After nine seconds of industrious writing, Lord Vetinari looked up from his paperwork.

All, Mr Lipwig,' he said. 'Not in your golden suit?'

'It's being cleaned, sir.'

'I trust the day goes well with you? Up until now, that is?'

Moist looked around, sorting hastily through the Post Office's recent little problems. Apart from Drumknott, who was standing by his master with an attitude of deferential alertness, they were alone.

'Look, I can explain,' he said.

Lord Vetinari lifted an eyebrow with the care of one who, having found a piece of caterpillar in his salad, raises the rest of the lettuce.

'Pray do,' he said, leaning back.

'We got a bit carried away,' said Moist. 'We were a bit too creative in our thinking. We encouraged mongooses to breed in the posting boxes to keep down the snakes…'

Lord Vetinari said nothing.

'Er… which, admittedly, we introduced into the posting boxes to reduce the numbers of toads…'

Lord Vetinari repeated himself.

'Er… which, it's true, staff put in the posting boxes to keep down the snails…'

Lord Vetinari remained unvocal.

'Er… These, I must in fairness point out, got into the boxes of their own accord, in order to eat the glue on the stamps,' said Moist, aware that he was beginning to burble.

'Well, at least you were saved the trouble of having to introduce them yourselves,' said Lord Vetinari cheerfully. 'As you indicate, this may well have been a case where chilly logic should have been replaced by the common sense of, perhaps, the average chicken. But that is not the reason I asked you to come here today.'

'If it's about the cabbage-flavoured stamp glue—' Moist began.

Vetinari waved a hand. 'An amusing incident,' he said, 'and I believe nobody actually died.'