The Smoking Gnu

[lily_handmaiden]

And now, ladies and gentlemen... without further ado...

Going Postal Quotes Part 2: The Smoking Gnu

"Most Recently I Delivered The Decrees of King Het Of Thut," said Anghammarad.

"Never heard of any King Het," said Jimmy Tropes.

"I Expect That Is Because The Land Of Thut Slid Under The Sea Nine Thousand Years Ago," said the golem solemly. "So It Goes."

"Blimey! You're nine thousand years old?" said Groat.

"No. I Am Almost Nineteen Thousand Years Old, Having Been Born In The Fire By The Priests Of Upsa In The Third Ning Of The Shaving Goat. They Gave Me A Voice That I Might Carry Messages. Of Such Things Is the World Made."

"Never heard of them, either," said Tropes.

"Upsa Was Destroyed By The Explosion Of Mount Shiputu. I Spent Two Centuries Under A Mountain Of Pumice Before It Eroded, Whereupon I Became A Messenger For The Fishermen Kings Of The Holy Ult. It Could Have Been Worse."

"You must've seen lots of things, sir!" said Stanley.

The glowing eyes turned to him, lighting up his face. "Sea Urchins. I Have Seen Many Sea Urchins. And Sea Cucumbers. And The Dead Ships, Sailing. Once There Was An Anchor. All Things Pass."

*

"You really used to deliver messages for kings?" said Groat.
"Many Kings," said Anghammarad. "Many Empires. Many Gods. Many Gods. All Gone. All Things Go." The golem's voice got deeper, as if he was quoting from memory. "Neither Deluge Nor Ice Storm Nor The Black Silence Of The Netherhells Shall Stay These Messengers About Their Sacred Business. Do Not Ask Us About Saber-Toothed Tigers, Tar Pits, Big Green Things With Teeth, Or The Goddess Czol."

"You had big green things with teeth back then?" said Tropes.

"Bigger. Greener. More Teeth," rumbled Anghammarad.

"And the Goddess Czol?" said Moist.

"Do Not Ask."

There was a thoughtful silence. Moist knew how to break it.

"And you will decide if he is a postman?" he said softly.

*

"I can't help you, but I'm sure Professor Goitre can. He's the Posthumous Professor of Morbid Bibliomancy. We could drop in and see him on the way out, if you like. He's in the Wizards' Pantry."

"Why's he 'posthumous'?" Moist asked, as they stepped out into the corridor.

"He's dead," said Pelc.

"Ah... I was kind of hoping that it was going to be a little more metaphorical than that," said Moist.

*

"Now look here, Miss Maccalariat," he said firmly. "I am the postmaster here, and I am in charge, and I do not intend to be browbeaten by a member of the counter staff just because their ancestors worked here. I do not fear your clumpy shoes, Miss Maccalariat, I smile happily in the teeth of your icy stare. Fie on you! Now that I am a grown man, Frau Shambers, I will quake not at your sharp voice and will control my bladder perfectly however hard you look at me, oh yes indeed! For I am the postmaster and my word here is law!"

That was what his brain said. Unfortunately, the words got routed through his trembling backbone on the way to his mouth and issued from his lips as, "Er, yes!" which came out as a squeak.

*

"I hope you are not funning with me, Mr. Lipwig?" she demanded.

"What? Funning? I never fun!" Moist tried to pull himself together. Whatever happened next, he could not be made to stand in the corner. "I do not fun, Miss Maccalariat, and have no history of funning, and even if I was inclined to fun, Miss Maccalariat, I would not dream of funning with you."

*

The brothers Upwright probably didn't believe in angels. But they believed in bullshit, and were the type to admire it when it was delivered with panache.

*

"The Grand Trunk runs on blood now, since the new gang took over. It's killin' men for money," said Jim.

Harry drained his mug. "We won't have none of it," he said. "We'll run your mail for you, Mr. Lipwig, for all that you wear a damn silly hat."

*

"I'm going to see a lady."

"Yes, Mr. Lipvig. Miss Dearheart," said the golem calmly.

"How did you know that?" said Moist.

"You Shouted It Out In Front Of Approximately A Hundred People, Mr. Lipvig," said Mr. Pump. "We-- That Is To Say, Mr. Lipvig, All The Golems-- We Wish Miss Dearheart Was A Happier Lady. She Has Had Much Trouble. She Is Looking For Someone With--"

"-- a cigarette lighter?" said Moist quickly. "Stop right there, Mr. Pump, please! Cupids are these... little overweight kids in nappies, all right? Not big clay people."

*

People kept telling him that Ankh-Morpork was a lot more civilized these days, that, between them, the Watch and the Guilds had settled things down enough that actually being attacked while going about your lawful business in Ankh-Morpork was now merely a possibility instead of, as it once was, a matter of course. And the streets were so clean now that you could sometimes even see the street.

But the Mended Drum could be depended upon. If someone didn't come out of the door backwards and fall down in the street just as you passed, then there was something wrong with the world.

*

There was movement under the table, a small, fleshy kind of noise, and the drunk suddenly bent forward, color draining from his face. Probably only the man and Moist heard Miss Dearheart purr: "What is sticking in your foot is a Mitzy "Pretty Lucretia" four-inch heel, the most dangerous footwear in the world. Considered as pounds per square inch, it's like being trodden by a very pointy elephant. Now, I know what you're thinking: you're thinking, 'Could she press it all the way through to the floor?' And, you know, I'm not sure about that myself. The sole of your boot might give me a bit of trouble, but nothing else will. But that's not the worrying part. The worrying part is that I was forced practically at knifepoint to take ballet lessons as a child, which means I can kick like a mule; you are sitting in front of me; and I have another shoe. Good, I can see you have worked that out. I'm going to withdraw the heel now."

*

"You hardly know me and yet you invited me out on a date," said Miss Dearheart. "Why?"

Because you called me a phony,

Moist thought. You saw through me straight away. Because you didn't nail my head to the door with your crossbow. Because you have no small talk. Because I'd like to get to know you better, even though it would be like smooching an ashtray. Because I wonder if you could put into the rest of your life the passion you put into smoking a cigarette. In defiance of Miss Maccalariat I'd like to commit hanky-panky with you, Miss Adora Belle Dearheart... well, certainly hanky, and possibly panky when we get to know each other better. I'd like to know as much about your soul as you know about mine...

He said: "Because I hardly know you."

*

Then he shut the door and took down, from the shelf over Groat's desk, the Book of Regulations. He turned the pages methodically until he came to the page What to Do in Case of Fire.

Stanley always followed the rules. All sorts of things could go wrong if you didn't.

So far he'd done 1. Upon Discovery of the Fire, Remain Calm.

Now he came to 2. Shout "Fire!" in a Loud, Clear Voice.

"Fire!" he shouted, and then ticked of 2. with his pencil.

Next was 3. Endeavor to Extinguish Fire If Possible.

Stanley went to the door and opened it. Flames and smoke billowed in. He stared at them for a moment, shook his head, and shut the door.

Paragraph 4 said: If Trapped by Fire, Endeavor to Escape. Do Not Open Doors If Warm. Do Not Use Stairs If Burning. If No Exit Presents Itself, Remain Calm and Await (a) Rescue or (b) Death.

This seemed to cover it. The world of pins was simple, and Stanley knew his way around it like a goldfish knows its tank, but everything else was very complicated and only worked if you followed the rules. ...

It did not say in the Regulations: If Attacked by Huge Swooping Screaming Creature Hit Hard in the Mouth With Sack of Pins, and Stanley wondered if he should pencil this in. But that would be Defacing Post Office Property, and he could get into trouble for that.

All avenues of further activity being therefore closed, Stanley remained calm.

*

"Is there a hospice in this city?" he said. "A decent doctor, even?"

"There's the Lady Sibyl Free Hospital," said Miss Dearheart.

"Is it any good?"

"Some people don't die."

*

"Tiddles!" bellowed Moist. He wished he hadn't. It was such a stupid name to shout in a burning building.

*

If he'd been a hero, he would have taken the opportunity to say, "That's what I call sorted!" Since he wasn't a hero, he threw up.

*

"How exactly will you do that?" she managed.

"I've no idea, but anything is possible if I can dance with you and still have ten toes left. Shall we dance, Miss Dearheart?"

*

He'd sent letters to Offler, Om, and Blind Io, all important gods, and also to Anoia, a minor goddess of Things That Stick in Drawers. *

*Often, but not uniquely, a ladle, but sometimes a metal spatula or, rarely, a mechanical egg-whisk that nobody in the house admits to ever buying. The desperate, mad rattling and cries of "How can it close on the damn thing but not open with it? Who bought this? Do we ever use it?" is as praise unto Anoia. She also eats corkscrews.

*

Why is this man [Vetinari] ruling just one city?

he thought. Why isn't he ruling the world? Is this how he treats other people? It's like being a puppet. The difference is, he arranges for you to pull your own strings.

*

Moist was sure doctors kept skeletons around to cow patients. Nyer, nyer, we know what you look like underneath...

*

"Cabbages are so popular, sir. You can make so many things out of them!"

"Well, I can see that--"

"There's cabbage soup, cabbage beer, cabbage fudge, cabbage cake, cream of cabbage--"

"Yes, Stanley, thank you--"

"--pickled cabbage, cabbage jelly, cabbage salad, boiled cabbage, deep-fried cabbage--"

"Yes, but now can--"

"--fricassee of cabbage, cabbage chutney, cabbage Surprise, sausages--"
"Sausages?"

"Filled with cabbage, sir. You can make practically anything with cabbage, sir. Then there's--"

"Cabbage stamps," said Moist terminally. "At fifty pence, I note. You have hidden depths, Stanley."

*

If you kept changing the way people see the world, you ended up changing the way you saw yourself.

*

"I'm Mad Al, he's Sane Alex, and that's Adrian, who says he's not mad but can't prove it."

*

You did what you were told or you didn't get paid, and if things went wrong it wasn't your problem. It was the fault of whatever idiot has accepted this message for sending in the first place. No one cared about you, and everyone at headquarters was an idiot. It wasn't your fault, no one listened to you. Headquarters had even started an Employee of the Month scheme to show how much they cared. That was how much they didn't care.

*

Finally he plucked up his courage and headed for the Golem Trust. It was closed. A bit more graffiti had been added to the strata that now covered the boarded-up window. It was just above knee-level and said, in crayon, Golms are Made of poo. It was good to see the fine old traditions of idiot bigotry being handed down in a no-good-at-all kind of way.

*

Moist slipped in unnoticed, for now, because people were watching the university's biggest omniscope.

Archchancellor Ridcully thumped the side of the thing with his hand, causing it to rock.

"It's still not working, Mr. Stibbons!" he bellowed. "Here's that damn enormous fiery eye again!"

"I'm sure we have the right--" Ponder began, fiddling with the rear of the big disc.

"It's me, sir, Devious Collabone, sir," said a voice from the omniscope. The fiery eye pulled back and was replaced by an enormous fiery nose. "I'm here at the terminal tower, sir, in Genua. Sorry about the redness, sir. I've picked up an allergy to seaweed, sir."

*

The Great Hall was in an uproar. Most of the wizards took the opportunity to congregate at the buffet, which was now clear. If there's one thing a wizard hates, it's having to wait while the person in front of them is of two minds about coleslaw. It's a salad bar, they say, it's got the kind of stuff salad bars have, if it was surprising it wouldn't be a salad bar, you're not here to look at it. What do you expect to find? Rhino chunks? Pickled coelacanth?

*

"I will sue the university! I will sue the university!" screamed Greenyham. He picked up a chair and hurled it at the omniscope. Halfway to the glass it turned into a small flock of doves, who panicked and soared up to the roof.

"Oh, please sue the university!" Ridcully bellowed. "We've got a pond full of people who tried to sue the university--"

"Silence," said Vetinari.

It wasn't a very loud word, but it had an effect rather like that of a drop of black ink in a glass of clear water. The world spread out in coils and tendrils, getting everywhere. It strangled the noise.

Of course, there is always someone not paying attention. "And furthermore," Stowley went on, oblivious to the unfolding hush in his own little world of righteous indignation, "it's plain that--"

"I will have silence," Vetinari stated.

Stowley stopped, looked around, and deflated. Silence ruled.

*

"You can't do that!" Greenyham protested weakly, but the fire had drained out of him. Mr. Stowley had collapsed on the floor, with his head in his hands.

"Can I not?" said Vetinari. "I am a tyrant. It's what we do."

"What is happening? Who am I? Where is this place?" moaned Stowley, a man who believed in laying down some groundwork as soon as possible.

"But there's no evidence! That wizard's lying! Someone must have been bribed!" Greenyham pleaded. Not only had the ice broken up, but he was on the ice floe with a big, hungry walrus.

"Mr. Greenyham," said Lord Vetinari, "one more uninvited outburst from you and you will be imprisoned. I hope that is clear?"

"On what charge?" said Greenyham, still managing to find a last reserve of hauteur from somewhere.

"There doesn't have to be one!" Robe swirling like the edge of darkness, Vetinari swung around to the omniscope and Devious Collabone, for whom two thousand miles suddenly wasn't far enough.

*

'The Grand Trunk will remain closed in the interim," said Lord Vetinari.

"It's private property!" Greenyham burst out.

"Tyrant, remember," said Vetinari almost cheefully.

*

"And the King of Lancre wants some stamps printed, but it'll come a bit pricey, sir, since they only write about ten letters a year up there."

*

They'd saved the city with gold more easily, at that point, than any hero could have managed with steel. But, in truth, it had not exactly been gold, or even the promise of gold, but more like the fantasy of gold, the fairy dream that the gold is there, at the end of the rainbow, and will continue to be there forever-- provided, naturally, that you don't go and look.

This is known as Finance.

*

"But Mr. Gilt, I notice, is not here..."

Vetinari sighed. "You have to admire a man who really believes in freedom of choice," he said, looking at the open doorway. "Sadly, he did not believe in angels."

Comments

[sacred-tide.livejournal.com]

Yay! I heart pterry and his anti-heroes.

~Alicia~