A certain fraudster, conman and general baddy known as Albert Spangler is to be hanged. He has spent his entire life gently and charmingly separating people from their money. Being such a bad street huckster that people barely looked at the brass coins they won from his card stall (while showing him where they kept their purses). Selling fake diamond rings for way below their real value (way above, actually). Forging letters of credit and cheques and bills and, instead of skulking around bankvaults at night dressed in black, walking into the bank manager's office in broad daylight (and having the door held open for him on his way out). The result was the same: mounds of illicitly-acquired cash. But the law caught up with him (perhaps the werewolf in the Watch had something to do with that).

Moist von Lipwig, however, has a future. The Patrician has an offer to make him. Get the Post Office up and running again, or else. (Moist doesn't really want to find out the "else"). The clacks has been taken over by dishonest means - and dishonest men. Instead of doing maintenance, they are letting the whole system run until it falls apart, whilst charging their reluctant customers huge amounts of money. Monopolies are bad for business, but the job of Postmaster looks impossible. Letters have piled up in drifts, filling the Post Office with unspoken words. There are only two employees left (well, they aren't really paid) who keep the Regulations going, lighting the lamps every night although the stairwells are never used, filling inkwells to the regulation depth, while trying to avoid the mounting piles of old letters and pigeon guano. Oh, and there's Mr Tiddles (more description than name), the Post Office Cat.

"You really used to deliver messages for kings?" said Groat.
    "Many Kings," said Anghammarad. "Many Empires. Many gods. Many gods. All Gone. All Things Go." The golem's voice grew deeper, as if he were quoting from memory. "Neither Deluge Nor Ice Storm Nor The Black Silence Of The Netherhells Shall Stay These Messengers About Their Sacred Business. Do Not Ask Us About Sabre-Tooth Tigers, Tar Pits, Big Green Things With Teeth Or The goddess Czol."
    "You had big green things with teeth back then?" said Tropes.
    "Bigger. Greener. More Teeth," rumbled Anghammarad.
    "And the goddess Czol?" said Moist.
    "Do Not Ask."

In between the struggle to get the Post Office back on its feet (Neither Rain nor Snow nor Glom of Nit, etc.) Moist has to deal with his bodyguard-cum-parole officer, Mr Pump (19), who never sleeps, and Adora Belle Dearheart, known as Killer to her friends (well, so it might have been if she'd had any). There are dogs and crazed old postmen and wizards and all sorts of strange things to contend with, like huje green things with teeth. And on top of all this, Moist starts enjoying himself, although he firmly believes he can stop any time he likes. While the letters, undelivered for so long, whisper to him....

"Anghammarad Said She Reminded Him Of Lela The Volcano Goddess, Who Smokes All The Time Because The god Of Rain Has Rained On Her Lava," the golem went on.

"Yes, but women always complain about that sort of thing," said Moist. "I look all right, Mr Groat, do I?"

It takes one to know one; set a thief to catch a thief is the modified motto (the Thieves' Guild requested it. It used to be "set a pit with wooden stakes, revolving steel cutting wheels and sharpened iron spikes to catch a thief.") Moist will need all his low cunning and insidious charm to defeat Reacher Gilt, the arch-badguy and sneak extraordinaire, who has "acquired" the clacks. But the cloth-of-gold suit and winged hat (wing-ed, with an extra -ed, sorry) might help Moist a little. Still, Reacher Gilt isn't giving up very easily.

   He surveyed the faces of men who now knew that they were riding a tiger. It had been a good ride up until a week or so ago. It wasn't a case of not being able to get off. They could get off. That was not the problem. The problem was that the tiger knew where they lived.

Keep an eye out for one of the funniest Tolkein references ever. Sometimes Terry comes out with the most incredibly brilliant howler just out of the blue. People wonder why you suddenly scream with laughter and almost fall out your chair. Of course, they could just decide you're crazy and stop paying attention when you get your breath back and start hiccupping...