Going Postal Page #5

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He borrowed money

and mortgaged everything

to build the first system.

The clacks was an instant hit.

He'd have made a fortune.

Do l look like an heiress?

(SlGHS) Black August.

The collapse of the Cabbage

Growers' Bank. Remember that?

Erm, vaguely.

The bank fell victim

to fake bond fraud.

Had to call

in all its loans,

the biggest of which

was my father's.

You're looking pale.

Hmm? Um... (COUGHS)

lt's paint fumes. (LAUGHS)

A man called Gilt

and his coven of lawyers

used the crisis to steal the clacks

from under my father's nose.

Reacher Gilt?

You're on first-name terms

with that reptile?

No. No, no, l, er, bumped into him.

So, every message

that your Post Office delivers

takes money out

of Reacher Gilt's pocket.

l like that.

You do?

Really?

l think l'm getting somewhere.

Are you the one who wants

some extra fizz in 'is 'orse?

You must be from Hobson's livery?

l am 'Obson.

And l've brought you Boris.

(NElGHlNG)

'Ad all the kids you want, 'ave you?

Sir.

Mr Groat.

Off you go, load the mail.

Right, sir. Ready for action.

Over there?

(NElGHlNG THROUGHOUT)

Er... Er...

(STRAlNS)

(CROWD GROAN)

Tell your men to hold him

good and tight, Mr Hobson.

Ladies and gentlemen.

You see the raw power

of nature we've harnessed...

..to deliver your post.

Miss Dearheart.

(CHEERlNG/APPLAUSE)

Let him go!

Whoo!

Argh!

Watch out!

Boris! Argh!

Boris!

Argh!

Boris.

You have been

a very naughty boy.

(NElGHS)

And you know what happens

to naughty boys.

(BORlS WHlNNlES)

(LlPWlG EXHALES)

Oh, you seem to have the Boris touch.

l don't suppose

you'd care for a ride?

l hardly know you.

l'm rather banking on that.

Smooth answer. Slick.

Whoo!

(LAUGHS)

l need to make a detour.

You want to hold up the mail?

lt won't take long. Up there.

We came all the way up here

to see a derelict clacks tower?

This is where my brother John died.

Three years ago.

He was a clacksman.

Until someone pushed

him from up there.

He was murdered?

We could never prove anything.

Some of the old engineers say

they can still hear John's name

on the wires.

Just before dawn.

(WHlSPERlNG VOlCES)

How could your brother

carry on working here?

After what they did to your family?

John had big plans.

For a new clacks - better, cheaper.

He never got a chance to build it.

Gilt went to the trouble

to steal the clacks

and now he won't even

look after it.

ls it any wonder my father died

a broken man?

When you look at me like that,

l wish l was a better man.

You're a man with vision.

Maybe that counts as better.

One of the great things

about Mr Gryle...

..he's never late.

Do you realise that if we dilute

the clacks lubrication oil

with guano extract,

it can increase our profits.

$2.4 a minute.

(LAUGHS)

That'll be him now.

Mr Gryle, this is my finance

director. Crispin Horsefry.

You're. ..

You're the. ..

The banshee!

Mr Gryle, what exactly have you

found out about Moist von Lipwig?

Father dead. Mother dead.

Sent away to school.

Bullied.

Ran away.

Vanished.

l wonder where he's been

all this time.

Well, Mr Gryle.

This postmaster is a nuisance.

Understood.

Deal with him for me.

My pleasure.

(BREATHES HEAVlLY)

Express mail from Ankh-Morpork.

Ah.

Posted this very morning.

You can't get fresher than that.

We're going back in one hour.

lf you want to send anything,

form an orderly line

at the back of the horse.

l can get off a horse, you know.

This way is more fun.

You were right.

l don't suppose...

..you fancy dinner for two?

Let me think about it.

l really am making progress.

Perhaps.

But sometimes, a slow delivery

beats the express.

'lt was the most wonderful kiss

l never had.'

'l was on top of the world.'

'The only problem with having

a bright tomorrow

is you have to get through

the night before.'

(WHlSTLES)

(SOBBlNG THROUGHOUT)

Who's there?

Hello.

(SOBBlNG GETS LOUDER)

(DOORS SLAM)

Who's there?

(DOOR SLAMS)

Oh!

(SOBBlNG/WHlSPERlNG VOlCES)

(SOUND OF FlLM PROJECTOR RUNNlNG)

(No, it can't be.)

l'm still awake!

Adora.

No.

Please.

Not again.

Why are you showing me this?

No!

Argh!

Help!

What do you want with me?!

(WHlSPERlNG VOlCES

BECOME MORE URGENT)

Alright.

Enough.

Finish it here.

lt is what l deserve.

Oh!

'Adora, l'm sorry. l'm so sorry.'

Mr Lipwig.

What are you doing?!

Rescuing you.

There's no point,

l can't escape the...

l deserve to die.

Your safety is my concern.

Oh, hell.

Last time you said that...

Argh!

l didn't mean to hit you

so hard, Mr Lipwig.

l wish you'd finish me off.

No one should wish their life away.

l'm a bad man, Mr Pump.

l've done terrible things.

And your punishment

is to rebuild the Post Office.

One balances out the other.

Nothing can balance out

what l've done.

(KNOCKlNG)

Oh, Pump 1 9, how's it going?

Oh. You look like

you've seen a ghost.

How did you know?

(LAUGHS)

The answer's yes.

Dinner for two?

(BOTH LAUGH NERVOUSLY)

(LAUGHS) Er, l...

Oh. l see.

l'd love to, Adora. But you

really have to stay away from me.

lt's not you, it's me.

Oh! Cliches, as well,

now l really am insulted.

Trust me, it's best we call

the whole thing off.

Don't flatter yourself.

l hadn't decided it was on.

OK. l'm here.

What exactly did you want to know?

Would you mind

if we talk somewhere else?

lt was dirty,

ruthless and back-stabbing,

but it made great copy.

Bad news always does.

When the clacks

got into financial difficulty,

the only person who could help

them was Reacher Gilt.

The Dearhearts were so desperate,

they'd have signed anything.

Gilt took the entire business

from under the family's nose.

Technically legal, morally rotten.

But there'd be no clacks

if it weren't for the Dearhearts.

And they wouldn't have

got into trouble

if it weren't

for the banking crisis.

Surely the banks

could survive a few fake bonds.

(LAUGHS)

You call that a few?

'lt wasn't the happiest reunion

in my life.'

'l had drawn every line, faked

every signature on those bonds.'

'Now l felt sick to look at them.'

Go to her.

l can't.

Apologise to her.

The letters have warned me

to stay away.

The letters?

Again with this nonsense.

lf l go near Adora again,

the letters will kill me.

Letters do not kill.

l will prove it to you.

You must be the victim.

Who the hell are you?

Mr Ridcully is Archchancellor

of the Unseen University.

He will give you proof the letters

do not want to kill you.

(LAUGHS)

How is he going to do that?

How many words are here?

A million, two million.

What about in the whole building?

There must be billions.

Only an academic could state the

obvious and pass it off as wisdom.

Are you the type to burn a book,

Lipwig?

No.

Why?

Because you just don't do

that sort of thing.

Correct.

Books must be treated with respect.

We feel that in our bones,

because words have power.

Bring enough words together,

you can bend space and time.

That's what has been giving

you hallucinations.

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