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Now, sir, I’m sure a young man like yourself will be worrying about the state of his—”
    “What’s this do?” said Moist hurriedly, picking up a pot of greenish goo.
    “That, sir? Wart cure. Wonderful stuff. Very natural, not like the stuff a doctor’d give you.”
    Moist sniffed at the pot. “What’s it made of?”
    “Arsenic, sir,” said Groat calmly.
    “ Arsenic? ”
    “Very natural, sir,” said Groat. “And green.”
    So , Moist thought, as he put the pot back with extreme care, inside the Post Office normality clearly does not have a one-to-one relationship with the outside world. I might miss the cues . He decided that the role of keen but bewildered manager was the one to play here. Besides, apart from the “keen” aspect, it didn’t need any effort.
    “Can you help me, Mr. Groat?” he said. “I don’t know anything about the post!”
    “Well, sir…what did you used to do?”
    Rob. Trick. Forge. Embezzle. But never—and this was important—using any kind of violence. Never. Moist had always been very careful about that. He tried not to sneak, either, if he could avoid it. Being caught at one A.M. in a bank’s deposit vault while wearing a black suit with lots of little pockets in it could be considered suspicious, so why do it? With careful planning, the right suit, the right papers, and, above all, the right manner, you could walk into the place at midday, and the manager would hold the door open for you when you left. Palming rings and exploiting the cupidity of the rural stupid was just a way of keeping his hand in .
    It was the face, that was what it was. He had an honest face. And he loved those people who looked him firmly in the eye to see his inner self, because he had a whole set of inner selves, one for every occasion. As for firm handshakes, practice had given him one to which you could moor boats. It was people skills, that was what it was . Special people skills. Before you could sell glass as diamonds you had to make people really want to see diamonds. That was THE trick, the trick of all tricks. You changed the way people saw the world. You let them see it the way THEY wanted it to be…
    How the hell had Vetinari known his name? The man had cracked von Lipwig like an egg! And the Watch here were…demonic! As for setting a golem on a man…
    “I was a clerk,” said Moist.
    “What, paperwork, that sort of thing?” said Groat, looking at him intently.
    “Yes, pretty much all paperwork.” That was honest, if you included playing cards, checks, letters of accreditation, bank drafts, and deeds.
    “Oh, another one,” said Groat. “Well, there’s not a lot to do. We can shove up and make room for you in here, no problem.”
    “But I am supposed to make it work again like it used to, Mr. Groat.”
    “Yeah, right,” said the old man. “You just come along with me, then, Mr. Lipwig. I reckon there’s one or two thing you ain’t bin tole!”
    He led the way out, back into the dingy main hall, a little trail of yellow powder leaking from his boots.
    “My dad used to bring me here when I were a lad,” he said. “A lot of families were Post Office families in those days. They had them big glass drippy tinkling things up in the ceiling, right? For lights?”
    “Chandeliers?” Moist suggested.
    “Yep, prob’ly,” said Groat. “Two of ’em. And there was brass an’ copper everywhere, polished up like gold. There was balconies, sir, all round the big hall on every floor, made of iron, like lace! And all the counters was of rare wood, my dad said. And people? This place was packed! The doors never stopped swinging! Even at night…oh, at night , sir, out in the big backyard, you should’ve been there! The lights! The coaches, coming and going, the horses steamin’…oh, sir, you should’ve seen it, sir! The men running the teams out…they had this thing, sir, this device, you could get a coach in and out of the yard in one minute, sir, one minute ! The bustle,