Suddenly, condemned arch-swindler Moist von Lipwig
found himself with a noose around his neck and dropping
through a trapdoor into ... a government job?
By
all rights, Moist should be meeting his maker rather than
being offered a position as Postmaster by Lord Vetinari,
supreme ruler of Ankh-Morpork. Getting the moribund Postal
Service up and running again, however, may prove an
impossible task, what with literally mountains of decades-
old undelivered mail clogging every nook and cranny of the
broken-down post office. Worse still, Moist could swear
the mail is talking to him. Worst of all, it means taking
on the gargantuan, greedy Grand Trunk clacks communication
monopoly and its bloodthirsty piratical headman. But if
the bold and undoable are what's called for, Moist's the
man for the job -- to move the mail, continue breathing,
get the girl, and specially deliver that invaluable
commodity that every being, human or otherwise, requires:
hope.