The Ankh-Morpork Post Office is running like . . . well,
not at all like a government office. The mail is delivered
promptly; meetings start and end on time; five out of six
letters relegated to the Blind Letter Office ultimately
wend their way to the correct addresses. Postmaster General
Moist von Lipwig, former arch-swindler and confidence man,
has exceeded all expectations—including his own. So it's
somewhat disconcerting when Lord Vetinari summons Moist to
the palace and asks, "Tell me, Mr. Lipwig, would you like
to make some real money?"
Vetinari isn't talking about wages, of course. He's
referring, rather, to the Royal Mint of Ankh-Morpork, a
venerable institution that haas run for centuries on the
hereditary employment of the Men of the Sheds and their
loyal outworkers, who do make money in their spare time.
Unfortunately, it costs more than a penny to make a penny,
so the whole process seems somewhat counterintuitive.
Next door, at the Royal Bank, the Glooper, an "analogy
machine," has scientifically established that one never has
quite as much money at the end of the week as one thinks
one should, and the bank's chairman, one elderly Topsy (née
Turvy) Lavish, keeps two loaded crossbows at her desk. Oh,
and the chief clerk is probably a vampire.
But before Moist has time to fully consider Vetinari's
question, fate answers it for him. Now he's not only making
money, but enemies too; he's got to spring a prisoner from
jail, break into his own bank vault, stop the new manager
from licking his face, and, above all, find out where all
the gold has gone—otherwise, his life in banking, while
very exciting, is going to be really, really short. . . .
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