Thief of Time

“Time and its control is what we should teach here,” said Lu-Tze, watching them go. “The martial arts are an aid. That is all they are. At least, that's all they were meant to be. Even out in the world a well-trained person may perceive, in the fray, how flexible time may be. Here, we can build on that. Compress time. Stretch time. Hold the moment. Punching people's kidneys out through their nose is only a foolish by-product.”

Lu-Tze took down a razor-edged pika sword from the rack and handed it to the shocked boy.

“You've seen one of these before? They're not really for novices, but you show promise.”

“Yes, Sweeper, but—”

“Know how to use it?”

“I'm good with the practice ones, but they're just made of—”

“Take it, then, and attack me.”

There was a rustling noise above them. Lobsang looked up and saw monks pouring into the observation gallery above the dojo. There were some very senior ones among them. News gets around quickly in a little world.

“Rule Two,” said Lu-Tze, “is never refuse a weapon.” He took a few steps back. “In your own time, boy.”

Lobsang wielded the curved sword uncertainly.

“Well?” said Lu-Tze.

“I can't just—”

“Is this the dojo of the Tenth Djim?” said Lu-Tze. “Why, mercy me, I do believe it is. That means there are no rules, doesn't it? Any weapon, any strategy… anything is allowed. Do you understand? Are you stupid?”

“But I can't just kill someone because they've asked me to!”

“Why not? What happened to Mr Manners?”

“But—”

“You are holding a deadly weapon! You are facing an unarmed man in a pose of submission! Are you frightened?”

“Yes! Yes, I am!”

“Good. That's the Third Rule,” said Lu-Tze quietly. “See how much you're learning already? Wiped the smile off your face, have I? All right, put the sword on the rack and take—Yes, take a dakka stick. The most you can do with that is bruise my old bones.”

“I would prefer it if you wore the protective padding—”

“You're that good with the stick, are you?”

“I'm very fast—”

“Then if you don't fight right now I shall wrest it from you and break it over your head,” said Lu-Tze, drawing back. “Ready? The only defence is to attack well, I'm told.”

Lobsang tilted the stick in reluctant salute.

Lu-Tze folded his hands and, as Lobsang danced towards him, closed his eyes and smiled to himself.

Lobsang raised the stick again.

And hesitated.

Lu-Tze was grinning.

Rule Two, Rule Three… What had been Rule One?

Always remember Rule One…

“Lu-Tze!”

The abbot's chief acolyte arrived panting in the doorway, waving urgently.

Lu-Tze opened one eye, and then the other one, and then winked at Lobsang.

“Narrow escape there, eh?” he said. He turned to the acolyte. “Yes, exalted sir?”

“You must come immediately! And all monks who are cleared for a tour in the world! To the Mandala Hall! Now!”

There was a scuffling in the gallery and several monks pushed their way out through the crowd.

“Ah, excitement,” said Lu-Tze, taking the stick from Lobsang's unresisting hands and putting it back into the rack. The hall was emptying fast. Around the whole of Oi Dong, gongs were being banged frantically.

“What's happening?” said Lobsang, as the last of the monks surged past.

“I daresay we shall soon be told,” said Lu-Tze, starting to roll himself a cigarette.

“Hadn't we better hurry? Everyone's going!” The sound of flapping sandals died away in the distance.

“Nothing seems to be on fire,” said Lu-Tze calmly. “Besides, if we wait a little then by the time we get there everyone will have stopped shouting and perhaps they will be making some sense. Let us take the Clock Path. The display is particularly fine at this time of day.”

“But… but…”

“It is written ‘You've got to learn to walk before you can run,’” said Lu-Tze, putting his broom over his shoulder.

“Mrs Cosmopilite again?”

“Amazing woman. Dusted like a demon, too.”

The Clock Path wound out from the main complex, up through the terraced gardens, and then rejoined the wider path as it tunnelled into the cliff wall. Novices always asked why it was called the Clock Path, since there was no sign of a clock anywhere.

More gongs started to bang, but they were muffled by the greenery. Lobsang heard running feet up on the main path. Down here, humming birds flickered from flower to flower, oblivious of any excitement.

“I wonder what time it is,” said Lu-Tze, who was walking ahead.

Everything is a test. Lobsang glanced around at the flowerbed.

“A quarter past nine,” he said.

“Oh? And how do you know that?”

“The field marigold is open, the red sandwort is opening, the purple bindweed is closed, and the yellow goat's beard is closing,” said Lobsang.

“You worked out the floral clock all by yourself?”

“Yes. It's obvious.”

“Really? What time is it when the white waterlily opens?”

“Six in the morning.”

“You came to look?”

“Yes. You planted this garden, did you?”

“One of my little… efforts.”

“It's beautiful.”

“It's not very accurate in the small hours. There aren't too many night-blooming plants that grow well up here. They open for the moths, you know—”