All language subtitles for Going.Postal.Part.2.2010.1080p.BluRay.x264-HANDJOB_track3_[eng]

(WOLF HOWLS IN DISTANCE)

MAN: Good evening,
John Dearheart.

Oh, arggh!

VON LIPWIG: There's always an angle.

There's always a price.
There's always a way.

Rob, trick, forge, embezzle.

I can't deny I did
every con in the book.

(SNARLS AND ROARS)

Ohh!

VETINARI: I'm offering you
a new life.

The job in question is to re-open
the Ankh-Morpork Post Office.

REACHER GILT:
Looks like some other fool

has been 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.

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 postmasters have died
in dreadful circumstances.

GROAT: Postmaster Mutable
was the first.

He fell into the sorting hall
from the fifth floor,

smack, sir, smack onto
the marble headfirst.

Oh, it was like a melon hitting.
(IMITATES SQUELCHING)

I get the picture.

Ohh!

(GASPS AND SCREAMS)

Ohh!

(YELLS)

The post office
is back in business!

(PEOPLE YELL AND CLAMOUR)

I don't suppose you'd like
to have dinner tonight?

With you?

NO.

This postmaster is a nuisance.

Ha-ha!

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.

You ruined my family.

Adora, I'm sorry.
You're a liar and a cheat.

There are no lies left!
MAN: The post office is burning!

You've got to save Stanley.
(WHEEZES)

I am the curse!
Arggh!

This is a post office closure!

(ROARS)
(SCREAMS)

(PEOPLE GASP AND YELL)

You know what they say -

“Hear the cry
of the banshee and die.”

Actually...

...it's “Banshee cries,
somebody dies.”

Today, it's you!

(GURGLES)

Missed both my hearts.

(SQUELCH!)

I do love postmasters.
(WOOD CLUNKS)

Killing them is so lucrative.

(SIZZLING)
Arggh!

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!

(EERIE MUTTERING
AND WHISPERING)

Oh, please!
Can't I even die in peace?

I mean, I'm no angel, but him?
He's a devil!

(MUTTERING CONTINUES)

(SNARLS)

Oh, arggh!

(MOANS AND SCREAMS)

(READS) “Upon discovery of fire,
remain calm.”

(COUGHS)

“Shout 'Fire!' in a loud, clear voice."

(F L j I; I;

(VOICE ECHOES)

Stanley!

“If trapped...

“..await A, rescue or B, death."

Straightforward enough.

WHISTLES ABSENT-MINDEDLY

A it is, then.

Come on!

(COUGHS)

(COUGHS AND WHEEZES)

(EERIE MUTTERING)

I owe you!

(BOTH COUGH AND SPLUTTER)

(PEOPLE APPLAUD)

Where are the fire brigade?

We have no insurance.

What?

L'm sorry, sir.
It was fire insurance or food.

Well, where are the buckets, then?

This is beyond buckets, Mr Lipwig.

(PEOPLE PLAY
MAUDLIN FOLKY MUSIC)

Hmph ..

Adora.

Care for a dance?

A dance? With you?

A self-centered skuggem
with the moral fibre of a...

A rat?
A rat. Thank you.

My pleasure.
Oh!

Oh, Ohh!

Ohh!

(SHRIEKS) Oh! Let me go!

Not until I've told you
what's really going on.

CROWD: Ohh!

You destroyed my family.
That's what's going on.

That was an accident.
I can put it right.

Oh! You wouldn't know
the meaning of the word 'right'.

Those dead postmasters,
Gilt had them killed

and he tried to kill me too.

Who'd have thought I had something
in common with Reacher Gilt? Ohh!

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.

Oh! Ohh.

Well, the banshee was my proof.

He knew everything,
except how to be fireproof.

Oh, how convenient!

Even so, I think I can
bring down Reacher Gilt.

All talk and no action,
as usual. (GASPS)

Adora, will you trust me
just this once?

Ohh!
Does that answer your question?

(PEOPLE PLAY
UP-TEMPO FOLKY MUSIC)

Any comment to go with
the picture, Mr Lipwig?

Reacher!

L... (PUFFS)

Marvelous, 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.

Oh...

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,

but we wanted to help out
the best we can

in the post's hour of need.

See? People love the post office.

(ALL MUTTER AGREEMENT)

SO... (CLEARS THROAT)

...get your men organised,
Deputy Postmaster Groat.

I want them...

D-d-did you say
'deputy postmaster', sir?

I did.
Ohh...

And what's more,

I want your men out on the streets
delivering the mail today.

Oh, yes, sir.

(M UTTERS INDISTINCTLY)

(ALL CHATTER CHEERFULLY)

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...

(SLAMS CANE)

...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... (STAMMERS)

...post office is bankrupt.

Nevertheless, people... (SCOFFS)

...seem to have
a fondness for the post.

My latest innovation
will change all that.

L LU f

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'.

(BAND PLAYS UPBEAT FANFARE)

(PEOPLE CHEER AND APPLAUD)

Attention!

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.

Well, 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?

(BAND CONTINUES PLAYING)

But he had
the post office destroyed.

We have no proof, Mr Pump.

We must do something.

Follow me.

Arrest those men!
For what?

Vandalizing clacks property.

I think you'll find the only
offence here is trespass.

Your map was being paraded
on post office property.

L'll see you paraded
through hell, Lipwig.

Are you gonna 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 GASPS)

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.

But if you don't mind me saying,
sir, it's bugger all help.

I know, I know.

They come through
with a new tech-co-nological...

Breakthrough.
Breakthrough, yep.

“A modern miracle that will
change communications forever.”

And we haven't even got a roof.

Oh, one decent downpour
and all this will be papier-méché.

Big roofs cost big money.
Ooh-ho-ho.

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.

Ha-ha!

Well, I think it's about to pour.

Ohh.

Stress - it does
funny things to a man.

Yeah.

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
unto Offler, the sacred crocodile,

by means of smell.

Ohh. (CHUCKLES)

And then you eat the sausage?

Ah, 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?

Oh, just the usual -
pennies from heaven.

$150,000, to be precise.

Might take more than a few sausages

to get something that, um, specific.

But let's give it a shot.

(SAUSAGES SIZZLE)

(ADORA GROANS)

VON LIPWIG: Post!

Post!

Good work, Stanley. That'll do it.

Forwards, Stanley. Forwards.

Post!

Post! (KNOCKS AT DOOR)

Come on. Everyone
loves getting a letter.

Ooh!

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's
a complex thing, Mr Pump.

Love, hate -
they're just a breath apart.

She doesn't know it yet,
but she loves me.

(WHISTLES)

Hi.

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!

Ohh.

(KOOKY MUSIC)

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 mobile towers, right,

but we don't actually build any,

so the extra revenue
becomes pure profit.

(CHUCKLES)

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'.

Oh.

Shame.

I thought it was a good idea.

Horsefry...

Horsefry, they aim of business is...?

Um...

Not to provide a good service,
but to provide the...

Only.

...only service.

(GROANS)

Oh, they seem very taken
with the newfangled towers, sir.

It's the oldest trick in the book -

dazzle the punter
with a pretty picture.

What's a 'punter'?

I mean, they haven't even built
the mobiles yet, have they?

It's all promise.

You know what happens to promises.

Will the people
ever come back to us?

Well, how would they
be able to resist

when we have our new
state-of-the-art post office, hmm?

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... Oh!

NO! Oh!

Mr Lipwig! Mr Lipwig!

(YELLS AND MOANS)

Mr Lipwig!

(GROANS)

The light.

The wonderful light.

Glory be to Offler,

the sacred crocodile god.

Huh? Oh!

He's blind, he's blind! Oh!

Oh, Mr Lipwig, sir?

(MOANS)
Oh, Mr Lipwig! Mr Lipwig!

One regular white,
one skinny Klatchian.

And two figgins, please.

Somebody call a doctor!

(MOANS)
Sir, sir!

Can you see nothing at all?
(GROANS)

Are you totally blind?!

Only blind to this world, my friend.

Now I perceive the inner truth.

Yes!

(GROANS)

The angels of Offler...

...whisper unto me.

One...hundred...

...and fifty...thousand dollars.

Buried...

...in a forest.

Ohh!

(CROWD MUTTERS)

Offler, I am not worthy.

(GRUNTS AND MOANS)

Let the angels choose a holy witness.

Me, me!
ALL: Me! Me! Me!

L'll give you the front page.

You...

...are chosen.

Offler says...to the hop gate.

And bring a shovel.

Hey? Oh.

Come on, Mr Groat.

(VON LIPWIG MOANS LOUDLY)

MAN: Divine intervention, it is!

Divine Intervention

(ALL GASP)

Show me the way!

Ohh!

(PEOPLE JOSTLE AND CHATTER)

The praying man!

It is here!

The praying man
under the praying tree.

It looks like an elephant to me.

CROWD: Heretic! Heretic!

(PEOPLE CALL AND YELL)

Well, you know, now you mention it,
I can definitely see a praying man.

(ALL EXCLAIM AND CHEER)

PEOPLE: He can see, he can see.

What's going on?
WOMAN: You're under arrest.

Arggh!

Hello again.

(GROWLS)

STANLEY: Oh, Mr Lipwig, 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.

Ohh!

Now you're making me angry, Pump 19.

(WHIMPERS)

I will assemble the golems.

Ah...

Mr Lipwig. You've had a most
strenuous day, have you not?

Can't be as strenuous as
signing death warrants. (CHUCKLES)

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.

Well, it's miraculous.

A remarkable coincidence that
it is precisely the sum of money

that was hidden
by a notorious con man.

A con man? Oh, 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.

Uh...made from turtle eggshells.

Ingenious.
Thank you.

I meant me
for making you postmaster.

Ah, marvellous.

Uh-uh! 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? Hmm.

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 con man

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: There's a dignity to it.

Indeed, it is
the very essence of golem.

But enough is enough!

This postmaster, this Lipwig,
is an exploiter

and 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

and 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.

(GOLEMS MUTTER QUIETLY)

Oh, I see.

I suppose you all think the sun
shines out of Lipwig's backside.

(SCOFFS)

(GASPS)

Hi.

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!

But you were 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 just keep on fighting
each other day and night.

We'll make sure we never
share any 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.

L'll show you just how much
I don't need you.

Oh, the one-woman crusade.
How noble!

You'll see. The whole city will see.

VON LIPWIG: Good work, lads.

That's it.

(PEOPLE CHATTER INDISTINCTLY)

Are we ready, Mr Groat?
Just a few more, sir.

Bet you're glad you invented
perforations, hey, Stanley?

The strange thing is some people
are sending letters to themselves.

What?
Yeah.

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, hey?

Fins'?

Oh, pins. No, pins are
just pointy metal things.

GROAT: 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.

(ALL CHEER AND APPLAUD)

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.

(TENSE MUSIC)

(HORSES WHINNY)

Hyah! Hyah!

Hyah! Hyah!

(DRAMATIC MUSIC)

(MEN HOLLER)

(GRUNTS)

(MEN LAUGH)

(CHUCKLES)

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.

Mum HOWLS)

Offler's teeth!

Princess, you've gotta
come and see this.

L'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?

L'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 hiccup

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.

L'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.

(HUFFS) You won't have to.

Money dangled is much
more effective than...

BOTH: Money given.

Uh, 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?

Well, I've...I’ve always
done it in the past.

(CHUCKLES) 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, no, no, I’ve got dozens
of them going back years.

Oh.

I'd love to see them, Horsefry.

Really?
Yeah.

They're in my office.
Come up any time.

Now, Crispin.

I want to see them...now.

(CHUCKLES)

Never shown any interest before.

No?

Well, I'm very interested in...

...settling accounts.

Oh.

Uh...

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?

Uh...my job-

account for things. (CHUCKLES)

Hmm.

Then...account for this.

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!
Oh!

Look at you.

Loose flesh, loose tongue,
loose brain.

Ohm Just loose everything,

The fact is, Horsefry,
you're too stupid to live!

Ohh! Arggh!

(YELLS AND MOANS)

(HORSEFRY YELLS AND MOANS
IN DISTANCE)

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)

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.

Huh, how careless of you.

We need a double whammy.

As you hit the clacks,

we can steal their business -
a synchronized attack.

I wouldn't synchronize 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 l'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 up 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.

(CLACKS TOWERS THUD)

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...

Oh!

MAN: 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?

L'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. Yeah, we're trying
to breed homing bats.

Bats don't have a homing instinct.

Yes. Tragic, isn't it'?

Yeah, sometimes
I come up here at night

and I just see their
empty little perches

and it's 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.

We're the Smoking Gnu, actually.

You can really jam the whole
clacks system from a pigeon loft?

Mm-hm.

Huh. 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.

And then...

. .

But before it jams,
it's already passed the code on.

So...

. .

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.
No,no,no!

Princess! (SCREAMS)

Stay back!

L'll have to drop every
employee until someone...

I've got it. I know what's happened!

One moment, Mr Pony.

L'm just disposing of some assets.
(SCREAMS)

Hey, hey! That's my niece!

Oh, that is useful to know.

It's the swage armature.

It's jumping off
the elliptical bearing.

Please! I can fix it.

If you hit 'Q' and then 'K'
in the resonant frequency

and send it to a tower where
the address 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!

(WHIMPERS AND CRIES)
Aw.

There, there.

MAN: Better shut down now

When the sun comes up,
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.

(SCOFFS) 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.

(ALL CHEER AND APPLAUD)

VON LIPWIG: 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
these 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.

Oh, but, please, don't get
bogged down in the details.

What really matters
is we fly high above the bandits.

(DRAMATIC MUSIC)

(MEN YELL, HORSES WHINNY)

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.

CROWD: Ooh!

Now to collect on that wager.

Ready to stick the stiletto in?

The pleasure's all ours.

So, how long does it take?

MAN: 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.

L'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.

L'm not whining, I'm just... I'd like to
know why the Gnu isn't smoking.

L'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.

Oh, have we lost everything'?

Ohh! No, no, no, no, no.

Relax, Mr Groat. I'm not done yet.

All I have to do...

...is attempt the impossible.

(SCOFFS)

(CLACKS THUD)

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.

VON LIPWIG: Did someone ask for me?

GILT: 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.

CRIPSLOCK: But 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?

VETINARI: Well,
you've made quite a splash...

...as the fish said to the man with
a lead weight tied to his feet.

(CHUCKLES)

Perhaps I'm missing something.

No, my lord. lt'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.

(SCOFFS)

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.

(EXHALES DEEPLY)

Very good, sir.

The worried lock - 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. (CHUCKLES)

Supposing I did that with a trick?

Oh, damn good trick, sir. Damn good.

A man who can trick money out of
the gods is capable of anything, sir.

Yeah.

Hmm? Mr Groat.

What if I told you that, uh,

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, hey?

Ooh, Mum's the word.

Yeah.
(CHUCKLES)

(SIGHS)

Everything?

Everything.

But there's...there's
15 years of work here.

Well, 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? (CLEARS THROAT)

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?

Don't 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?

Um...

...perhaps that wasn't so wise.

50-1?

But we...we don't
want to appear greedy, do we?

I mean, we want to keep
the moral high ground.

Oh, bugger the moral high ground.
We'll be rich.

And it's all thanks
to your inspired plan, sir.

Mr Groat, let's go and see
if the golems want to cash in.

Good idea, lad. Come on.
(MOUTHS)

Oh, my God.

There is no inspired plan.

Um...

There. Right between your eyes.

The next time I see you,
that's where I'm aiming.

(PENSIVE MUSIC)

Messages can be blocked.

I trust you've discovered
Lipwig's plan.

L'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

and 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, um...

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... (STAMMERS)

...relatively speaking, it works.

Excellent. Kindly have it
up and running by dawn tomorrow.

Now, listen - magic
is not some workman'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.

L'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.

L'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.

(PEOPLE CHATTER BUSILY)

Stand by to repel boarders!

(CRIES)
Adora?

If this is about
what I said earlier...

They killed him.

They killed John and they put
his name in a debit column.

These people, they...

...they get away with murder and
everyone just looks the other way.

No, not everyone.

Oh!

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.

VON LIPWIG: Now then, boys,
you take the message

and ride hell for leather
to Uberwald.

GROAT: But how are we going
to get to Uberwald overnight, sir?

You're not, Mr Groat.

STANLEY: Does that mean you're
going to hang, Mr Lipwig?

Not if I can help it.
I have a plan, Stanley.

I need you to take a little detour.

There's a derelict clacks tower

and I need you to deliver
some canvas and ropes and rigging.

GROAT: Rigging?
ls this about boats, sir?

Oh, no, 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.

STANLEY: Block it out?
Won't they notice?

Not if we put our
own message in its place.

GROAT: Sorry, sir,
could you run that by me again?

STANLEY: Yeah,
I got a bit lost at sail.

(PEOPLE CHEER AND APPLAUD)

Hello!

Hello, Ankh-Morpork!

Welcome to the great race!
Lovely to see you all!

Oh!
(OMNISCOPE FIZZES AND BANGS)

VON LIPWIG: Hello!

Yeah, hello.
I knew that would happen.

GILT: Nice entrance.

It'll make up for
your ignominious exit.

Hello, sir.

(APPLAUSE)

Citizens of Ankh-Morpork,

as per Lord Vetinari's
directive number P-1500...

We know why we're here -
to witness a great race!

The Postmaster
has challenged the clacks.

(CHEERING AND APPLAUSE)

Two identical messages
must be delivered to Uberwald.

The wizard's omniscope
will show us the finish line.

(PEOPLE GASP)

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: Ohh!

The authorized, illustrated
biography of Lord Vetinari.

(APPLAUSE)

You think yourself so clever.
lt'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.

(PEOPLE CHEER)

Ready when you are, my lord.

(TOOTS FEEBLY)

(CHEERING)

GILT: Get clacksing!

Come on. (BANGS CANE)
Come on, move it!

If we win this race...
(BANGS CANE CONTINUOUSLY)

...you can have a half-day holiday!

Come on! Get on with it.

Move it!

You took a while.

Well, I had to stop
a couple of times.

All that bumping and jolting -
me 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.

MAD AL: OK.

Ready?

OK, hoist it up, lads.

Quick as you can.
Alright!

Come on, let's get a wriggle on here!

That's it!

(GROANS) Oh, Stanley, where are ya?

Here, look, stick your boot
in there, will you?

I I I

Still here, Mr Groat?

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”.

Uh, 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. (SNIFFLES)

That's very touching, Mr Groat,

but I'm not dead yet, huh?

Good luck, boys.

(CLICKS TONGUE)

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.

OK, there is a snag on 15.
It's stuck! It's stuck!

There's a snag!
Where's the hammer?

I put it back in the toolbox.

It's not here!
No, 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.

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!

WOMAN: Grand Trunk
are sending the message.

Hurry UP!

Pull it up!

(GRUNTS)

Come on, boys, pull!
MAN: lt's stuck!

Pull it! Keep pulling!

MAD AL: lt's stuck on something!

If you want something
done properly...

MAN: Heave!
(SCREAMS)

MAD AL: Oh, no! Up we go!

Strange. The signal's stopped.

No, it can't have.
This is top priority.

VON LIPWIG: Send! Send!

For God's sake, start sending!

It's OK. They're sending again.

Yes! Yes! They've taken the bait!

Ha-ha!
They're passing it on!

(MOIST CHUCKLES)
(ALL HOLLER AND CHEER)

Whoo! Adora!

Adora!

I'm coming for you!

Ohh!

Arggh!
(ADORA SCREAMS)

(BOTH GRUNT AND MOAN)

Ohh... (CHUCKLES)

Oh! What kept you?

(WHIMPERS)

Adora.

I don't suppose...

...now would be a good time
to ask you something?

Well, I can hardly walk away.
(CHUCKLES)

Will you marry me?

You're forgetting...

...we still have a race to win.

That's not exactly a rejection.

Not exactly.

MAN: Hang on!
Ooh!

(GRUNTS)

Down you get, Mr Lipwig.

You're under arrest.
What for now?

Same as last time - doing a runner.

(STAMMERS) But I’ve come back.
Let's keep it that way.

Lord Vetinaff's orders.

Alright, alright.

Listen.
(GROWLS)

Ooh!

Oh, yes.
Nope.

(CROWD MUTTERS)

(CLICKS TONGUE)

(CHEERING AND APPLAUSE)

Nice you have you with us again, sir.
Same last words as before?

Actually, I'm rather hoping there'll be
a different outcome this time.

Keep your hands off of that.
Let's see some magic, please.

It'll come in a moment.

Please don't touch it.
(THUDS OMNISCOPE)

Yes, there we are.

We need to read the ticker tape,
Archchancellor.

Nobody said anything
about a close-up.

Well, can't you just move it in'?

“Just move it in”? This is a highly
sophisticated magical apparatus.

(ALL CHATTER EXCITEDLY)

RIDCULLY: Oh, there we are.
See? There.

I think we have a winner, my lord.
Mm-hm.

Uberwald receiving station,
message as follows.

“Havelock Vetinari was born into
a wealthy and influential family.”

GILT: 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've even promised me
a review in 'What Gallows?

Pull the lever, Mr Trooper!
No, wait.

(CROWD CALLS AND YELLS)

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)
(CHUCKLES NERVOUSLY)

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!

Where's it gone?
lt'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...

RIDCULLY: 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 confess

I confess nothing!

(ALL SCREAM)

Oh'.!

Lipwig!

Your safety is my concern,
Mr Lipwig.

Your safety is my concern.

MAN: Arrest Reacher Gilt!

He appears to have vanished,
my lord.

Find him.

(SNIFFS)

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.

Find 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

(SCOFFS)

(MOUTHS)

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.

L'll tell you what - l'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 possible.

(KOOKY UPBEAT mums)

(GASPS AND COUGHS)

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.

(KNOCK AT DOOR)
VETINARI: Come.

Uh, excuse me, my lord.

I've got a letter
here for Merryforth Truman.

Struth

He was here, but sadly
he didn't believe in angels.

Oh.

Well, that's a bit
of an embuggerance.

(KOOKY UPBEAT mums)

(GROAT MOANS)
We did it, Mr Groat!

Home sweet home!
Ohh.

Stanley, it's not only the race we won.
(CHUCKLES)

The bet, remember.

50-1. Blimey, we're rich.

Yeah! Let's have
the betting slip, then.

Nah, 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, no, of course I haven't.

I remember now. I put it
somewhere safe. (CHUCKLES)

I, um...

...l hid it under the mattress.

Which mattress?
The one in that tavern.

Which tavern, Mr Groat?

Oh, you remember, that... Oh!
..that nice one in Uberwald.

Oh.

Uh...Uberwald?

Mr Groat, Mr Groat!
Get in the carriage, Mr Groat!