Discworld 26 - The Thief of Time (19 page)

 
 
  
Historians were especially good at it. If it suddenly looked as though hardly anything had
happened in the fourteenth century, they'd weigh in with twenty different theories. Not one of
these would be that maybe most of the time had been cut out and pasted into the nineteenth
century, where the Crash had not left enough coherent time for everything that needed to
happen, because it only takes a week to invent the horse collar.
The History Monks had done their job well, but their biggest ally was the human ability to
think narratively. And humans had risen to the occasion. They'd say things like 'Thursday
already? What happened to the week?' and 'Time seems to go a lot faster these days,' and 'It
seems like only yesterday...'
But some things remained.
The Monks had carefully wiped out the time when the Glass Clock had struck. It had been
surgically removed from history. Almost...
Susan picked up Grim Fairy Tales again. Her parents hadn't bought her books like this when
she was a child. They'd tried to bring her up normally; they knew that it is not entirely a good
idea for humans to be too close to Death. They taught her that facts were more important than
fancy. And then she'd grown up and found out that the real fantasies weren't the Pale Rider or
the Tooth Fairy or bogeymen - they were all solid facts. The big fantasy was that the world
was the place where the toast didn't care if it came butter side down or not, where logic was
sensible, and where things could be made not to have happened.
Something like the Glass Clock had been too big to hide. It had leaked out via the dark,
hidden labyrinths of the human mind, and had become a folk tale. People had tried to coat it
with sugar and magic swords, but its true nature still lurked like a rake in an overgrown lawn,
ready to rise up at the incautious foot.
Now someone was treading on it again, and the point, the key point, was that the chin it was
rising to meet belonged to...
... someone like me.
She sat and stared at nothing for a while. Around her, historians climbed library ladders,
fumbled books onto their lecterns and generally rebuilt the image of the past to suit the
eyesight of today. One of them was in fact looking for his glasses.
Time had a son, she thought, someone who walks in the world.
There was a man who devoted himself to the study of time so wholeheartedly that, for him,
time became real. He learned the ways of time and Time noticed him, Death had said. There
was something there like love.
And Time had a son.
How? Susan had the kind of mind that would sour a narrative with a question like that. Time
and a mortal man. How could they ever... ? Well, how could they?

 
 
  
Then she thought: my grandfather is Death. He adopted my mother. My father was his
apprentice for a while. That's all that happened. They were both human, and I turned up in the
normal way. There is no way I should be able to walk through walls and live outside time and
be a little bit immortal, but I am, and so this is not an area where logic and, let's face it, basic
biology have any part to play.
In any case, time is constantly creating the future. The future contains things that didn't exist
in the past. A small baby should be easy for something... someone who rebuilds the universe
once every instant.
Susan sighed. And you had to remember that Time probably wasn't time, in the same way
that Death wasn't exactly the same as death and War wasn't exactly the same as war. She'd
met War, a big fat man with an inappropriate sense of humour and a habit of losing the
thread, and he certainly didn't personally attend every minor fracas. She disliked Pestilence,
who gave her funny looks, and Famine was just wasted and weird. None of them ran their ...
call it their discipline. They personified it.
Given that she'd met the Tooth Fairy, the Soul Cake Duck and Old Man Trouble, it amazed
Susan that she had grown up to be mostly human, nearly normal.
As she stared at her notes, her hair unwound itself from its tight bun and took up its ground-
state position, which was the hair of someone who had just touched something highly
electrical. It spread out around her head like a cloud, with one black streak of nearly normal
hair.
Grandfather might be an ultimate destroyer of worlds and the final truth of the universe, but
that wasn't to say he didn't take an interest in the little people. Perhaps Time did, too.
She smiled.
Time waited for no man, they said.
Perhaps she'd waited for one, once.
Susan was aware that someone was looking at her, turned and saw the Death of Rats peering
through the lens of the glasses belonging to the mildly distracted man searching for them on
the other side of the room. Up on a long-disregarded bust of a former historian the raven
preened itself.
'Well?' she said.
SQUEAK!
'Oh, he is, is he?'
The doors of the library were nuzzled open and a white horse walked in. There is a terrible
habit amongst horsy people to call a white horse 'grey', but even one of that bowlegged
fraternity would have had to admit that this horse, at least, was white - not as white as snow,
which is a dead white, but at least as white as milk, which is alive. His bridle and reins were
black, and so was the saddle, but all of them were in a sense just for show. If the horse of

 
 
  
Death was inclined to let you ride him, then you'd stay on, saddle or no. And there was no
upper limit to the number of people he could carry. After all, plagues sometimes happened
suddenly.
The historians paid him no attention. Horses did not walk into libraries.
Susan mounted. There were plenty of times when she wished she'd been born completely
human and wholly normal, but the reality was that she'd give it all up tomorrow-
-apart from Binky.
A moment later, four hoofprints glowed like plasma in the air above the library, and then
faded away.
Tick
The crunch-crunch of the yeti's feet over the snow and the eternal wind of the mountains
were the only sounds.
Then Lobsang said, 'By “cut off his head”, you actually mean... ?'
'Sever the head from the body,' said Lu-Tze.
'And,' said Lobsang, still in the tones of one carefully exploring every corner of the haunted
cave, 'he doesn't mind?'
'Waal, it's a nuisance,' said the yeti. 'A bit of a paarty trick. But it's okaay, if it helps. The
sweeper haas alwaays been a goood friend to us. We owe him faavours.'
'I've tried teaching 'em the Way,' said Lu-Tze proudly.
'Yaas. Ver' usefuul. “A washed pot never boils,”'said the yeti.
Curiosity vied with annoyance in Lobsang's head, and won.
'What have I missed here?' he said. 'You don't die?'
'I doon't die? Wit my head cut off? For laughing! Ho. Ho,' said the yeti. 'Of course I die. But
this is not such a sizeaable traansaaction.'
'It took us years to work out what the yetis were up to,' said Lu-Tze. 'Their loops played hob
with the Mandala until the abbot worked out how to allow for them. They've been extinct
three times.'
'Three times, eh?' said Lobsang. 'That's a lot of times to go extinct. I mean, most species only
manage it once, don't they?'
The yeti was entering taller forest now, of ancient pines.
'This'd be a good place,' said Lu-Tze. 'Put us down, sir.'

 
 
  
'And we'll chop your head off,' said Lobsang weakly. 'What am I saying? I'm not going to
chop anyone's head off!'
'You heard him say it doesn't worry him,' said Lu-Tze, as they were gently lowered to the
ground.
'That's not the point!' said Lobsang hotly.
'It's his head,' Lu-Tze pointed out.
'But I mind!'
'Oh, well, in that case,' said Lu-Tze, 'is it not written, “If you want a thing done properly
you've got to do it yourself”?'
'Yaas, it is,' said the yeti.
Lu-Tze took the sword out of Lobsang's hand. He held it carefully, like someone unused to
weapons. The yeti obligingly knelt.
'You're up to date?' said Lu-Tze.
'Yaas.'
'I cannot believe you're really doing this!' said Lobsang.
'Interesting,' said Lu-Tze. 'Mrs Cosmopilite says, “Seeing is believing,” and, strangely
enough, the Great Wen said, 'I have seen, and I believe"!'
He brought the sword down and cut off the yeti's head.
Tick
There was a sound rather like a cabbage being sliced in half, and then a head rolled into the
basket to cheers and cries of 'Oh, I say, well done!' from the crowd. The city of Quirm was a
nice, peaceful, law-abiding place and the city council kept it that way with a penal policy that
combined the maximum of deterrence with the minimum of re-offending.
GRIPPER 'THE BUTCHER' SMARTZ?
The late Gripper rubbed his neck.
'I demand a retrial!' he said.
THIS MAY NOT BE A GOOD TIME, said Death.
'It couldn't possibly have been murder because the...' The soul of Gripper Smartz fumbled in
its spectral pockets for a ghostly piece of paper, unfolded it and continued, in a voice of those
to whom the written word is an uphill struggle, '... because the bal-ance of my mind was d ...
dess-turbed.'

 
 
  
REALLY, said Death. He found it best to let the recently departed get things off their chest.
'Yes, 'cos I really, really wanted to kill him, right? And you can't tell me that's a normal frame
of mind, right? He was a dwarf, anyway, so I don't think that should count as manslaughter.'
I UNDERSTAND THAT WAS THE SEVENTH DWARF YOU KILLED, said Death.
'I'm very prone to being dess-turbed,' said Gripper. 'Really, it's me who's the victim here. All I
needed was a bit of understanding, someone to see my point of view for five minutes...'
WHAT WAS YOUR POINT OF VIEW?
'All dwarfs need a damn good kicking, in my opinion. 'Ere, you're Death, right?'
YES INDEED.
'I'm a big fan! I've always wanted to meet you, y'know? I've got a tattoo of you on my arm,
look here. Done it myself.'
The benighted Gripper turned at the sound of hooves. A young woman in black, entirely
unregarded by the crowd, who were gathered around the food stalls and souvenir stands and
the guillotine, was leading a large white stallion towards them.
'And you've even got valet parking!' said Gripper. 'Now that's what I call style!' and with that
he faded.
WHAT A CURIOUS PERSON, said Death. AH, SUSAN. THANK YOU FOR COMING.
OUR SEARCH NARROWS.
'Our search?'
YOUR SEARCH, IN FACT .
'It's just mine now, is it?'
I HAVE SOMETHING ELSE TO ATTEND TO.
'More important than the end of the world?'
IT IS THE END OF THE WORLD. THE RULES SAY THAT THE HORSEMEN SHALL
RIDE OUT .
'That old legend? But you don't have to do that!'
IT IS ONE OF MY FUNCTIONS. I HAVE TO OBEY THE RULES.
'Why? They're breaking the rules!'
BENDING THEM. THEY HAVE FOUND A LOOPHOLE. I DO NOT HAVE THAT KIND
OF IMAGINATION.

 
 
  
It was like Jason and the Battle for the Stationery Cupboard, Susan told herself. You soon
learned that 'No one is to open the door of the Stationery Cupboard' was a prohibition that a
seven year-old simply would not understand. You had to think, and rephrase it in more
immediate terms, like, 'No one, Jason, no matter what, no, not even if they thought they heard
someone shouting for help, no one - are you paying attention, Jason? - is to open the door of
the Stationery Cupboard, or accidentally fall on the door handle so that it opens, or threaten to
steal Richenda's teddy bear unless she opens the door of the Stationery Cupboard, or be
standing nearby when a mysterious wind comes out of nowhere and blows the door open all
by itself, honestly, it really did, or in any way open, cause to open, ask anyone else to open,
jump up and down on the loose floorboard to open or in any other way seek to obtain entry to
the Stationery Cupboard, Jason!'
'A loophole,' said Susan.
YES.
'Well, why can't you find one too?'
I AM THE GRIM REAPER. I DO NOT THINK PEOPLE WISH ME TO GET...
CREATIVE. THEY WOULD WISH ME TO DO THE TASK ASSIGNED TO ME AT THIS
TIME, BY CUSTOM AND PRACTICE.
'And that's just... riding out?'
YES.
'Where to?'
EVERYWHERE, I THINK. IN THE MEANTIME, YOU WILL NEED THIS.
Death handed her a lifetimer.
It was one of the special ones, slightly bigger than normal. She took it reluctantly. It looked
like an hourglass, but all those little glittering shapes tumbling through the pinch were
seconds.
'You know I don't like doing the... the whole scythe thing,' she said. 'It's not- Hey, this is
really heavy!'
HE IS LU-TZE, A HISTORY MONK. EIGHT HUNDRED YEARS OLD. HE HAS AN
APPRENTICE. I HAVE LEARNED THIS. BUT I CANNOT FEEL HIM, I CANNOT SEE
HIM. HE IS THE ONE. BINKY WILL TAKE YOU TO THE MONK, YOU WILL FIND
THE CHILD.
'And then what?'
I SUSPECT HE WILL NEED SOMEONE. WHEN YOU HAVE FOUND HIM, LET
BINKY GO. I SHALL NEED HIM.
Susan's lips moved as a memory collided with a thought.

 
 
  
'To ride out on?' she said. 'Are you really talking about the Apocalypse? Are you serious? No
one believes in that sort of thing any more!'
I DO.
Susan's jaw dropped. 'You're really going to do that? Knowing everything you know?'
Death patted Binky on the muzzle.
YES, he said.
Susan gave her grandfather a sideways look.
'Hold on, there's a trick, isn't there... ? You're planning something and you're not even going
to tell me, right? You're not really going to just wait for the world to end and celebrate it, are
you?'
WE WILL RIDE OUT .
'No!'
YOU WILL NOT TELL THE RIVERS NOT TO FLOW. YOU WILL NOT TELL THE
SUN NOT TO SHINE. YOU WILL NOT TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD AND SHOULD
NOT DO.
'But it's so-' Susan's expression changed, and Death flinched. 'I thought you cared!'
TAKE THIS ALSO.
Without wanting to, Susan took a smaller lifetimer from her grandfather.
SHE MAY TALK TO YOU .
'And who is this?'
THE MIDWIFE, said Death. NOW... FIND THE SON .
He faded.
Susan looked down at the lifetimers in her hands. He's done it to you again! she screamed at
herself. You don't have to do this and you can put this thing down and you can go back to the
classroom and you can be normal again and you just know that you won't, and so does he-
SQUEAK?
The Death of Rats was sitting between Binky's ears, grasping a lock of the white mane and
giving the general impression of someone anxious to be going. Susan raised a hand to slap
him off, and then stopped herself. Instead, she pushed the heavy lifetimers into the rat's paws.
'Make yourself useful,' she said, grasping the reins. 'Why do I do this?'