Thief of Time

Lobsang must have caught the rebuke in the tone. He stared down at his feet. “Well, perhaps not all of them, I admit,” he said.

“Oh?” said Lu-Tze, still apparently fascinated by the end of his own broom.

“But when you have to save a world you cannot think of one person, you see, because one person is a part of that world,” Lobsang went on.

“Really?” said the sweeper. “You think so? You've been talking to some very strange people, my lad.”

“But now I have time,” said Lobsang earnestly. “And I hope she'll understand.”

“It's amazing what a lady will understand, if you find the right way of putting it,” said Lu-Tze. “Best of luck, lad. You didn't do so bad, on the whole. And is it not written, ‘There's no time like the present’?”

Lobsang smiled at him, and vanished.

Lu-Tze went back to his sweeping. After a while, he smiled at a memory. An apprentice gives a gift to the master, eh? As if Lu-Tze could want anything that Time could give him…

And he stopped, and looked up, and laughed out loud. Overhead, swelling as he watched, the cherries were ripening.

Tick

In some place that had not existed before, and only existed now for this very purpose, stood a large, gleaming vat.

“Ten thousand gallons of delicate fondant sugar cream infused with essence of violet and stirred into dark chocolate,” said Chaos. “There are also strata of hazelnut praline in rich butter cream, and areas of soft caramel for that special touch of delight.”

SO… YOU'RE SAYING THAT THIS VAT COULD EXIST SOMEWHERE IN A TRULY INFINITE EVERYWHERE AND THEREFORE IT CAN EXIST HERE? said Death.

“Indeed,” said Chaos.

BUT IT NO LONGER EXISTS IN THE PLACE WHERE IT SHOULD EXIST.

“No. It should, now, exist here. The maths is easy,” said Chaos.

AH? WELL, MATHS, said Death dismissively. GENERALLY I NEVER GET MUCH FURTHER THAN SUBTRACTION.

“In any case, chocolate is hardly a rare commodity,” said Chaos. “There are planets covered in the stuff.”

REALLY?

“Indeed.”

IT MIGHT BE BEST, said Death, IF NEWS LIKE THAT DID NOT GET ABOUT. He walked back to where Unity was waiting in the darkness.

YOU DO NOT NEED TO DO THIS, he said.

“What else is there?” said Unity. “I have betrayed my own kind. And I am hideously insane. I can never be at home anywhere. And staying here would be an agony.”

She stared into the chocolate abyss. A dusting of sugar sparkled on its surface.

Then she slipped out of her dress. To her amazement she felt embarrassed about doing so, but still drew herself up haughtily.

“Spoon,” she commanded, and held out her right hand imperiously. Chaos gave a silver ladle a final, theatrical polish and passed it to her.

“Goodbye,” said Unity. “Do pass on my best wishes to your granddaughter.”

She walked a few steps back, turned, broke into a run, and took off into a perfect swallow dive.

The chocolate closed over her with barely a sound. Then the two watchers waited until the fat, lazy ripples had died away.

“Now there was a lady with style,” said Chaos. “What a waste.”

YES. I THOUGHT SO.

“Well, it's been fun… up to that point, anyway. And now I must be off,” said Chaos.

YOU'RE CONTINUING WITH THE MILK ROUND?

“People rely on me.”

Death looked impressed. IT'S GOING TO BE… INTERESTING TO HAVE YOU BACK, he said.

“Yeah. It is,” said Chaos. “You're not coming?”

I'M JUST GOING TO WAIT HERE FOR A WHILE.

“Why?”

JUST IN CASE.

“Ah.”

YES.

It was some minutes later that Death reached into his robe and pulled out a lifetimer that was small and light enough to have been designed for a doll. He turned round.

“But… I died,” said the shade of Unity.

YES, said Death. THIS IS THE NEXT PART…

Tick

Emma Robertson sat in the classroom with wrinkled brow, chewing on her pencil. Then, rather slowly, but with the air of one imparting great secrets, she set to work.

She wrote:

“We went to Lanker where there are witches they are kind they grow erbs. We met this which she was very jole and sang us a snog abot a hedghog it had dificut words. Jason try to kick her cat it chase him up a tre. I know a lot about wiches now they do not have warts they do not eat you they are just like your grane except your grane does not know difult words.”

At her high desk Susan relaxed. There was nothing like a classroom of bent heads. A good teacher used whatever materials there were to hand, and taking the class to visit Mrs Ogg was an education in herself. Two educations.

A classroom going well had its own smell: a hint of pencil shavings, poster paints, long-dead stick insect, glue, and, of course, the faint aroma of Billy.