Chapter the First. The Postmaster's Pets.

Disclaimer. The Discworld, its institutions and characters belong to the late Sir Terry Pratchett and his heirs. This story is for entertainment only and I claim no commercial interest in it.

The central joke of this drabble is not mine but fits the milieu. I hope it does not disappoint and it's not too obscure who Dachtyla is meant to be.

An unlicenced thief was sneaking through the rooms of a mansion on Scoone Avenue. He was still adjusting to freedom again after having been banged up a long time for a big job. How long had it been ? He couldn't clearly remember. It couldn't have been pleasant. He bore some terrible scars. His name ? Dachtyla would do for now. (1) He couldn't resist a near legendary target for the purpose of reinvigorating his career and reputation. He cared not for the Thieves' Guild or the Watch. (2) He intended to burgle the private office of the Golden Postman himself, Mr Moist Von Lipwig. (3)

He'd checked that Mrs Von Lipwig Und Dearheart was away on business. He'd heard she could get painfully assertive with people who'd wronged her or those she cared about. Even he had heard of what she'd wanted to do to Reacher Gilt on the night of the Post Office fire. (4) Given her headstrong nature, he was amazed that Moist had talked her out of disembowelling the swine. He really thought that way. He genuinely believed some scofflaws gave criminals a bad name. He might not be Guild, but he lived by a Code. (5)

He'd also managed to wangle a special charm off a bent wizard. The house Goblins would be unable to see, hear or smell him. He didn't want to acquire any more scars from their particular brand of friskiness when they were riled. And after the Battle of the Railhead (6) the Postmaster was viewed as a great hero by most Goblins. (7)

It looked like he'd covered all the angles. He entered a room that looked like an office, and the crown - and - envelope sigil on the door implied it was the right one. He entered the room. A voice called out.

'Fedecks is watching you !'

Bugger ! He especially didn't want the Gods taking an interest (couldn't think why though.) (7a) Wanting to see where he stood more clearly, he struck a match and looked in the direction of the voice.

He could see a cockatoo in a large cage. Some things are decided by narrative causality, though sheer human cussedness night have been part of what Dachtyla did next. He asked a question.

'What is your name ?'

'Alphonse.' (9)

He couldn't have resisted replying for a big clock. (10)

'That sounds like a silly name for a cockatoo.'

'And 'Fedecks' is a silly name for a Lipwigzer guard dog.' (11) (12)

Dachtyla carefully raised his hands in the air, stood very still and quietly addressed Alphonse.

'I think someone should call the Watch,' he said.

(1)More or less Greek for Ephebian. It means 'Fingers.'

(2)Most unwise in Ankh – Morpork. Better to be caught by the Watch. The Guild could get creative.

(3)This could be even more unwise. Like wizards, posties are swift to anger – but not all that subtle.

(4)See Sir Terry's Going Postal.

(5)This is beginning to sound familiar...

(6)See Sir Terry's Raising Steam.

(7)Though Adora Belle's Goblin PA openly thought Moist a bit of a tit. It takes one to know one...

(7a)Post traumatic amnesia fits the bill here.

(9)The bird was gifted to Moist By Reacher Gilt when the Postmaster bested him.

(10)Narrative causality again.

(11)Very similar to Roundworld Rottweilers and are nice animals – if their tempers are not tried.

(12)It had taken Moist, Adora Belle and Grandfather Bastian some time to dissuade dog and Goblins from eating each other. (Plug for my story 'The Strange Delivery of Mr Von Lipwig.')