Discworld 26 - The Thief of Time (11 page)

 
 
  
mild sympathy for the losers, whereas the Stationery Cupboard was a war of attrition. It
contained pots of powder paint and reams of paper and boxes of crayons and more
idiosyncratic items like a spare pair of pants for Billy, who did his best. It also contained The
Scissors, which under classroom rules were treated as some kind of Doomsday Machine, and,
of course, the boxes of stars. The only people allowed in the cupboard were Susan and,
usually, Vincent. Despite everything Susan had tried, short of actual deception, he was
always the official 'best at everything' and won the coveted honour every day, which was to
go into the Stationery Cupboard and fetch the pencils and hand them out. For the rest of the
class, and especially Jason, the Stationery Cupboard was some mystic magic realm to be
entered whenever possible .
Honestly, thought Susan, once you learn the arts of defending the Stationery Cupboard,
outwitting Jason and keeping the class pet alive until the end of term, you've mastered at least
half of teaching.
She signed the register, watered the sad plants on the windowsill, went and fetched some
fresh privet from the hedge for the stick insects that were the successor to Henry the Hamster
(chosen on the basis that it was quite hard to tell when they were dead), tidied a few errant
crayons away and looked around the classroom at all those little chairs. It sometimes worried
her that nearly everyone she knew well was three feet high.
She was never certain that she trusted her grandfather at times like this. It was all to do with
the Rules. He couldn't interfere, but he knew her weaknesses and he could wind her up and
send her out into the world...
Someone like me. Yes, he'd known how to engage her interest.
Someone like me. Suddenly there's some dangerous clock somewhere in the world, and
suddenly I'm told that there's someone like me.
Someone like me. Except not like me. At least I knew my parents. And she'd listened to
Death's account of the tall dark woman wandering from room to room in the endless castle of
glass, weeping for the child she'd given birth to and could see every day but could never
touch...
Where do I even begin?
Tick
Lobsang learned a lot. He learned that every room has at least four corners. He learned that
the sweepers started work when the sky was light enough to see the dust, and continued until
sunset.
As a master, Lu-Tze was kind enough. He would always point out those bits that Lobsang
had not done properly.
After the initial anger, and the taunting of his former classmates, Lobsang found that the
work had a certain charm. Days drifted past under his broom...

 
 
  
... until, almost with an audible click in his brain, he decided that enough was enough. He
finished his section of passageway, and found Lu-Tze dreamily pushing his brush along a
terrace. 'Sweeper?'
'Yes, lad?'
'What is it you are trying to tell me?'
'I'm sorry?'
'I didn't expect to become a ... a sweeper! You're Lu-Tze! I expected to be apprentice to ...
well, to the hero!'
'You did?' Lu-Tze scratched his beard. 'Oh, dear. Damn. Yes, I can see the problem. You
should've said. Why didn't you say? I don't really do that sort of thing any more.'
'You don't?'
'All that playing with history, running about, unsettling people ... No, not really. I was never
quite certain we should be doing it, to be honest. No, sweeping is good enough for me.
There's something... real about a nice clean floor.'
'This is a test, isn't it?' said Lobsang coldly.
'Oh, yes.'
'I mean, I understand how it works. The master makes the pupil do all the menial jobs, and
then it turns out that really the pupil is learning things of great value... and I don't think I'm
learning anything, really, except that people are pretty messy and inconsiderate.'
'Not a bad lesson, all the same,' said Lu-Tze. 'Is it not written, “Hard work never did anybody
any harm”?'
'Where is this written, Lu-Tze?' said Lobsang, thoroughly exasperated.
The sweeper brightened up. 'Ah,' he said. 'Perhaps the pupil is ready to learn. Is it that you
don't wish to know the Way of the Sweeper, you wish to learn instead the Way of Mrs
Cosmopilite?'
'Who?'
'We have swept well. Let's go to the gardens. For is it not written, “It does you good to get
out in the fresh air”?'
'Is it?' said Lobsang, still bewildered.
Lu-Tze pulled a small tattered notebook out of his pocket.
'In here, it is,' he said. 'I should know.'

 
 
  
Tick
Lu-Tze patiently adjusted a tiny mirror to redirect sunlight more favourably on one of the
bonsai mountains. He hummed tunelessly under his breath.
Lobsang, sitting cross-legged on the stones, carefully turned the yellowing pages of the
ancient notebook on which was written, in faded ink, 'The Way of Mrs Cosmopilite'.
'Well?' said Lu-Tze.
'The Way has an answer for everything, does it?'
'Yes.'
'Then...' Lobsang nodded at the little volcano, which was gently smoking, 'how does that
work? It's on a saucer!'
Lu-Tze stared straight ahead, his lips moving. 'Page seventy-six, I think,' he said.
Lobsang turned to the page. ' “Because,”' he read.
'Good answer,' said Lu-Tze, gently caressing a minute crag with a camel-hair brush.
'Just “Because”, Sweeper? No reason?'
'Reason? What reason can a mountain have? And, as you accumulate years, you will learn
that most answers boil down, eventually, to “Because”.'
Lobsang said nothing. The Book of the Way was giving him problems. What he wanted to
say was this: Lu-Tze, this reads like a book of the sayings of an old lady. It's the sort of thing
old ladies say. What kind of koan is 'It won't get better if you pick at it,' or 'Eat it up, it'll
make your hair curly,' or 'Everything comes to he who waits'? This is stuff you get in
Hogswatch crackers!
'Really?' said Lu-Tze, still apparently engrossed in a mountain.
'I didn't say anything.'
'Oh. I thought you did. Do you miss Ankh-Morpork?'
'Yes. I didn't have to sweep floors there.'
'Were you a good thief?'
'I was a fantastic thief.'
A breeze blew the scent of cherry blossom. Just once, thought Lu-Tze, it would be nice to
pick cherries.

 
 
  
'I have been to Ankh-Morpork,' he said, straightening up and moving on to the next
mountain. 'You have seen the visitors we get here?'
'Yes,' said Lobsang. 'Everyone laughs at them.'
'Really?' Lu-Tze raised his eyebrows. 'When they have trekked thousands of miles seeking
the truth?'
'But did not Wen say that if the truth is anywhere, it is everywhere?' said Lobsang.
'Well done. I see you've learned something, at least. But one day it seemed to me that
everyone else had decided that wisdom can only be found a long way off. So I went to Ankh-
Morpork. They were all coming here, so it seemed only fair.'
'Seeking enlightenment?'
'No. The wise man does not seek enlightenment, he waits for it. So while I was waiting it
occurred to me that seeking perplexity might be more fun,' said Lu-Tze. 'After all,
enlightenment begins where perplexity ends. And I found perplexity. And a kind of
enlightenment, too. I had not been there five minutes, for example, when some men in an
alley tried to enlighten me of what little I possessed, giving me a valuable lesson in the
ridiculousness of material things.'
'But why Ankh-Morpork?' said Lobsang.
'Look in the back of the book,' said Lu-Tze.
There was a yellow, crackling scrap of paper tucked in there. The boy unfolded it.
'Oh, this is just a bit of the Almanack,' he said. 'It's very popular there.'
'Yes. A seeker after wisdom left it here.'
'Er ... it's just got the Phases of the Moon on this page.'
'Other side,' said the sweeper.
Lobsang turned the paper over. 'It's just an advert from the Ankh-Morpork Guild of
Merchants,' he said. '“Ankh-Morpork Has Everything!”' He stared at the smiling Lu-Tze.
'And... you thought that-'
'Ah, I am old and simple and understand,' said the sweeper. 'Whereas you are young and
complicated. Didn't Wen see portents in the swirl of gruel in his bowl, and in the flight of
birds? This was actually written. I mean, flights of birds are quite complex, but these were
words. And, after a lifetime of searching, I saw at last the opening of the Way. My Way.'
'And you went all the way to Ankh-Morpork ...' said Lobsang weakly.
'And I fetched up, calm of mind but empty of pocket, in Quirm Street,' said the sweeper,
smiling serenely at the recollection, 'and espied a sign in a window saying “Rooms For Rent”.

 
 
  
Thus I met Mrs Cosmopilite, who opened the door when I knocked and then when I hesitated,
not being sure of the language, she said, “I haven't got all day, you know.” Almost to a word,
one of the sayings of Wen! Instantly I knew that I had found what I was seeking! During the
days I washed dishes in an eating house for twenty pence a day and all the scraps I could take
away, and in the evenings I helped Mrs Cosmopilite clean the house and listened carefully to
her conversation. She was a natural sweeper with a good rhythmical motion and had
bottomless wisdom. Within the first two days she uttered to me the actual words said by Wen
upon understanding the true nature of Time! It was when I asked for a reduced rate because
of course I did not sleep in a bed, and she said “I was not born yesterday, Mr Tze!”
Astonishing! And she could never have seen the Sacred Texts!'
Lobsang's face was a carefully drawn picture. '“I was not born yesterday”?' he said.
'Ah, yes, of course, as a novice you would not have got that far,' said Lu-Tze. 'It was when he
fell asleep in a cave and in a dream saw Time appear to him and show him that the universe is
recreated from second to second, endlessly, with the past just a memory. And he stepped out
from the cave into the truly new world and said, “I was not born - yesterday”!'
'Oh, yes,' said Lobsang. 'But-'
'Ah, Mrs Cosmopilite,' said Lu-Tze, his eyes misting over. 'What a woman for keeping things
clean! If she were a sweeper here, no one would be allowed to walk on the floor! Her house!
So amazing! A palace! New sheets every other week! And cook? Just to taste her Beans
Baked Upon the Toast a man would give up a cycle of the universe!'
'Um,' said Lobsang.
'I stayed for three months, sweeping her house as is fitting for the pupil, and then I returned
here, my Way clear before me.'
'And, er, these stories about you...'
'Oh, all true. Most of them. A bit of exaggeration, but mostly true.'
'The one about the citadel in Muntab and the Pash and the fish bone?'
'Oh, yes.'
'But how did you get in where hall a dozen trained and armed men couldn't even-?'
'I'm a little man and I carry a broom,' said Lu-Tze simply. 'Everyone has some mess that
needs clearing up. What harm is a man with a broom?'
'What? And that was it?'
'Well, the rest was a matter of cookery, really. The Pash was not a good man, but he was a
glutton for his fish pie.'
'No martial arts?' said Lobsang.

 
 
  
'Oh, always a last resort. History needs shepherds, not butchers.'
'Do you know okidoki?'
'Just a lot of bunny-hops.'
'Shiitake?'
'If I wanted to thrust my hand into hot sand I would go to the seaside.'
'Upsidazi?'
'A waste of good bricks.'
'No kando?'
'You made that one up.'
'Tung-pi?'
'Bad-tempered flower-arranging.'
'Déjà-fu?' That got a reaction. Lu Tze's eyebrows raised.
'Déjà-fu?' You heard that rumour? Ha! None of the monks here knows déjà-fu,' he said. 'I'd
soon know about it if they did. Look, boy, violence is the resort of the violent. In most tight
corners a broomstick suffices.'
'Only most, eh?' said Lobsang, not trying to hide the sarcasm.
'Oh, I see. You wish to face me in the dojo? For it's a very old truth: when the pupil can beat
the master, there is nothing the master cannot tell him, because the apprenticeship is ended.
You want to learn?'
'Ah! I knew there was something to learn!'
Lu-Tze stood up. 'Why you?' he said. 'Why here? Why now? “There is a time and a place for
everything.” Why this time and this place? If I take you to the dojo, you will return what you
stole from me! Now!'
He looked down at the teak table where he worked on his mountains.
The little shovel was there.
A few cherry blossom petals fluttered to the ground.
'I see,' he said. 'You are that fast? I did not see you.'
Lobsang said nothing.

 
 
  
'It is a small and worthless thing,' said Lu-Tze. 'Why did you take it, please?'
'To see if I could. I was bored.'
'Ah. We shall see if we can make life more interesting for you, then. No wonder you are
bored, when you can already slice time like that.'
Lu-Tze turned the little shovel over and over in his hand.
'Very fast,' he said. He leaned down and blew the petals away from a tiny glacier. 'You slice
time as fast as a Tenth Djim. And as yet barely trained. You must have been a great thief!
And now... Oh dear, I shall have to face you in the dojo ...'
'No, there is no need!' said Lobsang, because now Lu-Tze looked frightened and humiliated
and, somehow, smaller and brittle-boned.
'I insist,' said the old man. 'Let us get it done now. For it is written, “There is no time like the
present”, which is Mrs Cosmopilite's most profound understanding.' He sighed and looked up
at the giant statue of Wen.
'Look at him,' he said. 'He was a lad, eh? Completely blissed out on the universe. Saw the
past and future as one living person, and wrote the Books of History to tell how the story
should go. We can't imagine what those eyes saw. And he never raised a hand to any man in
his life.'
'Look, I really didn't want to-'
'And you've looked at the other statues?' said Lu-Tze, as if he'd completely forgotten about
the dojo.
Distractedly, Lobsang followed his gaze. Up on the raised stone platform that ran the whole
length of the gardens were hundreds of smaller statues, mostly carved of wood, all of them
painted in garish colours. Figures with more eyes than legs, more tails than teeth, monstrous
amalgamations of fish and squid and tiger and parsnip, things put together as if the creator of
the universe had tipped out his box of spare parts and stuck them together, things painted
pink and orange and purple and gold, looked down over the valley.
'Oh, the dhlang-' Lobsang began.
'Demons? That's one word for them,' said the sweeper. 'The abbot called them the Enemies of
Mind. Wen wrote a scroll about them, you know. And he said that was the worst.'
He pointed to a little hooded grey shape, which looked out of place among the festival of wild
extremities.
'Doesn't look very dangerous,' said Lobsang. 'Look, Sweeper, I don't want to-'
'They can be very dangerous, things that don't look dangerous,' said Lu-Tze. 'Not looking
dangerous is what makes them dangerous. For it is written, “You can't tell a book by its
cover.”'