Moist von Lipwig was a con artist, a fraud and a man faced with a life choice: be hanged, or put Ankh-Morpork's ailing postal service back on its feet. It was a tough decision. With the help of a golem who has been at the bottom of hole in the ground for over two hundred years, a pin fanatic and Junior Postman Groat, he's got to see that the mail gets through. In taking on the evil chairman of the Grand Trunk Semaphore Company, and a midnight killer, he's also got to stay alive. Getting a date with Adora Bell Dearheart would be nice, too. In the mad world of the mail, can a criminal succeed where honest men have failed and died? Perhaps there's a shot at redemption for man who's prepared to push the envelope... Sir Terry Pratchett was the acclaimed creator of the global bestselling Discworld series, the first of which, The Colour of Magic , was published in 1983. In all, he was the author of 50 bestselling books. His novels have been widely adapted for stage and screen, and he was the winner of multiple prizes, including the Carnegie Medal, as well as being awarded a knighthood for services to literature. Worldwide sales of his books now stand at 70 million, and they have been translated into 37 languages. Sir Terry Pratchett died on 12th March 2015. Stephen Briggs is a British writer of subsidiary works and merchandise surrounding Terry Pratchett's comic fantasy Discworld . He has co-designed many of the Discworld maps and has adapted over 20 Pratchett novels for the amateur stage. In 2004, he received an Audie Award for his audiobook recording of Monstrous Regiment . Going Postal By Terry Pratchett Methuen Publishing Copyright © 2005 Terry Pratchett All right reserved. ISBN: 9780413774477 The Angel In which our hero experiences Hope, the greatest gift - The bacon sandwich of regret - Somber reflections on capital punishment from the hangman - Famous last words - Our hero dies - Angels, conversations about - Inadvisability of misplaced offers regarding broomsticks - An unexpected ride - A world free of honest men - A man on the hop - There is always a choice They say that the prospect of being hanged in the morningconcentrates a man?s mind wonderfully; unfortunately, whatthe mind inevitably concentrates on is that, in the morning, it willbe in a body that is going to be hanged.The man going to be hanged had beennamed Moist von Lipwig by dotingif unwise parents, but he wasnot going to embarrass thename, insofar as that was stillpossible, by being hung under it.To the world in general, and particularlyon that bit of it known asthe death warrant, he was AlfredSpangler. And he took a more positive approach to the situation and hadconcentrated his mind on the prospect of not being hanged in themorning, and, most particularly, on the prospect of removing allthe crumbling mortar from around a stone in his cell wall with aspoon. So far the work had taken him five weeks and reduced thespoon to something like a nail file. Fortunately, no one ever cameto change the bedding here, or else they would have discovered theworld?s heaviest mattress. It was a large and heavy stone that was currently the object ofhis attentions, and, at some point, a huge staple had been hammeredinto it as an anchor for manacles.Moist sat down facing the wall, gripped the iron ring in bothhands, braced his legs against the stones on either side, andheaved. His shoulders caught fire, and a red mist filled his vision, butthe block slid out with a faint and inappropriate tinkling noise.Moist managed to ease it away from the hole and peered inside.At the far end was another block, and the mortar around itlooked suspiciously strong and fresh. Just in front of it was a new spoon. It was shiny.As he studied it, he heard the clapping behind him. He turnedhis head, tendons twanging a little riff of agony, and saw several ofthe wardens watching him through the bars. ?Well done, Mr. Spangler!? said one of them. ?Ron here owes mefive dollars! I told him you were a sticker! ?He?s a sticker,? I said!? ?You set this up, did you, Mr.Wilkinson?? said Moist weakly,watching the glint of light on the spoon. ?Oh, not us, sir. Lord Vetinari?s orders. He insists that all condemnedprisoners should be offered the prospect of freedom.? ?Freedom? But there?s a damn great stone through there!? ?Yes, there is that, sir, yes, there is that,? said the warden. ?It?sonly the prospect, you see. Not actual free freedom as such. Hah,that?d be a bit daft, eh?? ?I suppose so, yes,? said Moist. He didn?t say ?you bastards.? The wardens had treated him quite civilly these past six weeks, andhe made a point of getting on with people. He was very, very goodat it. People skills were part of his stock-in-trade; they were nearlythe whole of it. Besides, these people had big sticks. So, speaking carefully, headded: ?Some people might consider this cruel, Mr.Wilkinson.??Yes, sir, we asked him about that, sir, but he said no, it wasn?t.He said it