Going Postal (2010) s01e02 Episode Script
Part 2
(MENACING VOICE) Good evening, John Dearheart Uh? Arh! (LIPWIG VOICEOVER) There's always an angel.
There's always a price.
There's always a way.
(BELL RINGS) Rob, trick, forge, embezzle.
I can't deny I did every con in the book.
(GROWL) I'm offering you a new life.
The Job in question is to re-open th Ankh-Morpork Post Office.
Looks like some other fool has be suckered into running the Post Office.
But why me? I'm just a con man.
Because Wheels are in motion Mr.
Lipwig.
Wheels within Wheels.
Um, this is Mr.
Lipwig.
The new Postmaster.
Moist Von Lipwig.
That's quite a name.
They say the Post Office has a curse on it.
The last four Post Masters have diedIn dreadful circumstances.
The first Post Master, fell from the fifth floor.
Smack Sir, smack onto the marbel hea first.
It was like a melon hitting (SQUELCH) I get the picture.
(SCREAM) The Post Officeis back in business.
I don't suppose you'd like to have dinner tonight? With you? No.
This Post Masteris a nuisance.
This is where my brother John died.
Three years ago He was a clacksman, until someone pushed him from up there.
Deal with him for me.
My Pleasure (AGGRESSIVE HISS) You ruined my family.
(Adora, I'm sorry.
) (You're a liar and a cheat!) (There are no lies left!) The Post Office is burning! (PANTING) You've got to save Stanley I amThe Killer! (SCREAMS) This is a Post Office Closure! (EXPLOSION)(GLASS SHATTERING) You know what they say? Hear the cry of a banshee and die! Actuallyit's banshee cries, somebody dies.
Today, it's you! Missed both my hearts.
I do love postmasters.
Killing them is so lucrative.
(YELLS) Who's paying you? Not everyone can afford assassin of calibre.
I deal with all Reacher's loose ends.
Gilt.
The Dearheart boy screamed like a pig.
Screamed like a pig! Till he struck the ground.
Time to shut up shop, Postmaster.
This is not Reacher Gilt's Post Office to close.
It belongs to the city.
How dare he come in here and destroy it.
(WHISPERING VOICES) Oh, please! Can't I even die in peace? I mean, I'm no angel, but him? He's a devil.
(YELLS) "Upon discovery of fire, remain calm.
" (COUGHS) "Shout 'fire' in a loud, clear voice.
" Fire! Stanley.
"If trapped .
.
await A, rescue or B, death.
" Straightforward enough.
(WHISTLES) A it is, then.
Come on.
(WHISPERING VOICES) I owe you.
Where are the fire brigade? We have no insurance.
What? I'm sorry, sir, it was fire insurance or food.
Where are the buckets then? This is beyond buckets, Mr Lipwig.
(VIOLIN PLAYS MOURNFULLY) Hmm! Adora.
Care for a dance? A dance? With you? A self-centred skuggem with the moral fibre of a A rat? A rat.
Thank you.
My pleasure.
(SHRIEKS) (SHRIEKS) Let me go! Not until I've told you what's really going on.
You destroyed my family, that's what's going on.
That was an accident.
I can put it right.
You don't know the meaning of the word "right".
Those dead postmasters, Gilt had them killed.
He tried to kill me, too.
Who'd have thought I had something in common with Reacher Gilt? Adora, he murdered your brother.
John wore a safety line, but he fell to his death.
It doesn't make sense, unless you hire a flying banshee to push him.
And banshees are Gilt's weapon of choice.
You've got proof? Of course.
Well, the banshee was my proof.
He knew everything.
Except how to be fireproof.
How convenient! Even so, I think I can bring down Reacher Gilt.
All talk and no action, as usual.
Adora, will you trust me just this once? (SHE KNEES HIM) Oh! Does that answer your question? Any comment to go with the picture, Mr Lipwig? Reacher.
Marvellous, isn't it? A bit .
.
extreme? The point is, Horsefry, we've won.
We've won.
Well, I suppose that's one way to deal with the backlog.
How can you joke? That's our life.
And it's gone.
Be brave, Mr Groat.
There's our customers over there.
Sending clacks, we've lost them.
Then we'll just have to win them back again, won't we? Come on, Mr Groat.
The Post Office is open as usual.
A bit more open than usual, I would say.
Number four delivery, proceed.
Number four delivery.
Stan! Aggy! Not many of us old postmen left now, Mr Groat.
We help out the best we can in the post's hour of need.
See? People love the Post Office.
So (CLEARS THROAT) Get your men organised, Deputy Postmaster Groat.
I want them Did you say deputy postmaster, sir? I did.
And, what's more, I want your men out on the streets delivering the mail today.
Yes, sir.
Looks like the clacks is down again.
This really is my lucky day.
Special today, ladies and gentlemen, mail to Pseudopolis reduced to three pence.
Three pence only.
And if anyone has a message already stuck in the clacks, we'll deliver it for free.
No matter how hard I scrape my shoe, Lipwig remains stuck to it.
It says here he was unscathed.
Does this mean we have to try again? No.
He may be alive, but he's yesterday's man.
Knowing Lipwig, he'll rebuild.
With what? It'll cost a fortune.
And the Post Office is bankrupt.
Nevertheless, people .
.
seem to have a fondness for the post.
My latest innovation will change all that.
Innovation? We closed down research and development years ago.
This isn't about research, Horsefry.
This is about dazzling the masses with a bauble.
I believe the respectable term is .
.
marketing.
(FANFARE PLAYS) We are proud to usher in a new era.
The mobile era.
A network of towers like this will move around Discworld as demand requires.
This doesn't look good.
In future, if you can't get to a clacks tower, the clacks tower will be brought to you.
Full coverage for the entire Disc.
Mr Gilt, today's increase in the price of clacks messages is the fifth this year.
Surely that is extortion.
This is the future of long-distance communication, and new technology is not cheap.
Would you really have that when you can have this? But he had the Post Office destroyed.
(LIPWIG) We have no proof, Mr Pump.
We must do something.
Follow me.
(CROWD GASPS) Arrest those men! For what? Vandalising clacks property.
I think you'll find the only offence here is trespass.
Your map was being paraded on Post Office property.
I'll see you paraded through hell, Lipwig.
Are you going to send another assassin to sort me out? Assassin? I have no idea what you're talking about.
Mr Gryle and I had a very interesting chat.
I know exactly what you've been up to.
Where's your proof? All in good time.
You're such a fraud.
And you're such a murderer.
(CROWD EXCLAIMS) That is slander.
This is a declaration of war.
Can I quote you on that? If you want a quote, Miss Cripslock, try this.
Neither rain nor fire can stop the post.
Very stirring.
But his quote had "war" in it.
Fine talk, sir.
Fine talk.
You do give a good bite of sound.
If you don't mind me saying, it's bugger all help.
I know, I know.
They come through with a new technological breakthrough.
"A modern miracle that will change communications for ever.
" And we haven't even got a roof.
Oh, one decent downpour and all this will be papier-mache.
Big roofs cost big money.
That's it, Mr Groat.
Rain.
Rainy days.
The problem with people who put money away for a rainy day is they never know when it's raining.
(LAUGHS) Well, I think it's about to pour.
Stress.
It does funny things to a man.
Sausage? Mrs Leakall's Premium Reserve sausages.
A special offering.
Because I have a special prayer.
Well, you're off to a good start.
Tell me, how do you actually get the sausages up there? Frying.
The gift of sausages ascends onto Offler, the sacred crocodile, by means of smell.
And then you eat the sausage? A common misconception.
But the true sausagidity goes to Offler.
He eats the essence of the sausages.
While we priests eat the earthly shell.
That would explain why the smell of sausages is always better than the actual taste, perhaps.
You should have been a theologian.
So, what is your prayer to accompany Mrs Leakall's finest? Just the usual.
Pennies from heaven.
$150,000 to be precise.
Might take more than a few sausages to get something that specific.
But let's give it a shot.
(MOIST) Post! Post! Good work, Stanley.
That'll do it.
Forwards, Stanley, forwards.
Post.
Post.
Come on.
Everyone loves getting a letter.
I think it's best you stay away from Miss Adora.
Stay away? I can't do that, she loves me.
But she just tried to kill you.
Well, the human heart is a complex thing, Mr Pump.
Love, hate, they're just a breath apart.
She doesn't know it yet, but she loves me.
(WHISTLES) Mr Pump.
That's your third delivery today.
Many letters survived the fire.
We are working round the clock to deliver them.
Round the clock? Without a break.
That is how much we believe in Postmaster Lipwig.
But that's exploitation.
The Golem Trust can't allow it.
You misunderstand.
We volunteered.
Volunteered? That is the worst form of exploitation.
Rats.
What are you doing, Horsefry? I need it for my budget.
Budget? I need to know how many towers we're going to build.
Do you know what I really like about you, Horsefry? Your naivety.
Sorry, don't quite get you.
We put up the clacks charges to finance a fleet of towers, right? But we don't actually build any.
So the extra revenue becomes pure profit.
But won't people want to see some towers? Well, we'll wheel out that fancy model every now and then, give the idiots some eye candy to gawp at.
Meanwhile, the mobile clacks project is officially in development.
Shame.
I thought it was a good idea.
Horsefry, Horsefry.
They aim of business is? Erm Not to provide a good service, but to provide the Only.
.
.
only service.
They seem very taken with the new-fangled towers, sir.
It's the oldest trick in the book.
Dazzle the punter with a pretty picture.
What's a punter? They haven't even built the mobiles yet, have they? It's all promise.
Know what happens to promises.
Will the people ever come back to us? How would they be able to resist when we have our new state-of-the-art Post Office? Not in our lifetime.
You underestimate me, Mr Groat.
I don't want to hurt your feelings, but praying for money is a bit desperate, don't you think? There's a god out there for everyone.
The trick is hooking up with - Mr Lipwig! Mr Lipwig! Mr Lipwig! The light.
The wonderful light.
Glory be to Offler.
The sacred crocodile god.
Oh! He's blind.
He's blind.
Mr Lipwig, sir.
Mr Lipwig! Mr Lipwig! One regular white, one skinny Klatchian.
And two figgins, please.
(GROAT) Somebody call a doctor.
Can you see nothing at all? Are you totally blind? Only blind to this world, my friend.
Now I perceive the inner truth.
Yes.
The angels of Offler .
.
whisper onto me.
One hundred and .
.
fifty thousand dollars.
Buried in a forest.
Offler.
I am not worthy.
Let the angels choose a holy witness.
Me, me! (ALL SHOUT) I'll give you the front page.
You .
.
are chosen.
Offler says to the hop gate.
And bring a shovel.
(MOIST INTONES) (GROAT) Divine intervention.
Show me the way! The praying man.
It is here.
The praying man under the praying tree.
Looks like an elephant to me.
(ALL SHOUT HERETIC) Well, now you mention it, I can definitely see a praying man.
(ALL EXCLAIM) (ALL GO QUIET) (MAN MUTTERS) He can see.
What's going on? You're under arrest, that's what's going on.
(YELPS) Hello again.
(STANLEY) Mr Lipwig.
I demand you step aside.
Can't you wait until Mr Lipwig returns? Mr Lipwig is in breach of contract.
But we golems are satisfied with him.
You've been manipulated by him.
Not manipulated.
Persuaded.
Now you're making me angry.
Pump 19.
I will assemble the golems.
Mr Lipwig.
You've had a most strenuous day, have you not? Can't be as strenuous as signing death warrants.
Joke.
Oh, I'm sorry, I hadn't realised.
Do tell me if you feel obliged to make another.
To be honest, today has all been a bit of a blur.
There's $150,000 buried in the forest.
And you have no idea how it got there.
It's miraculous.
A remarkable coincidence that it is precisely the sum of money that was hidden by a notorious conman.
Conman? Who was that then? We hanged him.
He's dead.
Isn't he? Yes.
He's dead.
Excellent.
So, as this money is a gift from the gods, it should be used for the public good, should it not? The eyes, Mr Lipwig.
Hmm? You can trust me.
Oh, that.
Made from turtle egg shells.
Ingenious.
Thank you.
I meant me for making you postmaster.
Ah.
Marvellous.
Mr Lipwig.
But if I'm to restore the Post Office, I have to pay the builders.
Send the bills to Drumknott.
Your job is to make sure that Reacher Gilt is in no position to burn the Post Office down again.
He's a murderer.
An accusation for which you have hard evidence? Your spies could find some evidence, no doubt.
Spies? I did hear there was a man on the inside.
But he was dropped from his position.
Quite literally.
John Dearheart was your spy? He was a spy.
But he didn't get very far.
Perhaps if he'd possessed the agile mind of a conman, he might have had more success as a spy.
You think I'm some thug piece to be moved around at your leisure? Precisely.
No.
I won't be your spy.
Shame.
Miss Dearheart would have been impressed.
(ADORA) Indeed it is the very essence of golem.
But enough is enough.
This postmaster, this Lipwig, is an exploiter.
The Golem Trust can't allow it and won't allow it.
Just because you don't need a tea break doesn't mean you're not entitled to one.
Right now the Post Office needs you more than you need it.
There is only one course of action to take in those circumstances.
Strike and strike hard.
So what do we want? OK.
OK, let's go straight to the vote.
All those in favour of an immediate withdrawal of labour raise your hand.
Oh, I see.
I suppose you all think the sun shines out of Lipwig's backside.
Very well.
But don't come running to me when you're so worn out that the only thing you're able to hold is a pot plant.
Adora.
Adora, wait.
How dare you turn my golems against me.
You're the one who said they can't be manipulated.
The brochure is being revised.
Did you know your brother was a spy for Lord Vetinari? You really will say anything just to get my attention.
It's the truth.
Let my brother rest in peace.
Fine, then here's what we'll do.
We'll keep on fighting day and night.
We'll make sure we never share information that could damage the clacks.
That way Reacher Gilt's sure to win.
You think you're the only one who can bring down Reacher Gilt.
The arrogance, the conceit.
I don't need you.
I'll show you just how much I don't need you.
The one-woman crusade, how noble.
You'll see.
The whole city will see.
Good work, lads.
Are we ready, Mr Groat? Just a few more, sir.
Bet you're glad you invented perforations, eh, Stanley? Strange thing is some people are sending letters to themselves.
What? Once the stamp has been through the post it makes it more real.
You see, people are collecting them.
Just like you and your pins, eh? Pins? Oh, pins.
No, pins are just pointy metal things.
Ready to roll, sir.
All you good people of the city.
Now run in conjunction with Hobson's Livery, it gives me great pleasure to crack the whip on the overnight express to Sto Lat.
So much for us having won.
How dare the gods work against me.
I don't remember giving them permission.
Why don't we just concentrate on our own business? Because Lipwig's taking our business.
Look at them.
One artist's impression and they believe.
Of course, posting the letter is one thing.
Making sure it arrives is another thing altogether.
Yah! Yah! Oh, here we go again.
What's up? It's jammed.
Maybe it's iced up.
Better call maintenance.
Oh yeah, yeah.
Like we got three days to waste.
(SPEAKS JIBBERISH) Princess, you've got to come and see this.
I'm looking right at it.
A fault? It seems it's spreading right through the system, which is why we need to shut everything down now.
Shut down the entire clacks? It's the only way.
Did I tell you the good news, Mr Pony? I'm recommending you for a pay rise.
A substantial pay rise.
And I'm pushing for a bonus, too.
That's very generous of you, Mr Gilt.
Nothing less than you deserve, Mr Po- Or may I call you .
.
George.
Problem is, George, I have to answer to the board.
And what will they say when my very next sentence is, "Mr Pony wants to shut down the clacks.
" Well, you don't have to be a boardroom veteran to work that one out, do you? I want you to have that bonus, George.
I really do.
So I'm going to ask you just one more time.
Are you absolutely sure you can't solve this technical hiccough without having to shut down the whole system? Well, maybe we can come at it from a different angle.
By damn it, George, you've talked me into it.
I'll tell the board you've got the whole thing under control.
Your skill and ingenuity will be the saving of the company.
I hadn't budgeted for any pay rises, Reacher.
You won't have to.
Money dangled is much more effective than (BOTH) .
.
money given.
Er, talking of wages.
How much did you pay the banshee in the end? What does it matter? I just need to reconcile my ledger.
You mean you actually intend to write down how much I paid an assassin? I've always done it in the past.
Well, got to keep records, Reacher.
Can't cover your tracks if you don't know where you've left them.
And is that the only ledger? No, I've got dozens of them going back years.
Oh.
I'd love to see them, Horsefry.
Really? Yes.
They're in my office.
Come up any time.
Now, Crispin.
I want to see them.
Now.
Never shown any interest before.
No.
Well, I'm very interested in .
.
settling accounts.
Thank you.
There you are.
So that's what she meant.
Mr Lipwig, sir.
Oh, calamity.
The mail coach is back, sir.
Already? But there's no mail.
And not much coach.
So efficient.
Thank you.
Nice to be appreciated.
What have you done, Horsefry? Er .
.
my job.
Account for things.
Damn you.
Account for this.
Reacher, no! Leave it.
What are you doing? Saving us from prison.
But we have to keep account.
Your job is to hide things, not to declare them for the whole world to see.
Please, Reacher! It is my life's work.
Get off me, you fat fool.
Look at you.
Loose flesh, loose tongue, loose brain.
Just loose everything.
The fact is, Horsefry, you're too stupid to live.
(YELLS) (YELLING / HITTING NOISES) Found the fault yet, Mr Pony? I-I Mr Horsefry was taken ill.
It left a nasty stain on the carpet.
I sent him home.
But can't stand the smell.
Mr Pony, that's not the look of a man who's in for a substantial pay rise.
Better.
Adora, that's a really neat trick you pulled off.
I knew you'd see it my way.
I have no idea what you're talking about.
Freezing the towers.
That was very slick.
The trouble is, right now the Post Office is down, too.
Bandits.
Hmm.
How careless of you.
We need a double whammy.
As you hit the clacks, we can steal their business.
A synchronised attack.
I wouldn't synchronise with you if you were the last person on the Disc.
40 Passing Clouds, please.
You know what? You're right.
You don't need me.
You're more than capable of bringing down Reacher Gilt on your own.
You've got it all under control so I'll just walk away and leave you in peace.
You won't ever hear from me again.
Two Don't you want to know how I did it? Go out onto the Post Office roof.
Get yourself a little bit closer to Heaven.
Then get down on your knees and pray.
You know how to pray, don't you? Just put your hands together and hope.
Hello? She said pray.
Hope you don't mind about the sausage business.
But, to be perfectly honest, I think we both came out of it looking pretty good.
Anyway, I was wondering if - Is this about the rent? Who the hell are you? We paid Mr Groat.
So you'll have to take it up with him.
Forget Groat.
What are you doing on my roof? I'm Mad Al.
He's Sane Alex.
And that's Adrian.
He says he's not mad but you can't prove it, can you? We're pigeon fanciers.
So where are the pigeons? Out flying.
Pigeons don't fly at night.
Bats.
We're trying to breed homing bats.
Bats don't have a homing instinct.
Yes.
Tragic, isn't it? Yeah, because sometimes I come up here at night and I just see their empty little perches.
As all I can do not to cry.
Well, I'm sure Lord Vetinari will be fascinated to hear all about it.
You know, I quite enjoyed seeing you on your knees.
Adora.
The Smoking GNU, actually.
You can really jam the whole clacks system from a pigeon loft? Mm-hmm.
Nice trick.
Trick? This is cutting edge cracking.
Two years in development.
Iterative beta testing.
Culminating in this.
Away you go, boys.
Firing out from here .
.
into the Grand Trunk.
Then Jam.
But before it jams, it's already passed the code on.
So Jam.
Jam.
Jam.
The problem started at this tower.
And I think one of you has been meddling.
Was it him? Was this his idea of a joke? No, sir.
He didn't do anything.
Then it must have been you.
You with a juvenile sense of humour.
(SHRIEKS) Stay back.
I'll have to drop every employee until someone - I've got it.
I know what's happened.
One moment, Mr Pony.
I'm just disposing of some assets.
(SCREAMS) Hey! That's my niece.
Oh, that is useful to know.
It's a strange aperture.
It's jumping off the elliptical bearing.
I can fix it.
If you hit Q and then K, and the resonant frequency to sent it to Genua, when the pressure is higher than ours - Spare me the details.
Can you trace it? Well, there's over 10,000 messages here.
(GROWLS) (SCREAMS) I might be able to find it.
Thank you.
There, there.
(MAD AL) Better stop down now.
When the sun comes up, (WHISPERS) they can see us.
Shh.
See? We can do to the clacks what my stiletto did to your foot.
It's not a bad start.
Not bad? As long as we're sending, Reacher Gilt doesn't earn a single dollar.
Ah, but if we worked together while you're stabbing his foot, I can be picking his pocket.
The great thing about the Post Office is we don't rely on complicated machines.
We have hands and feet.
And .
.
strong ones at that.
Heave away, Mr Pump.
(CHEERING / APPLAUSE) Ladies, gentlemen, don't get caught in the clacks.
Come join us at the Post Office.
We'll get your message delivered.
You see, the clacks system works at the cutting edge of technology.
And in the white heat of progress there are sometimes complications.
But I can assure you there are now all resolved.
Some people are saying - And we'll be providing refunds for any messages that have been lost.
All you have to do is fill in the claim form.
But I do urge your readers not to do anything as rash as writing a letter and sending it by post.
Wouldn't you - You might as well tear it up and scatter it to the four winds.
Mr Gilt, this claim form is 50 pages long.
A help desk will be provided.
But, please, don't get bogged down in the details.
What really matters is we fly high above the bandits.
I will wager my hat of office that the clacks will have broken down by sunset tonight.
(APPLAUSE) And when we win, I'll burn his ludicrous hat of office in this.
Now to collect on that wager.
Ready to stick the stiletto in? The pleasure's all ours.
So, how long does it take? (MAD AL) It should have got to the first tower already.
I must say, it's looking distinctly underwhelming.
It's alright leaving us.
So much for iterative beta testing.
Don't shout at me.
I'm not shouting.
I'm just calmly stating.
Well, just don't.
Is it possible they could have .
.
cracked our code? Just as I was beginning to like the hat.
Stop whining, Lipwig.
I'm not whining, I'm just - I'd like to know why the GNU isn't smoking.
I'm sure you've talked your way out of worse situations before.
That was the old Lipwig, remember? I'm a changed man now.
Mr Lipwig, sir.
Mr oh.
Mr Lipwig, sir.
Mr Groat.
I imagine Gilt's demanding the hat.
You're not gonna let them have it, are you? What's that I hear? Nothing.
Moist Von Lipwig has nothing to say.
Have we lost everything? (GASPS) Relax, Mr Groat.
I'm not done yet.
All I have to do .
.
is attempt the impossible.
As you can see, the sun has set and the clacks system is working perfectly.
All that remains is for the Postmaster to admit defeat.
But where is he? Another empty promise.
Now, don't get me wrong.
I have a fondness for the quaint old Post Office.
It's part of our history.
But, really, that is where it belongs.
Did someone ask for me? Ah, Postmaster.
Just in time.
The fire was getting low.
Well .
.
if you're too scared to rise to the challenge.
Have it.
Challenge? An overnight race from here to Uberwald.
The clacks versus the post.
That's over a thousand miles away.
1,700 miles, to be precise, Miss Cripslock.
Mr Gilt, do you accept the challenge? Accept? How could the clacks possibly lose? Well, you've made quite a splash.
As the fish said to the man with the lead weight tied to his feet.
(LAUGHS) Perhaps I'm missing something.
No, my lord, it's a straight race.
But you can't possibly win.
I agree, it won't be easy.
And I must insist that the race is run fairly with strict rules.
I have no intention of cheating.
And I ask for no favours.
All I ask is that when I win, Reacher Gilt hands over the entire clacks network.
(CHUCKLES) Very well.
But I have a condition of my own.
If you lose, Mr Lipwig, you hang.
Really? It seems a little harsh.
But fair.
If you lose, you will have outlived your usefulness.
Having second thoughts, Postmaster? Let's race.
Very good, sir.
The worried look.
Very convincing.
Throws them off the scent.
Yes.
But how do you know I'm not really worried? Because you're the man who got money out of the gods, sir.
Ah.
Yeah.
Supposing I did that with a trick? Damn good trick, sir, damn good.
A man who can trick money out of the gods is capable of anything, sir.
Mr Groat.
Hmm? What if I told you that, er There's no way a coach can get to Uberwald faster than the clacks machines? Of course you have to say that, sir.
Because the walls have ears, eh? Mum's the word.
(SIGHS) Everything? Everything.
But there's 15 years of work here.
He's grown out of pins.
Sir, pins are for life.
They stick with you.
He's starting a new life.
Isn't that right, Stanley? So.
(CLEARS THROAT) How much? Dave, what do you think about stamps? So what's the plan? How can you possibly win? Hmm? Friction.
The coach will be so shiny it'll glide through the air.
Meanwhile back in the real world(!) The Post Office is a hopeless underdog.
Ah, but the underdog can always find somewhere soft to bite.
This is no time for witty banter.
We're not on a date.
Do you have a plan? Do you trust me? No.
Do you have a plan? Of course.
We got 50-1.
50-1, sir.
You haven't done anything silly, I hope.
No, no, no.
I took all me savings, Stanley here sold his pin collection and we put the whole lot on you to win the race.
The whole lot? Erm Perhaps that wasn't so wise.
50-1.
But we don't want to appear greedy.
Do we? I mean, we want to keep the moral high ground.
Bugger the moral high ground.
We'll be rich.
It's all thanks to your inspired plan, sir.
Mr Groat.
What? Let's go and see if the golems want to cash in.
Good idea, lad.
Oh, my God.
There is no inspired plan.
There.
Right between your eyes.
The next time I see you, that's where I'm aiming.
Messages can be blocked.
I trust you have discovered Lipwig's plan.
I'm afraid not, sir.
Only a fool would challenge the clacks with a horse and cart.
He must have a trick up his sleeve.
Now what is it? All I can promise you, sir, is the clacks won't let you down.
We're clearing all messages off the system, running double bandwidth, I'm putting all my best operators - You just remember, if I'm made to look a fool, your pretty little niece will rue the day her Uncle Pony got her a job at the clacks! Archchancellor Ridcully, my lord.
This had better be important, I'm in the middle of an experiment.
Involving a knife and fork, no doubt.
I wouldn't expect a layman to understand the pressures of university life.
Incredible though it may seem, we have found a practical use for one of your magical devices.
Have you? The object in question is An Omniscope, my lord.
Enabling us to see things at a distance, I believe.
The Omniscope is a highly complex, very unstable piece of equipment.
You mean, it doesn't work? Well Relatively speaking, it works.
Excellent, kindly have it up and running by dawn tomorrow.
Now, listen, magic is not some workmen's tool that you can hire out by the hour.
Just as well, because I wasn't intending to pay you.
Can I help? Mr Pony.
Miss Adora.
How have you been? It's nice to see you after all these years.
I'm sorry I never came to your father's funeral.
It didn't seem right.
What happened wasn't your fault.
You must hate me for staying on at the clacks.
You're just doing your job, Mr Pony.
The truth is, clacks is run on blood now.
There's not a day goes by when I wouldn't like to throw my resignation in Reacher Gilt's face.
I'm 58.
Twinges in my knuckles, a sick wife and a bad back.
You have to think twice, don't you, before such gestures? My father always said you were a good man.
And a great engineer.
I'm sure he was right.
No.
Your father was a great engineer.
Gilt tried to burn these.
I'm sure you'll know what to do with them.
I'm sorry.
Stand by to repel borders.
(SNIFFS) Adora? If this is about what I said earlier They killed him.
They killed John and they put his name in a debit column.
(SOBS) These people, they .
.
they get away with murder and everyone just looks the other way.
No, not everyone.
Just because you were right, doesn't mean you have to gloat.
Forget gloating.
Now I really do have a plan.
Go away! All you do is talk of plans.
Crazy, non-existent plans.
What sort of man are you? Adora, just listen to me.
Give me the crossbow.
Those ledgers are the key to everything! Just hear me out.
If you don't like the plan, be my guest.
Shoot.
This had better be good.
Now then, boys, you take the message and ride hell-for-leather to Uberwald.
But how are we going to get to Uberwald overnight, sir? You're not, Mr Groat.
Does that mean you're going to hang, Mr Lipwig? Not if I can help it.
I have a plan, Stan.
I need you to take a little detour.
There is a derelict clacks tower and I need you to deliver some canvas and ropes and rigging.
Rigging? Is this about boats, sir.
Only I can't do boats.
I get very seasick.
Not boats, Mr Groat.
Sails.
We are going to block out their message with a sail.
Block it out? Won't they notice? Not if we put our own message in its place.
Sorry, sir, could you run that by me again? Yeah.
I got a bit lost at sail.
(APPLAUSE) Hello! Hello, Ankh-Morpork! Welcome to the great race! Lovely to see you all! Hello! Hello.
Nice entrance.
It will make up for your ignominious exit.
Hello, sir.
(APPLAUSE) Citizens of Ankh-Morpork.
As per Lord Vetinari's directive number P1500 - We know why we are here.
To witness a great race! The Postmaster has challenged the clacks.
(CHEERING / APPLAUSE) Two identical messages must be delivered to Uberwald.
The wizard's Omniscope will show us the finish line.
(OMNISCOPE RUMBLES) (CROWD SHRIEK) Get it ready by sunrise, Ridcully, which is when I expect to win.
And to show the spirit of fair play, we have graciously allowed the Post Office to choose the message.
I thought long and hard about an appropriate message.
And then, I remembered how nice it is to receive a parcel.
So, why not a book? (CROWD "AH") The authorised, illustrated biography of Lord Vetinari.
(APPLAUSE) You think yourself so clever, It'll buy you a few hours at best.
Our message will still be there by dawn, while your lumbering coach will get bogged down in some godforsaken marsh.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
(CROWD CHEER) Ready when you are, my lord.
(BLOWS HORN) (CHEERING / APPLAUSE) Get clacksing! (BANGS TABLE) Come on, move it! If we win this race (BANGS TABLE) .
.
you can have a half-day holiday! Come on! Get on with it.
You took a while.
I had to stop a couple of times, all that bumping and jolting, my bladder's not what it used to be.
If we don't get this sail rigged before they start sending, we're done for.
Yeah, alright.
OK! Ready? Hoist it up, lads.
Quick as you can.
Alright! Come on, let's get a wriggle on here! (GROANS) Where are ya? Here, look, stick your boot in there, will you? Still here, Mr Groat? I'm not built for parcel post, sir.
Now, you know what to do? Ride like the clappers, sir.
Good man, stop for nothing.
The mail must get through! No gloom of night.
Hey, Mr Lipwig.
Exactly, Stanley, no gloom of night.
C-C-Can I say, sir, even if we lose and the Post Office collapses, and all this was in vain - And you get hanged.
Yes, sir, even dead, you are still the best Postmaster we have ever had.
(SNIFFS) That's very touching, Mr Groat.
But I'm not dead yet.
Good luck, boys.
Why aren't we sending?! I want to see those lights flashing! Where's Mr Pony? Get me Pony! That's what I love about the Dearhearts.
Perfect alignment.
Any message coming out of there comes straight through us.
Time to create some interference.
OK, 14! Number 14! 14's good.
Number 15? OK, there is a snag on 15! It's stuck! It's stuck! Where's the hammer? I put it back in the toolbox.
It's not here! It's in there! In the spanner drawer! Yeah, it's still the toolbox! And who would look for a hammer in the spanner drawer? Boys! We haven't got time for this! A place for everything and everything in its place! If you say that one more time, I'll find another place for the hammer! Oh, for God's sake, look! They're sending! Let's go, come on! Grand Trunk are sending the message.
Hurry up! Pull it up! (STRUGGLES) Come on boys, pull! It's stuck! Pull it! Keep pulling! It's stuck on something! If you want something done properly (SCREAMS) Oh no, up we go! Strange.
The signal's stopped.
No, it can't have, this is top priority.
Send! Send! For God's sake, start sending! It's OK.
They're sending again.
Yes! Yes! They've taken the bait! (LAUGHS) They're passing it on! (BOTH LAUGH) Adora! Adora! I'm coming for you! (SCREAMS) (THEY LAUGH) What kept you? Adora I don't suppose now would be a good time to ask you something? Well, I can hardly walk away.
Will you marry me? You are forgetting .
.
we still have a race to win.
That's not exactly a rejection.
Not exactly.
Hang on! Down you get, Mr Lipwig.
You're under arrest.
What for now? Same as last time.
Doing a runner.
But- but I've come back.
Let's keep it that way.
Lord Vetinari's orders.
Listen.
(GROWLS) (CHATTER) (CHEERING / APPLAUSE) Nice you have you with us again, sir.
Same last words as before? I'm rather hoping there'll be a different outcome this time.
Keep your hands off.
Let's see some magic, please.
It'll come in a moment.
Please don't touch it.
There we are.
We need to read the ticker-tape, Archchancellor.
Nobody said anything about a close-up.
Can't you just move it in? Just move it in? This is a highly sophisticated magical apparatus.
There we are.
I think we have a winner, my lord.
Mm-hmm.
Uberwald receiving station, message as follows.
"Havelock Vetinari was born into a wealthy and influential family.
" There we have it, my lord.
The message has arrived, delivered on time by clacks technology.
The clacks has won.
Never mind, sir.
It could be worse.
How, exactly? Well, we've got a good crowd, lots of press.
They'd even promised me a review in "What Gallows?".
Pull the lever, Mr Trooper.
No, wait.
The message hasn't finished yet.
They're playing for time! My Lord, it's clear the race is over.
I demand my prize.
My last words! I haven't had my last words.
If he must.
(APPLAUSE) Strange as it may seem, as I stand here on the verge of oblivion I have a great sense of relief.
I no longer fear the worst because, frankly, the worst has happened.
And although I may not have always been a model citizen, finally I've been made to see the error of my ways.
Not by the heavy hand of the law, but by the gentle touch of .
.
well.
By the gentlest touch of all.
Very nice, sir.
Stand by.
No, there's more.
(DRUMKNOTT) Where's it gone? It's not coming back.
Give it a moment.
Don't breathe on it.
The man who has never known love has never really lived.
Get on with it.
But worst is the man who avoids love.
Too true.
Well said, sir.
Now Because the man who runs from love and all its trials and tribulations, that man is just conning himself, swindling himself out of true Ah.
There we are.
.
.
happiness.
Sorry to interrupt, my lord.
I wish someone would.
I'm not quite sure what this means but I think you ought to hear it.
Message continues.
"We are the voice of the dead.
" "The ghosts of those who met a bloody end.
" That's enough.
The race is finished.
"Postmaster Mutable pushed from the fifth floor.
" "Postmaster Sideburn, his neck broken.
" Pack it all away! Touch nothing.
"John Dearheart, flung to his death from a tower.
" "And Crispin Horsefry, clubbed to death by Reacher Gilt.
" Turn it off! "Here follow the facts and figures proving fraud, embezzlement and murder.
" "The full record of the clandestine dealings of Reacher Gilt.
" My Lord, they're lying.
Lying.
Who are they, exactly? They're only reading what has been delivered by you.
The message has originated from your own company which makes it a confession.
I confess nothing! (CROWD GASPS) Lipwig! Your safety is my concern, Mr Lipwig.
Your safety is my concern.
Arrest Reacher Gilt.
He appears to have vanished, my lord.
Find him.
An ingenious plan, Mr Lipwig.
And most effective.
Which is why I have agreed to your request to hand over ownership of the clacks back to the Dearheart family.
Just sign here.
And here.
No need to thank me.
However, as the two of you now run all communications in and out of this city, should I find that my long-range game of thud is interrupted I shall come looking for one of you to blame.
I wonder which one it will be.
(SNORTS) By the way, you look great.
Colour really suits you.
Thank you.
Is that as sore as it looks? Oh, it's not the first time I've been hanged.
A bad habit to get into.
I'll tell you what, I'll give up hanging if you give up smoking.
Too late.
I already quit.
You did that for me? Why on earth would you think that? Adora .
.
those things I said on the gallows when I was staring death in the face about the gentlest touch of all.
You do know I meant every word? Yes.
It's amazing the rubbish some people spout when they're trying to save their lives.
Or trying to get a kiss.
Of course, we can't do this.
What now? Conflict of interest.
You're the Post Office, I'm the clacks.
We're rivals.
Which throws up some very interesting possibilities of a corporate merger, don't you think? Maybe.
Well, I'd certainly like to get my hands on your assets.
Keep your hands as far away from my assets as humanly possibly.
Ah, Mr Gilt.
I see you are awake.
I don't know what you're talking about.
My name is Merryforth Truman and .
.
I've got papers to prove it.
Some wonderful papers they are too, Mr Gilt.
But enough of that.
I've brought you here because I want to talk to you about angels.
(KNOCKING) Come.
Excuse me, my lord.
I've got a letter here for Merryforth Truman.
Strewth.
He was here, but sadly he didn't believe in angels.
Oh.
Well, that's a bit of an embuggerance.
accessibility@bskyb.
com We did it, Mr Groat.
Home sweet home.
Stanley, it's not only the race we won.
The bet, remember.
50-1.
Blimey, we're rich.
Let's have the betting slip, then.
I gave it to you, Mr Groat.
Hey? Oh, yes.
I've got it here somewhere.
You can't have lost it, Mr Groat.
50-1.
50-1.
No, of course.
I remember now.
I've put it somewhere safe.
I, erm .
.
I hid it under the mattress.
Which mattress? The one in that tavern.
Which tavern, Mr Groat? You remember, that (GROANS) .
.
that nice one in Uberwald.
Oh! Uberwald Mr Groat, Mr Groat! Get in the carriage, Mr Groat!
There's always a price.
There's always a way.
(BELL RINGS) Rob, trick, forge, embezzle.
I can't deny I did every con in the book.
(GROWL) I'm offering you a new life.
The Job in question is to re-open th Ankh-Morpork Post Office.
Looks like some other fool has be suckered into running the Post Office.
But why me? I'm just a con man.
Because Wheels are in motion Mr.
Lipwig.
Wheels within Wheels.
Um, this is Mr.
Lipwig.
The new Postmaster.
Moist Von Lipwig.
That's quite a name.
They say the Post Office has a curse on it.
The last four Post Masters have diedIn dreadful circumstances.
The first Post Master, fell from the fifth floor.
Smack Sir, smack onto the marbel hea first.
It was like a melon hitting (SQUELCH) I get the picture.
(SCREAM) The Post Officeis back in business.
I don't suppose you'd like to have dinner tonight? With you? No.
This Post Masteris a nuisance.
This is where my brother John died.
Three years ago He was a clacksman, until someone pushed him from up there.
Deal with him for me.
My Pleasure (AGGRESSIVE HISS) You ruined my family.
(Adora, I'm sorry.
) (You're a liar and a cheat!) (There are no lies left!) The Post Office is burning! (PANTING) You've got to save Stanley I amThe Killer! (SCREAMS) This is a Post Office Closure! (EXPLOSION)(GLASS SHATTERING) You know what they say? Hear the cry of a banshee and die! Actuallyit's banshee cries, somebody dies.
Today, it's you! Missed both my hearts.
I do love postmasters.
Killing them is so lucrative.
(YELLS) Who's paying you? Not everyone can afford assassin of calibre.
I deal with all Reacher's loose ends.
Gilt.
The Dearheart boy screamed like a pig.
Screamed like a pig! Till he struck the ground.
Time to shut up shop, Postmaster.
This is not Reacher Gilt's Post Office to close.
It belongs to the city.
How dare he come in here and destroy it.
(WHISPERING VOICES) Oh, please! Can't I even die in peace? I mean, I'm no angel, but him? He's a devil.
(YELLS) "Upon discovery of fire, remain calm.
" (COUGHS) "Shout 'fire' in a loud, clear voice.
" Fire! Stanley.
"If trapped .
.
await A, rescue or B, death.
" Straightforward enough.
(WHISTLES) A it is, then.
Come on.
(WHISPERING VOICES) I owe you.
Where are the fire brigade? We have no insurance.
What? I'm sorry, sir, it was fire insurance or food.
Where are the buckets then? This is beyond buckets, Mr Lipwig.
(VIOLIN PLAYS MOURNFULLY) Hmm! Adora.
Care for a dance? A dance? With you? A self-centred skuggem with the moral fibre of a A rat? A rat.
Thank you.
My pleasure.
(SHRIEKS) (SHRIEKS) Let me go! Not until I've told you what's really going on.
You destroyed my family, that's what's going on.
That was an accident.
I can put it right.
You don't know the meaning of the word "right".
Those dead postmasters, Gilt had them killed.
He tried to kill me, too.
Who'd have thought I had something in common with Reacher Gilt? Adora, he murdered your brother.
John wore a safety line, but he fell to his death.
It doesn't make sense, unless you hire a flying banshee to push him.
And banshees are Gilt's weapon of choice.
You've got proof? Of course.
Well, the banshee was my proof.
He knew everything.
Except how to be fireproof.
How convenient! Even so, I think I can bring down Reacher Gilt.
All talk and no action, as usual.
Adora, will you trust me just this once? (SHE KNEES HIM) Oh! Does that answer your question? Any comment to go with the picture, Mr Lipwig? Reacher.
Marvellous, isn't it? A bit .
.
extreme? The point is, Horsefry, we've won.
We've won.
Well, I suppose that's one way to deal with the backlog.
How can you joke? That's our life.
And it's gone.
Be brave, Mr Groat.
There's our customers over there.
Sending clacks, we've lost them.
Then we'll just have to win them back again, won't we? Come on, Mr Groat.
The Post Office is open as usual.
A bit more open than usual, I would say.
Number four delivery, proceed.
Number four delivery.
Stan! Aggy! Not many of us old postmen left now, Mr Groat.
We help out the best we can in the post's hour of need.
See? People love the Post Office.
So (CLEARS THROAT) Get your men organised, Deputy Postmaster Groat.
I want them Did you say deputy postmaster, sir? I did.
And, what's more, I want your men out on the streets delivering the mail today.
Yes, sir.
Looks like the clacks is down again.
This really is my lucky day.
Special today, ladies and gentlemen, mail to Pseudopolis reduced to three pence.
Three pence only.
And if anyone has a message already stuck in the clacks, we'll deliver it for free.
No matter how hard I scrape my shoe, Lipwig remains stuck to it.
It says here he was unscathed.
Does this mean we have to try again? No.
He may be alive, but he's yesterday's man.
Knowing Lipwig, he'll rebuild.
With what? It'll cost a fortune.
And the Post Office is bankrupt.
Nevertheless, people .
.
seem to have a fondness for the post.
My latest innovation will change all that.
Innovation? We closed down research and development years ago.
This isn't about research, Horsefry.
This is about dazzling the masses with a bauble.
I believe the respectable term is .
.
marketing.
(FANFARE PLAYS) We are proud to usher in a new era.
The mobile era.
A network of towers like this will move around Discworld as demand requires.
This doesn't look good.
In future, if you can't get to a clacks tower, the clacks tower will be brought to you.
Full coverage for the entire Disc.
Mr Gilt, today's increase in the price of clacks messages is the fifth this year.
Surely that is extortion.
This is the future of long-distance communication, and new technology is not cheap.
Would you really have that when you can have this? But he had the Post Office destroyed.
(LIPWIG) We have no proof, Mr Pump.
We must do something.
Follow me.
(CROWD GASPS) Arrest those men! For what? Vandalising clacks property.
I think you'll find the only offence here is trespass.
Your map was being paraded on Post Office property.
I'll see you paraded through hell, Lipwig.
Are you going to send another assassin to sort me out? Assassin? I have no idea what you're talking about.
Mr Gryle and I had a very interesting chat.
I know exactly what you've been up to.
Where's your proof? All in good time.
You're such a fraud.
And you're such a murderer.
(CROWD EXCLAIMS) That is slander.
This is a declaration of war.
Can I quote you on that? If you want a quote, Miss Cripslock, try this.
Neither rain nor fire can stop the post.
Very stirring.
But his quote had "war" in it.
Fine talk, sir.
Fine talk.
You do give a good bite of sound.
If you don't mind me saying, it's bugger all help.
I know, I know.
They come through with a new technological breakthrough.
"A modern miracle that will change communications for ever.
" And we haven't even got a roof.
Oh, one decent downpour and all this will be papier-mache.
Big roofs cost big money.
That's it, Mr Groat.
Rain.
Rainy days.
The problem with people who put money away for a rainy day is they never know when it's raining.
(LAUGHS) Well, I think it's about to pour.
Stress.
It does funny things to a man.
Sausage? Mrs Leakall's Premium Reserve sausages.
A special offering.
Because I have a special prayer.
Well, you're off to a good start.
Tell me, how do you actually get the sausages up there? Frying.
The gift of sausages ascends onto Offler, the sacred crocodile, by means of smell.
And then you eat the sausage? A common misconception.
But the true sausagidity goes to Offler.
He eats the essence of the sausages.
While we priests eat the earthly shell.
That would explain why the smell of sausages is always better than the actual taste, perhaps.
You should have been a theologian.
So, what is your prayer to accompany Mrs Leakall's finest? Just the usual.
Pennies from heaven.
$150,000 to be precise.
Might take more than a few sausages to get something that specific.
But let's give it a shot.
(MOIST) Post! Post! Good work, Stanley.
That'll do it.
Forwards, Stanley, forwards.
Post.
Post.
Come on.
Everyone loves getting a letter.
I think it's best you stay away from Miss Adora.
Stay away? I can't do that, she loves me.
But she just tried to kill you.
Well, the human heart is a complex thing, Mr Pump.
Love, hate, they're just a breath apart.
She doesn't know it yet, but she loves me.
(WHISTLES) Mr Pump.
That's your third delivery today.
Many letters survived the fire.
We are working round the clock to deliver them.
Round the clock? Without a break.
That is how much we believe in Postmaster Lipwig.
But that's exploitation.
The Golem Trust can't allow it.
You misunderstand.
We volunteered.
Volunteered? That is the worst form of exploitation.
Rats.
What are you doing, Horsefry? I need it for my budget.
Budget? I need to know how many towers we're going to build.
Do you know what I really like about you, Horsefry? Your naivety.
Sorry, don't quite get you.
We put up the clacks charges to finance a fleet of towers, right? But we don't actually build any.
So the extra revenue becomes pure profit.
But won't people want to see some towers? Well, we'll wheel out that fancy model every now and then, give the idiots some eye candy to gawp at.
Meanwhile, the mobile clacks project is officially in development.
Shame.
I thought it was a good idea.
Horsefry, Horsefry.
They aim of business is? Erm Not to provide a good service, but to provide the Only.
.
.
only service.
They seem very taken with the new-fangled towers, sir.
It's the oldest trick in the book.
Dazzle the punter with a pretty picture.
What's a punter? They haven't even built the mobiles yet, have they? It's all promise.
Know what happens to promises.
Will the people ever come back to us? How would they be able to resist when we have our new state-of-the-art Post Office? Not in our lifetime.
You underestimate me, Mr Groat.
I don't want to hurt your feelings, but praying for money is a bit desperate, don't you think? There's a god out there for everyone.
The trick is hooking up with - Mr Lipwig! Mr Lipwig! Mr Lipwig! The light.
The wonderful light.
Glory be to Offler.
The sacred crocodile god.
Oh! He's blind.
He's blind.
Mr Lipwig, sir.
Mr Lipwig! Mr Lipwig! One regular white, one skinny Klatchian.
And two figgins, please.
(GROAT) Somebody call a doctor.
Can you see nothing at all? Are you totally blind? Only blind to this world, my friend.
Now I perceive the inner truth.
Yes.
The angels of Offler .
.
whisper onto me.
One hundred and .
.
fifty thousand dollars.
Buried in a forest.
Offler.
I am not worthy.
Let the angels choose a holy witness.
Me, me! (ALL SHOUT) I'll give you the front page.
You .
.
are chosen.
Offler says to the hop gate.
And bring a shovel.
(MOIST INTONES) (GROAT) Divine intervention.
Show me the way! The praying man.
It is here.
The praying man under the praying tree.
Looks like an elephant to me.
(ALL SHOUT HERETIC) Well, now you mention it, I can definitely see a praying man.
(ALL EXCLAIM) (ALL GO QUIET) (MAN MUTTERS) He can see.
What's going on? You're under arrest, that's what's going on.
(YELPS) Hello again.
(STANLEY) Mr Lipwig.
I demand you step aside.
Can't you wait until Mr Lipwig returns? Mr Lipwig is in breach of contract.
But we golems are satisfied with him.
You've been manipulated by him.
Not manipulated.
Persuaded.
Now you're making me angry.
Pump 19.
I will assemble the golems.
Mr Lipwig.
You've had a most strenuous day, have you not? Can't be as strenuous as signing death warrants.
Joke.
Oh, I'm sorry, I hadn't realised.
Do tell me if you feel obliged to make another.
To be honest, today has all been a bit of a blur.
There's $150,000 buried in the forest.
And you have no idea how it got there.
It's miraculous.
A remarkable coincidence that it is precisely the sum of money that was hidden by a notorious conman.
Conman? Who was that then? We hanged him.
He's dead.
Isn't he? Yes.
He's dead.
Excellent.
So, as this money is a gift from the gods, it should be used for the public good, should it not? The eyes, Mr Lipwig.
Hmm? You can trust me.
Oh, that.
Made from turtle egg shells.
Ingenious.
Thank you.
I meant me for making you postmaster.
Ah.
Marvellous.
Mr Lipwig.
But if I'm to restore the Post Office, I have to pay the builders.
Send the bills to Drumknott.
Your job is to make sure that Reacher Gilt is in no position to burn the Post Office down again.
He's a murderer.
An accusation for which you have hard evidence? Your spies could find some evidence, no doubt.
Spies? I did hear there was a man on the inside.
But he was dropped from his position.
Quite literally.
John Dearheart was your spy? He was a spy.
But he didn't get very far.
Perhaps if he'd possessed the agile mind of a conman, he might have had more success as a spy.
You think I'm some thug piece to be moved around at your leisure? Precisely.
No.
I won't be your spy.
Shame.
Miss Dearheart would have been impressed.
(ADORA) Indeed it is the very essence of golem.
But enough is enough.
This postmaster, this Lipwig, is an exploiter.
The Golem Trust can't allow it and won't allow it.
Just because you don't need a tea break doesn't mean you're not entitled to one.
Right now the Post Office needs you more than you need it.
There is only one course of action to take in those circumstances.
Strike and strike hard.
So what do we want? OK.
OK, let's go straight to the vote.
All those in favour of an immediate withdrawal of labour raise your hand.
Oh, I see.
I suppose you all think the sun shines out of Lipwig's backside.
Very well.
But don't come running to me when you're so worn out that the only thing you're able to hold is a pot plant.
Adora.
Adora, wait.
How dare you turn my golems against me.
You're the one who said they can't be manipulated.
The brochure is being revised.
Did you know your brother was a spy for Lord Vetinari? You really will say anything just to get my attention.
It's the truth.
Let my brother rest in peace.
Fine, then here's what we'll do.
We'll keep on fighting day and night.
We'll make sure we never share information that could damage the clacks.
That way Reacher Gilt's sure to win.
You think you're the only one who can bring down Reacher Gilt.
The arrogance, the conceit.
I don't need you.
I'll show you just how much I don't need you.
The one-woman crusade, how noble.
You'll see.
The whole city will see.
Good work, lads.
Are we ready, Mr Groat? Just a few more, sir.
Bet you're glad you invented perforations, eh, Stanley? Strange thing is some people are sending letters to themselves.
What? Once the stamp has been through the post it makes it more real.
You see, people are collecting them.
Just like you and your pins, eh? Pins? Oh, pins.
No, pins are just pointy metal things.
Ready to roll, sir.
All you good people of the city.
Now run in conjunction with Hobson's Livery, it gives me great pleasure to crack the whip on the overnight express to Sto Lat.
So much for us having won.
How dare the gods work against me.
I don't remember giving them permission.
Why don't we just concentrate on our own business? Because Lipwig's taking our business.
Look at them.
One artist's impression and they believe.
Of course, posting the letter is one thing.
Making sure it arrives is another thing altogether.
Yah! Yah! Oh, here we go again.
What's up? It's jammed.
Maybe it's iced up.
Better call maintenance.
Oh yeah, yeah.
Like we got three days to waste.
(SPEAKS JIBBERISH) Princess, you've got to come and see this.
I'm looking right at it.
A fault? It seems it's spreading right through the system, which is why we need to shut everything down now.
Shut down the entire clacks? It's the only way.
Did I tell you the good news, Mr Pony? I'm recommending you for a pay rise.
A substantial pay rise.
And I'm pushing for a bonus, too.
That's very generous of you, Mr Gilt.
Nothing less than you deserve, Mr Po- Or may I call you .
.
George.
Problem is, George, I have to answer to the board.
And what will they say when my very next sentence is, "Mr Pony wants to shut down the clacks.
" Well, you don't have to be a boardroom veteran to work that one out, do you? I want you to have that bonus, George.
I really do.
So I'm going to ask you just one more time.
Are you absolutely sure you can't solve this technical hiccough without having to shut down the whole system? Well, maybe we can come at it from a different angle.
By damn it, George, you've talked me into it.
I'll tell the board you've got the whole thing under control.
Your skill and ingenuity will be the saving of the company.
I hadn't budgeted for any pay rises, Reacher.
You won't have to.
Money dangled is much more effective than (BOTH) .
.
money given.
Er, talking of wages.
How much did you pay the banshee in the end? What does it matter? I just need to reconcile my ledger.
You mean you actually intend to write down how much I paid an assassin? I've always done it in the past.
Well, got to keep records, Reacher.
Can't cover your tracks if you don't know where you've left them.
And is that the only ledger? No, I've got dozens of them going back years.
Oh.
I'd love to see them, Horsefry.
Really? Yes.
They're in my office.
Come up any time.
Now, Crispin.
I want to see them.
Now.
Never shown any interest before.
No.
Well, I'm very interested in .
.
settling accounts.
Thank you.
There you are.
So that's what she meant.
Mr Lipwig, sir.
Oh, calamity.
The mail coach is back, sir.
Already? But there's no mail.
And not much coach.
So efficient.
Thank you.
Nice to be appreciated.
What have you done, Horsefry? Er .
.
my job.
Account for things.
Damn you.
Account for this.
Reacher, no! Leave it.
What are you doing? Saving us from prison.
But we have to keep account.
Your job is to hide things, not to declare them for the whole world to see.
Please, Reacher! It is my life's work.
Get off me, you fat fool.
Look at you.
Loose flesh, loose tongue, loose brain.
Just loose everything.
The fact is, Horsefry, you're too stupid to live.
(YELLS) (YELLING / HITTING NOISES) Found the fault yet, Mr Pony? I-I Mr Horsefry was taken ill.
It left a nasty stain on the carpet.
I sent him home.
But can't stand the smell.
Mr Pony, that's not the look of a man who's in for a substantial pay rise.
Better.
Adora, that's a really neat trick you pulled off.
I knew you'd see it my way.
I have no idea what you're talking about.
Freezing the towers.
That was very slick.
The trouble is, right now the Post Office is down, too.
Bandits.
Hmm.
How careless of you.
We need a double whammy.
As you hit the clacks, we can steal their business.
A synchronised attack.
I wouldn't synchronise with you if you were the last person on the Disc.
40 Passing Clouds, please.
You know what? You're right.
You don't need me.
You're more than capable of bringing down Reacher Gilt on your own.
You've got it all under control so I'll just walk away and leave you in peace.
You won't ever hear from me again.
Two Don't you want to know how I did it? Go out onto the Post Office roof.
Get yourself a little bit closer to Heaven.
Then get down on your knees and pray.
You know how to pray, don't you? Just put your hands together and hope.
Hello? She said pray.
Hope you don't mind about the sausage business.
But, to be perfectly honest, I think we both came out of it looking pretty good.
Anyway, I was wondering if - Is this about the rent? Who the hell are you? We paid Mr Groat.
So you'll have to take it up with him.
Forget Groat.
What are you doing on my roof? I'm Mad Al.
He's Sane Alex.
And that's Adrian.
He says he's not mad but you can't prove it, can you? We're pigeon fanciers.
So where are the pigeons? Out flying.
Pigeons don't fly at night.
Bats.
We're trying to breed homing bats.
Bats don't have a homing instinct.
Yes.
Tragic, isn't it? Yeah, because sometimes I come up here at night and I just see their empty little perches.
As all I can do not to cry.
Well, I'm sure Lord Vetinari will be fascinated to hear all about it.
You know, I quite enjoyed seeing you on your knees.
Adora.
The Smoking GNU, actually.
You can really jam the whole clacks system from a pigeon loft? Mm-hmm.
Nice trick.
Trick? This is cutting edge cracking.
Two years in development.
Iterative beta testing.
Culminating in this.
Away you go, boys.
Firing out from here .
.
into the Grand Trunk.
Then Jam.
But before it jams, it's already passed the code on.
So Jam.
Jam.
Jam.
The problem started at this tower.
And I think one of you has been meddling.
Was it him? Was this his idea of a joke? No, sir.
He didn't do anything.
Then it must have been you.
You with a juvenile sense of humour.
(SHRIEKS) Stay back.
I'll have to drop every employee until someone - I've got it.
I know what's happened.
One moment, Mr Pony.
I'm just disposing of some assets.
(SCREAMS) Hey! That's my niece.
Oh, that is useful to know.
It's a strange aperture.
It's jumping off the elliptical bearing.
I can fix it.
If you hit Q and then K, and the resonant frequency to sent it to Genua, when the pressure is higher than ours - Spare me the details.
Can you trace it? Well, there's over 10,000 messages here.
(GROWLS) (SCREAMS) I might be able to find it.
Thank you.
There, there.
(MAD AL) Better stop down now.
When the sun comes up, (WHISPERS) they can see us.
Shh.
See? We can do to the clacks what my stiletto did to your foot.
It's not a bad start.
Not bad? As long as we're sending, Reacher Gilt doesn't earn a single dollar.
Ah, but if we worked together while you're stabbing his foot, I can be picking his pocket.
The great thing about the Post Office is we don't rely on complicated machines.
We have hands and feet.
And .
.
strong ones at that.
Heave away, Mr Pump.
(CHEERING / APPLAUSE) Ladies, gentlemen, don't get caught in the clacks.
Come join us at the Post Office.
We'll get your message delivered.
You see, the clacks system works at the cutting edge of technology.
And in the white heat of progress there are sometimes complications.
But I can assure you there are now all resolved.
Some people are saying - And we'll be providing refunds for any messages that have been lost.
All you have to do is fill in the claim form.
But I do urge your readers not to do anything as rash as writing a letter and sending it by post.
Wouldn't you - You might as well tear it up and scatter it to the four winds.
Mr Gilt, this claim form is 50 pages long.
A help desk will be provided.
But, please, don't get bogged down in the details.
What really matters is we fly high above the bandits.
I will wager my hat of office that the clacks will have broken down by sunset tonight.
(APPLAUSE) And when we win, I'll burn his ludicrous hat of office in this.
Now to collect on that wager.
Ready to stick the stiletto in? The pleasure's all ours.
So, how long does it take? (MAD AL) It should have got to the first tower already.
I must say, it's looking distinctly underwhelming.
It's alright leaving us.
So much for iterative beta testing.
Don't shout at me.
I'm not shouting.
I'm just calmly stating.
Well, just don't.
Is it possible they could have .
.
cracked our code? Just as I was beginning to like the hat.
Stop whining, Lipwig.
I'm not whining, I'm just - I'd like to know why the GNU isn't smoking.
I'm sure you've talked your way out of worse situations before.
That was the old Lipwig, remember? I'm a changed man now.
Mr Lipwig, sir.
Mr oh.
Mr Lipwig, sir.
Mr Groat.
I imagine Gilt's demanding the hat.
You're not gonna let them have it, are you? What's that I hear? Nothing.
Moist Von Lipwig has nothing to say.
Have we lost everything? (GASPS) Relax, Mr Groat.
I'm not done yet.
All I have to do .
.
is attempt the impossible.
As you can see, the sun has set and the clacks system is working perfectly.
All that remains is for the Postmaster to admit defeat.
But where is he? Another empty promise.
Now, don't get me wrong.
I have a fondness for the quaint old Post Office.
It's part of our history.
But, really, that is where it belongs.
Did someone ask for me? Ah, Postmaster.
Just in time.
The fire was getting low.
Well .
.
if you're too scared to rise to the challenge.
Have it.
Challenge? An overnight race from here to Uberwald.
The clacks versus the post.
That's over a thousand miles away.
1,700 miles, to be precise, Miss Cripslock.
Mr Gilt, do you accept the challenge? Accept? How could the clacks possibly lose? Well, you've made quite a splash.
As the fish said to the man with the lead weight tied to his feet.
(LAUGHS) Perhaps I'm missing something.
No, my lord, it's a straight race.
But you can't possibly win.
I agree, it won't be easy.
And I must insist that the race is run fairly with strict rules.
I have no intention of cheating.
And I ask for no favours.
All I ask is that when I win, Reacher Gilt hands over the entire clacks network.
(CHUCKLES) Very well.
But I have a condition of my own.
If you lose, Mr Lipwig, you hang.
Really? It seems a little harsh.
But fair.
If you lose, you will have outlived your usefulness.
Having second thoughts, Postmaster? Let's race.
Very good, sir.
The worried look.
Very convincing.
Throws them off the scent.
Yes.
But how do you know I'm not really worried? Because you're the man who got money out of the gods, sir.
Ah.
Yeah.
Supposing I did that with a trick? Damn good trick, sir, damn good.
A man who can trick money out of the gods is capable of anything, sir.
Mr Groat.
Hmm? What if I told you that, er There's no way a coach can get to Uberwald faster than the clacks machines? Of course you have to say that, sir.
Because the walls have ears, eh? Mum's the word.
(SIGHS) Everything? Everything.
But there's 15 years of work here.
He's grown out of pins.
Sir, pins are for life.
They stick with you.
He's starting a new life.
Isn't that right, Stanley? So.
(CLEARS THROAT) How much? Dave, what do you think about stamps? So what's the plan? How can you possibly win? Hmm? Friction.
The coach will be so shiny it'll glide through the air.
Meanwhile back in the real world(!) The Post Office is a hopeless underdog.
Ah, but the underdog can always find somewhere soft to bite.
This is no time for witty banter.
We're not on a date.
Do you have a plan? Do you trust me? No.
Do you have a plan? Of course.
We got 50-1.
50-1, sir.
You haven't done anything silly, I hope.
No, no, no.
I took all me savings, Stanley here sold his pin collection and we put the whole lot on you to win the race.
The whole lot? Erm Perhaps that wasn't so wise.
50-1.
But we don't want to appear greedy.
Do we? I mean, we want to keep the moral high ground.
Bugger the moral high ground.
We'll be rich.
It's all thanks to your inspired plan, sir.
Mr Groat.
What? Let's go and see if the golems want to cash in.
Good idea, lad.
Oh, my God.
There is no inspired plan.
There.
Right between your eyes.
The next time I see you, that's where I'm aiming.
Messages can be blocked.
I trust you have discovered Lipwig's plan.
I'm afraid not, sir.
Only a fool would challenge the clacks with a horse and cart.
He must have a trick up his sleeve.
Now what is it? All I can promise you, sir, is the clacks won't let you down.
We're clearing all messages off the system, running double bandwidth, I'm putting all my best operators - You just remember, if I'm made to look a fool, your pretty little niece will rue the day her Uncle Pony got her a job at the clacks! Archchancellor Ridcully, my lord.
This had better be important, I'm in the middle of an experiment.
Involving a knife and fork, no doubt.
I wouldn't expect a layman to understand the pressures of university life.
Incredible though it may seem, we have found a practical use for one of your magical devices.
Have you? The object in question is An Omniscope, my lord.
Enabling us to see things at a distance, I believe.
The Omniscope is a highly complex, very unstable piece of equipment.
You mean, it doesn't work? Well Relatively speaking, it works.
Excellent, kindly have it up and running by dawn tomorrow.
Now, listen, magic is not some workmen's tool that you can hire out by the hour.
Just as well, because I wasn't intending to pay you.
Can I help? Mr Pony.
Miss Adora.
How have you been? It's nice to see you after all these years.
I'm sorry I never came to your father's funeral.
It didn't seem right.
What happened wasn't your fault.
You must hate me for staying on at the clacks.
You're just doing your job, Mr Pony.
The truth is, clacks is run on blood now.
There's not a day goes by when I wouldn't like to throw my resignation in Reacher Gilt's face.
I'm 58.
Twinges in my knuckles, a sick wife and a bad back.
You have to think twice, don't you, before such gestures? My father always said you were a good man.
And a great engineer.
I'm sure he was right.
No.
Your father was a great engineer.
Gilt tried to burn these.
I'm sure you'll know what to do with them.
I'm sorry.
Stand by to repel borders.
(SNIFFS) Adora? If this is about what I said earlier They killed him.
They killed John and they put his name in a debit column.
(SOBS) These people, they .
.
they get away with murder and everyone just looks the other way.
No, not everyone.
Just because you were right, doesn't mean you have to gloat.
Forget gloating.
Now I really do have a plan.
Go away! All you do is talk of plans.
Crazy, non-existent plans.
What sort of man are you? Adora, just listen to me.
Give me the crossbow.
Those ledgers are the key to everything! Just hear me out.
If you don't like the plan, be my guest.
Shoot.
This had better be good.
Now then, boys, you take the message and ride hell-for-leather to Uberwald.
But how are we going to get to Uberwald overnight, sir? You're not, Mr Groat.
Does that mean you're going to hang, Mr Lipwig? Not if I can help it.
I have a plan, Stan.
I need you to take a little detour.
There is a derelict clacks tower and I need you to deliver some canvas and ropes and rigging.
Rigging? Is this about boats, sir.
Only I can't do boats.
I get very seasick.
Not boats, Mr Groat.
Sails.
We are going to block out their message with a sail.
Block it out? Won't they notice? Not if we put our own message in its place.
Sorry, sir, could you run that by me again? Yeah.
I got a bit lost at sail.
(APPLAUSE) Hello! Hello, Ankh-Morpork! Welcome to the great race! Lovely to see you all! Hello! Hello.
Nice entrance.
It will make up for your ignominious exit.
Hello, sir.
(APPLAUSE) Citizens of Ankh-Morpork.
As per Lord Vetinari's directive number P1500 - We know why we are here.
To witness a great race! The Postmaster has challenged the clacks.
(CHEERING / APPLAUSE) Two identical messages must be delivered to Uberwald.
The wizard's Omniscope will show us the finish line.
(OMNISCOPE RUMBLES) (CROWD SHRIEK) Get it ready by sunrise, Ridcully, which is when I expect to win.
And to show the spirit of fair play, we have graciously allowed the Post Office to choose the message.
I thought long and hard about an appropriate message.
And then, I remembered how nice it is to receive a parcel.
So, why not a book? (CROWD "AH") The authorised, illustrated biography of Lord Vetinari.
(APPLAUSE) You think yourself so clever, It'll buy you a few hours at best.
Our message will still be there by dawn, while your lumbering coach will get bogged down in some godforsaken marsh.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
(CROWD CHEER) Ready when you are, my lord.
(BLOWS HORN) (CHEERING / APPLAUSE) Get clacksing! (BANGS TABLE) Come on, move it! If we win this race (BANGS TABLE) .
.
you can have a half-day holiday! Come on! Get on with it.
You took a while.
I had to stop a couple of times, all that bumping and jolting, my bladder's not what it used to be.
If we don't get this sail rigged before they start sending, we're done for.
Yeah, alright.
OK! Ready? Hoist it up, lads.
Quick as you can.
Alright! Come on, let's get a wriggle on here! (GROANS) Where are ya? Here, look, stick your boot in there, will you? Still here, Mr Groat? I'm not built for parcel post, sir.
Now, you know what to do? Ride like the clappers, sir.
Good man, stop for nothing.
The mail must get through! No gloom of night.
Hey, Mr Lipwig.
Exactly, Stanley, no gloom of night.
C-C-Can I say, sir, even if we lose and the Post Office collapses, and all this was in vain - And you get hanged.
Yes, sir, even dead, you are still the best Postmaster we have ever had.
(SNIFFS) That's very touching, Mr Groat.
But I'm not dead yet.
Good luck, boys.
Why aren't we sending?! I want to see those lights flashing! Where's Mr Pony? Get me Pony! That's what I love about the Dearhearts.
Perfect alignment.
Any message coming out of there comes straight through us.
Time to create some interference.
OK, 14! Number 14! 14's good.
Number 15? OK, there is a snag on 15! It's stuck! It's stuck! Where's the hammer? I put it back in the toolbox.
It's not here! It's in there! In the spanner drawer! Yeah, it's still the toolbox! And who would look for a hammer in the spanner drawer? Boys! We haven't got time for this! A place for everything and everything in its place! If you say that one more time, I'll find another place for the hammer! Oh, for God's sake, look! They're sending! Let's go, come on! Grand Trunk are sending the message.
Hurry up! Pull it up! (STRUGGLES) Come on boys, pull! It's stuck! Pull it! Keep pulling! It's stuck on something! If you want something done properly (SCREAMS) Oh no, up we go! Strange.
The signal's stopped.
No, it can't have, this is top priority.
Send! Send! For God's sake, start sending! It's OK.
They're sending again.
Yes! Yes! They've taken the bait! (LAUGHS) They're passing it on! (BOTH LAUGH) Adora! Adora! I'm coming for you! (SCREAMS) (THEY LAUGH) What kept you? Adora I don't suppose now would be a good time to ask you something? Well, I can hardly walk away.
Will you marry me? You are forgetting .
.
we still have a race to win.
That's not exactly a rejection.
Not exactly.
Hang on! Down you get, Mr Lipwig.
You're under arrest.
What for now? Same as last time.
Doing a runner.
But- but I've come back.
Let's keep it that way.
Lord Vetinari's orders.
Listen.
(GROWLS) (CHATTER) (CHEERING / APPLAUSE) Nice you have you with us again, sir.
Same last words as before? I'm rather hoping there'll be a different outcome this time.
Keep your hands off.
Let's see some magic, please.
It'll come in a moment.
Please don't touch it.
There we are.
We need to read the ticker-tape, Archchancellor.
Nobody said anything about a close-up.
Can't you just move it in? Just move it in? This is a highly sophisticated magical apparatus.
There we are.
I think we have a winner, my lord.
Mm-hmm.
Uberwald receiving station, message as follows.
"Havelock Vetinari was born into a wealthy and influential family.
" There we have it, my lord.
The message has arrived, delivered on time by clacks technology.
The clacks has won.
Never mind, sir.
It could be worse.
How, exactly? Well, we've got a good crowd, lots of press.
They'd even promised me a review in "What Gallows?".
Pull the lever, Mr Trooper.
No, wait.
The message hasn't finished yet.
They're playing for time! My Lord, it's clear the race is over.
I demand my prize.
My last words! I haven't had my last words.
If he must.
(APPLAUSE) Strange as it may seem, as I stand here on the verge of oblivion I have a great sense of relief.
I no longer fear the worst because, frankly, the worst has happened.
And although I may not have always been a model citizen, finally I've been made to see the error of my ways.
Not by the heavy hand of the law, but by the gentle touch of .
.
well.
By the gentlest touch of all.
Very nice, sir.
Stand by.
No, there's more.
(DRUMKNOTT) Where's it gone? It's not coming back.
Give it a moment.
Don't breathe on it.
The man who has never known love has never really lived.
Get on with it.
But worst is the man who avoids love.
Too true.
Well said, sir.
Now Because the man who runs from love and all its trials and tribulations, that man is just conning himself, swindling himself out of true Ah.
There we are.
.
.
happiness.
Sorry to interrupt, my lord.
I wish someone would.
I'm not quite sure what this means but I think you ought to hear it.
Message continues.
"We are the voice of the dead.
" "The ghosts of those who met a bloody end.
" That's enough.
The race is finished.
"Postmaster Mutable pushed from the fifth floor.
" "Postmaster Sideburn, his neck broken.
" Pack it all away! Touch nothing.
"John Dearheart, flung to his death from a tower.
" "And Crispin Horsefry, clubbed to death by Reacher Gilt.
" Turn it off! "Here follow the facts and figures proving fraud, embezzlement and murder.
" "The full record of the clandestine dealings of Reacher Gilt.
" My Lord, they're lying.
Lying.
Who are they, exactly? They're only reading what has been delivered by you.
The message has originated from your own company which makes it a confession.
I confess nothing! (CROWD GASPS) Lipwig! Your safety is my concern, Mr Lipwig.
Your safety is my concern.
Arrest Reacher Gilt.
He appears to have vanished, my lord.
Find him.
An ingenious plan, Mr Lipwig.
And most effective.
Which is why I have agreed to your request to hand over ownership of the clacks back to the Dearheart family.
Just sign here.
And here.
No need to thank me.
However, as the two of you now run all communications in and out of this city, should I find that my long-range game of thud is interrupted I shall come looking for one of you to blame.
I wonder which one it will be.
(SNORTS) By the way, you look great.
Colour really suits you.
Thank you.
Is that as sore as it looks? Oh, it's not the first time I've been hanged.
A bad habit to get into.
I'll tell you what, I'll give up hanging if you give up smoking.
Too late.
I already quit.
You did that for me? Why on earth would you think that? Adora .
.
those things I said on the gallows when I was staring death in the face about the gentlest touch of all.
You do know I meant every word? Yes.
It's amazing the rubbish some people spout when they're trying to save their lives.
Or trying to get a kiss.
Of course, we can't do this.
What now? Conflict of interest.
You're the Post Office, I'm the clacks.
We're rivals.
Which throws up some very interesting possibilities of a corporate merger, don't you think? Maybe.
Well, I'd certainly like to get my hands on your assets.
Keep your hands as far away from my assets as humanly possibly.
Ah, Mr Gilt.
I see you are awake.
I don't know what you're talking about.
My name is Merryforth Truman and .
.
I've got papers to prove it.
Some wonderful papers they are too, Mr Gilt.
But enough of that.
I've brought you here because I want to talk to you about angels.
(KNOCKING) Come.
Excuse me, my lord.
I've got a letter here for Merryforth Truman.
Strewth.
He was here, but sadly he didn't believe in angels.
Oh.
Well, that's a bit of an embuggerance.
accessibility@bskyb.
com We did it, Mr Groat.
Home sweet home.
Stanley, it's not only the race we won.
The bet, remember.
50-1.
Blimey, we're rich.
Let's have the betting slip, then.
I gave it to you, Mr Groat.
Hey? Oh, yes.
I've got it here somewhere.
You can't have lost it, Mr Groat.
50-1.
50-1.
No, of course.
I remember now.
I've put it somewhere safe.
I, erm .
.
I hid it under the mattress.
Which mattress? The one in that tavern.
Which tavern, Mr Groat? You remember, that (GROANS) .
.
that nice one in Uberwald.
Oh! Uberwald Mr Groat, Mr Groat! Get in the carriage, Mr Groat!