Discworld 26 - The Thief of Time (13 page)

 
 
  
There was a rotting cork hat there, and a pair of ancient sandals. In between was a pile of
grey dust.
'Poor fellow,' said Lu-Tze. 'A full fifty thousand years in one jolt, I'd say.' He glared at the
scurrying monks again. 'Will you lot stop and come here! I ain't going to ask you twice!'
Several of them swept the sweat out of their eyes and trotted towards the podium, relieved to
hear any kind of order, while behind them the Procrastinators screamed.
'Right!' said Lu-Tze, as they were joined by more and more. 'Now listen to me! This is just a
surge cascade! You've all heard of them! We can deal with it! We just have to cross-link
futures and pasts, fastest ones first-'
'Poor Mr Shoblang already tried that,' said a monk. He nodded at the sad pile.
'Then I want two teams-' Lu-Tze stopped. 'No, we haven't got time! We'll do it by the soles of
our feet, like we used to do! One man to a spinner, just smack the bars when I say! Ready to
go when I call the numbers!'
Lu-Tze climbed onto the podium and ran his eye over a board covered with wooden bobbins.
A red or blue nimbus hovered over each one.
'What a mess,' he said. 'What a mess.'
'What do they mean?' said Lobsang.
Lu-Tze's hands hovered over the bobbins. 'Okay. The red-tinted ones are winding time out,
speeding it up,' he said. 'The blue-tinted ones, they're winding time in, slowing it down.
Brightness of the colour, that's how fast they're doing it. Except that now they're all
freewheeling because the surge cut them loose, understand?'
'Loose from what?'
'From the load. From the world. See up there?' He waved a hand towards two long racks that
ran all the way along the cavern wall. Each one held a row of swivelling shutters, one line
blue, one line dark red.
'The more shutters showing a colour, the more time winding or unwinding?'
'Good lad! Got to keep it balanced! And the way we get through this is we couple the
spinners up in twos, so that they wind and unwind one another. Cancel themselves out. Poor
old Shoblang was trying to put them back into service, I reckon. Can't be done, not during a
cascade. You've got to let it all fall over, and then pick up the pieces when it's nice and quiet.'
He glanced at the bobbins and then at the crowd of monks. 'Right. You... l28 to 17, and then
45 to 89. Off you go. And you. . . 596 to, let's see... yes, 402...'
'Seven hundred and ninety!' shouted Lobsang, pointing to a bobbin.
'You what?'

 
 
  
'Seven hundred and ninety!'
'Don't be daft. That's still unwinding, lad. Four hundred and two is our man, right here.'
'Seven hundred and ninety is about to start winding time again!'
'It's still bright blue.'
'It's going to wind. I know it. Because' - the novice's finger moved over the lines of bobbins,
hesitated, and pointed to a bobbin on the other side of the board - 'it's matching speeds with
this one.'
Lu-Tze peered. 'It is written, “Well, I'll go to the foot of our stairs!”' he said. 'They're forming
a natural inversion.' He squinted at Lobsang. 'You're not the reincarnation of someone, are
you? That happens a lot in these parts.'
'I don't think so. It's just... obvious.'
'A moment ago you didn't know anything about these!'
'Yes, yes, but when you see them... it's obvious.'
'Is it? Is it? All right. Then the board's yours, wonder boy!' Lu-Tze stood back.
'Mine? But I-'
'Get on with it! That is an order.'
For a moment there was a suggestion of blue light around Lobsang. Lu-Tze wondered how
much time he'd folded around himself in that second. Time enough to think, certainly.
Then the boy called out half a dozen pairs of numbers. Lu-Tze turned to the monks.
'Jump to it, boys. Mr Lobsang has the board! You boys just watch those bearings!'
'But he's a novice-' one of the monks began, and stopped and backed away when he saw Lu-
Tze's expression. 'All right, Sweeper ... all right...'
A moment later there was the sound of jumpers slamming into place. Lobsang called out
another set of numbers.
While the monks dashed to and fro to the butter pits for grease, Lu-Tze watched the nearest
column. It was still spinning fast, but he was sure he could see the carvings.
Lobsang ran his eye over the board again and stared up at the rumbling cylinders, and then
back to the lines of shutters.
There wasn't anything written down about all this, Lu-Tze knew. You couldn't teach it in a
classroom, although they tried. A good spin driver learned it through the soles of his feet, for
all the theory that they taught you these days. He'd learn to feel the flows, to see the rows of

 
 
  
Procrastinators as sinks or fountains of time. Old Shoblang had been so good that he'd been
able to pull a couple of hours of wasted time from a classroom of bored pupils without their
even noticing, and dump it into a busy workshop a thousand miles away as neat as you
pleased.
And then there was that trick he used to do with an apple to amaze the apprentices. He'd put it
on a pillar next to them, and then flick time at it off one of the small spindles. In an instant
it'd be a collection of small, spindly trees before crumbling to dust. That's what'll happen to
you if you get things wrong, he'd say.
Lu-Tze glanced down at the pile of grey dust under the disintegrating hat as he hurried past.
Well, maybe it was the way he'd want to go-
A scream of tormented stone made him look up.
'Keep those bearings greased, you lazy devils!' he yelled, running down the rows. 'And watch
those rails! Hands off the splines! We're doing fine!'
As he ran he kept his eyes on the columns. They were no longer turning randomly. Now, they
had purpose.
'I think you're winning, lad!' he shouted to the figure on the podium.
'Yes, but I can't balance it! There's too much time wound up and nowhere to put it!'
'How much?'
'Almost forty years!'
Lu-Tze glanced at the shutters. Forty years looked about right, but surely-?
'How much?' he said.
'Forty! I'm sorry! There's nothing to take it up!'
'No problem! Steal it! Shed load! We can always pull it back later! Dump it!'
'Where?'
'Find a big patch of sea!' The sweeper pointed to a crude map of the world painted on the
wall. 'Do you know how to- Can you see how to give it the right spin and direction?'
Once again, there was the blueness in the air.
'Yes! I think so!'
'Yes, I imagine you do! In your own time, then!'
Lu-Tze shook his head. Forty years? He was worried about forty years? Forty years was
nothing! Apprentice drivers had dumped fifty thousand years before now. That was the thing

 
 
  
about the sea. It just stayed big and wet. It always had been big and wet, it always would be
big and wet. Oh, maybe fishermen would start to dredge up strange whiskery fish that they'd
only ever seen before as fossils, but who cared what happened to a bunch of codfish?
The sound changed.
'What are you doing?'
'I've found space on number 422! It can take another forty years! No sense in wasting time!
I'm pulling it back now!'
There was another change of tone.
'Got it! I'm sure I've got it!'
Some of the bigger cylinders were already slowing to a halt. Lobsang was moving pegs
around the board now faster than the bewildered Lu-Tze could follow. And, overhead, the
shutters were slamming back, one after another, showing age-blackened wood instead of
colour.
No one could be that accurate, could they?
'You're down to months now, lad, months!' he shouted. 'Keep it up! No, blimey, you're down
to days... days! Keep an eye on me!'
The sweeper ran towards the end of the hall, to where the Procrastinators were smaller. Time
was fine-tuned here, on cylinders of chalk and wood and other short-lived materials. To his
amazement, some of them were already slowing.
He raced down an aisle of oak columns a few feet high. But even the Procrastinators that
could wind time in hours and minutes were falling silent.
There was a squeaking noise.
Beside him, one final little chalk cylinder at the end of a row rattled around on its bearing like
a spinning-top.
Lu-Tze crept towards it, staring at it intently, one hand raised. The squeaking was the only
sound now, apart from the occasional clink of cooling bearings.
'Nearly there,' he called out. 'Slowing down now... wait for it, wait... for... it...'
The chalk Procrastinator, no bigger than a reel of cotton, slowed, spun... stopped.
On the racks, the last two shutters closed.
Lu-Tze's hand fell.
'Now! Kill the board! No one touch a thing!'

 
 
  
For a moment there was dead silence in the hall. The monks watched, holding their breath.
This was a timeless moment, of perfect balance.
Tick
And in that timeless moment the ghost of Mr Shoblang, to whom the scene was hazy and
fuzzy as though seen through a gauze, said, 'This is just impossible! Did you see that?'
SEE WHAT? said a dark figure behind him.
Shoblang turned. 'Oh,' he said, and added with sudden certainty, 'You're Death, right?'
YES. I AM SORRY I AM LATE.
The spirit formerly known as Shoblang looked down at the pile of dust that represented his
worldly habitation for the previous six hundred years.
'So am I,' he said. He nudged Death in the ribs.
EXCUSE ME?
'I said, “I'm sorry I'm late.” Boom, boom.'
I BEG YOUR PARDON?
'Er, you know... Sorry I'm late. Like... dead?'
Death nodded. OH, I SEE. IT WAS THE 'BOOM BOOM' I DID NOT UNDERSTAND.
'Er, that was to show it was a joke,' said Shoblang.
AH, YES. I CAN SEE HOW THAT WOULD BE NECESSARY. IN FACT, MR
SHOBLANG, WHILE YOU ARE LATE, YOU ARE ALSO EARLY. BOOM, BOOM.
'Pardon?'
YOU HAVE DIED BEFORE YOUR TIME.
'Well, yes, I should think so!'
DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHY? IT'S VERY UNUSUAL.
'All I know is that the spinners went wild and I must've copped a load when one of 'em went
overspeed,' said Shoblang. 'But, hey, what about that kid, eh? Look at the way he's making
the buggers dance! I wish I'd had him training under me! What am I saying? He could give
me a few tips!'
Death looked around. TO WHOM DO YOU REFER?

 
 
  
'That boy up on the podium, see him?'
NO, I'M AFRAID I SEE NO ONE THERE.
'What? Look, he's right there! Plain as the nose on your fa- Well, obviously not on your
face...'
I SEE THE COLOURED PEGS MOVING...
'Well, who do you think is moving them? I mean, you are Death, right? I thought you could
see everyone!'
Death stared at the dancing bobbins.
EVERYONE... THAT I SHOULD SEE, he said. He continued to stare.
'Ahem,' said Shoblang.
OH, YES. WHERE WERE WE?
'Look, if I'm, er, too early, then can't you-'
EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS STAYS HAPPENED.
'What kind of philosophy is that?'
THE ONLY ONE THAT WORKS. Death took out an hourglass and consulted it. I SEE
THAT BECAUSE OF THIS PROBLEM YOU ARE NOT DUE TO REINCARNATE FOR
SEVENTY-NINE YEARS. DO YOU HAVE ANYWHERE TO STAY?
'Stay? I'm dead. It's not like locking yourself out of your own house!' said Shoblang, who was
beginning to fade.
PERHAPS YOU COULD BE BUMPED UP TO AN EARLIER BIRTH?
Shoblang vanished.
In the timeless moment Death turned back to stare at the hall of spinners...
Tick
The chalk cylinder started to spin again, squeaking gently.
One by one, the oak Procrastinators began to revolve, picking up the rising load. This time
there was no scream of bearings. They twirled slowly, like old ballerinas, this way and that,
gradually taking up the strain as millions of humans in the world outside bent time around
themselves. The creaking sounded like a teaclipper rounding Cape Wrath on a gentle breeze.
Then the big stone cylinders groaned as they picked up the time their smaller brethren
couldn't handle. A rumbling underlay the creaking now, but it was still gentle, controlled...

 
 
  
Lu-Tze lowered his hand gently and straightened up.
'A nice clean pick-up,' he said. 'Well done, everyone.' He turned to the astonished, panting
monks and beckoned the most senior towards him.
Lu-Tze pulled a ragged cigarette end out of its lodging behind his ear and said, 'Well now,
Rambut Handisides, what d'you think happened just now, eh?'
'Er, well, there was a surge which blew out-'
'Nah, nah, after that,' said Lu-Tze, striking a match on the sole of his sandal. 'See, what I don't
think happened was that you boys ran around like a lot of headless chickens and a novice got
up on the platform and did the sweetest, smoothest bit of rebalancing that I've ever seen. That
couldn't have happened, because that sort of thing does not happen. Am I right?'
The monks of the Procrastinator floor were not among the temple's great political thinkers.
Their job was to tend and grease and strip down and rebuild and follow the directions of the
man on the platform. Rambut Handisides' brow wrinkled.
Lu-Tze sighed. 'See, what I think happened,' he said helpfully, 'was that you lads rose to the
occasion, right, and left myself and the young man there aghast at the practical skills you all
showed. The abbot will be impressed and blow happy bubbles. You could be looking at some
extra momos in your thugpa come dinner-time, if you get my drift?'
Handisides ran this up his mental flagpole and it did indeed send prayers to heaven. He began
to smile.
'However,' said Lu-Tze, stepping closer and lowering his voice, 'I'll probably be around again
soon, this place looks as though it could do with a good sweeping, and if I don't find you boys
pinsharp and prodding buttock inside a week you and I will have a... talk.'
The smile vanished. 'Yes, Sweeper.'
'You've got to test them all and see to those bearings.'
'Yes, Sweeper.'
'And someone clear up Mr Shoblang.'
'Yes, Sweeper.'
'Fair play to you, then. Me and young Lobsang here will be going. You've done a lot for his
education.'
He took the unresisting Lobsang by the hand and led him out of the hall, past the long lines of
turning, humming Procrastinators. A pall of blue smoke still hung under the high ceiling.
'Truly it is written, “You could knock me down with a feather,”' he muttered, as they headed
up the sloping passage. 'You spotted that inversion before it happened. I'd have blown us into
next week. At least.'

 
 
  
'Sorry, Sweeper.'
'Sorry? You don't have to be sorry. I don't know what you are, son. You're too quick. You're
taking to this place like a duck to water. You don't have to learn stuff that takes other people
years to get the hang of. Old Shoblang, may he be reincarnated somewhere nice and warm,
even he couldn't balance the load down to a second. I mean, a second. Over a whole damn
world!' He shuddered. 'Here's a tip. Don't let it show. People can be funny about that sort of
thing.'
'Yes, Sweeper.'
'And another thing,' said Lu-Tze, leading the way out into the light. 'What was all that fuss
just before the Procrastinators cut loose? You felt something?'
'I don't know. I just felt... everything went wrong for a moment.'
'Ever happened before?'
'No-o. It was a bit like what happened in the Mandala Hall.'
'Well, don't talk about it to anyone else. Most of the high-ups these days probably don't even
know how the spinners work. No one cares about them any more. No one notices something
that works too well. Of course, in the old days you weren't even allowed to become a monk
until you'd spent six months in the hall, greasing and cleaning and fetching. And we were
better for it! These days it's all about learning obedience and cosmic harmony. Well, in the
old days you learned that in the halls. You learned that if you didn't jump out of the way
when someone yelled, “She's dumping!” you got a couple of years where it hurt, and that
there's no harmony better than all the spinners turning sweetly.'
The passage rose into the main temple complex. People were still scurrying around as they
headed for the Mandala Hall.
'You're sure you can look at it again?' said Lu-Tze.
'Yes, Sweeper.'
'Okay. You know best.'
The balconies overlooking the hall were crowded with monks, but Lu-Tze worked his way
forward by polite yet firm use of his broom. The senior monks were clustered at the edge.
Rinpo caught sight of him. 'Ah, Sweeper,' he said. 'Some dust delayed you?'
'Spinners cut free and went overspeed,' muttered Lu-Tze.
'Yes, but you were summoned by the abbot,' said the acolyte reproachfully.
'Upon a time,' said Lu-Tze, 'every man jack of us would have legged it down to the hall when
the gongs went.'