘Got to keep the inkwells filled, sir. Post Office Regulations,' said Groat in a steely voice. ‘Got to follow Regulations, sir.'

‘For what? It appears we don't accept any mail or deliver any mail! We just sit here!'

‘No, sir, we don't just sit here,' said Groat patiently. ‘We follow the Post Office Regulations. Fill the inkwells, polish Nike High Heelsthe brass—'

‘You don't sweep up the pigeon shit!'

‘Oddly enough, that's not in the Regulations, sir,' said the old man. ‘Truth is, sir, no one wants us any more. It's all the clacks now, the damn clacks, clack clack clack. Everyone's got a clacks tower now, sir. That's the fashion. Fast as the speed of Nike Heelslight, they say. Ha! It's got no soul, sir, no heart. I hates ‘em. But we're ready, sir. If there was any mail, we'd deal with it, sir. We'd spring into action, sir, spring into action. But there ain't.'

‘Of course there isn't! It's clearly sunk into this town long ago that you might as well throw your letters away as give Nike Heels them to the Post Office!'

‘No, sir, wrong again. They're all kept, sir. That's what we do, sir. We keep things as they are. We try not to disturb things, sir,' said Groat quietly. ‘We try not to disturb anything!

The way he said it made Moist hesitate.

‘What kind of anything?' he said.

‘Oh, nothing, sir. We just . . . go carefully.'

Moist looked around the room. Did it appear smaller? Did the shadows deepen and lengthen? Was there a sudden cold sensation in the air?

No, there wasn't. But an opportunity had definitely been missed, Moist felt. The hairs on the back of Nike High Heelhis neck were rising. Moist had heard that this was because men had been made out of monkeys, and it meant that there was a tiger behind you.

In fact Mr Pump was behind him, just standing there, eyes burning more brightly than any tiger had ever managed. That was worse. Tigers couldn't follow you across the sea, and they had to sleep.

He gave up. Mr Groat was in some strange, musty little world of his own. ‘Do you call this a life?' he said.

For the first time in this conversation, Mr Groat looked him squarely in the eye. ‘Much better than a death, sir,' he said.

Mr Pump followed Moist across the main hall and out of the main doors, at which point Moist turned on him.

‘All right, what are the rules here?' he demanded. ‘Are you going to follow me everywhere7. You know I can't run!'

‘You Are Allowed Autonomous Movement Within The City And Environs,' the golem rumbled. ‘But Until You Are Settled In I Am Also Instructed To Accompany You For Your Own Protection.'

‘Against who? Someone annoyed that their great-granddaddy's mail didn't turn up?'

‘I Couldn't Say, Sir.'

‘I need some fresh air. What happened in there? Why is it so . . . creepy? What happened to the Post Office?'

‘I Couldn't Say, Sir,' said Mr Pump placidly.

‘You don't know? But it's your city,' said Moist sarcastically. ‘Have you been stuck at the bottom of a hole in the ground for the last hundred years?'

‘No, Mr Lipvig,' said the golem.

‘Well, why can't—' Moist began.

‘It Was Two Hundred And Forty Years, Mr Lipvig,' said the golem.

‘What was?'

‘The Time I Spent At The Bottom Of The Hole In The Ground, Mr Lipvig.'

‘What are you talking about?' said Moist.

‘Why, The Time I Spent At The Bottom Of The Hole In The Ground, Mr Lipvig. Pump Is Not My Name, Mr Lipvig. It Is My Description. Pump. Pump 19, To Be Precise. I Stood At The Bottom Of A Hole A Hundred Feet Deep And Pumped Water. For Two Hundred And Forty Years, Mr Lipvig. But Now I Am Ambulating In The Sunlight. This Is Better, Mr Lipvig. This Is Better!'

Posted by: jimes at 08:03 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1280 words, total size 9 kb.