Thief of Time

“It's how time wants to be measured,” said Lobsang.

“Really? Of course I'm not an expert,” said Lu-Tze. He pinched out the end of his cigarette and stuck it behind his ear. “Oh well, let's keep going. Everyone may have stopped arguing at cross purposes by now. How do you feel about going through the Mandala Hall again?”

“Oh, I'll be fine, I'd just… forgotten about it, that's all.”

“Really? And you'd never seen it before, too. But time plays funny tricks on us all. Why, I once—” Lu-Tze stopped, and stared at the apprentice.

“Are you all right?” he said. “You've gone pale.”

Lobsang grimaced and shook his head.

“Something… felt odd,” he said. He vaguely waved a hand in the direction of the lowlands, spread out in a blue and grey pattern on the horizon. “Something… over there…”

The glass clock. The great glass house and here, where it shouldn't be, the glass clock. It was barely here; it showed up as shimmering lines in the air, as if it was possible to capture the sparkle of light off a shiny surface without the surface itself.

Everything here was transparent—delicate chairs, tables, vases of flowers. And now he realized that glass was not a word to use here. Crystal might be better; or ice—the thin, flawless ice you sometimes got after a sharp frost. Everything was visible only by its edges.

He could make out staircases through distant walls. Above and below and to every side, the glass rooms went on for ever.

And yet it was all familiar. It felt like home.

Sound filled the glass rooms. It streamed away in clear sharp notes, like the tones made by a wet finger around a wineglass rim. There was movement, too—a haze in the air beyond the transparent walls, shifting and wavering and… watching him…

“How can it come from over there? And how do you mean, odd?” said the voice of Lu-Tze.

Lobsang blinked. This was the odd place, the one right here, the rigid and unbending world…

And then the feeling passed, and faded.

“Just odd. For a moment,” he mumbled. There was dampness on his cheek. He raised his hand, and touched wetness.

“It's that rancid yak butter they put in the tea, I've always said so,” said Lu-Tze. “Mrs Cosmopilite never—Now that is unusual,” he said, looking up.

“What? What?” said Lobsang, looking blankly at his wet fingertips and then up at the cloudless sky.

“A Procrastinator going overspeed.” He shifted position. “Can't you feel it?”

“I can't hear anything!” said Lobsang.

“Not hear, feel. Coming up through your sandals? Oops, there goes another one… and another. You can't feel it? That one's… that's old Sixty-Six, they've never got it properly balanced. We'll hear them in a minute… Oh dear. Look at the flowers. Do look at the flowers!”

Lobsang turned.

The ice plants were opening. The field sowthistle was closing.

“Time-leak,” said Lu-Tze. “Hark at that! You can hear them now, eh? They're dumping time randomly! Come on!”

According to the Second Scroll of Wen the Eternally Surprised, Wen the Eternally Surprised sawed the first Procrastinator from the trunk of a wamwam tree, carved certain symbols on it, fitted it with a bronze spindle and summoned the apprentice, Clodpool.

“Ah. Very nice, master,” said Clodpool. “A prayer wheel, yes?”

“No, this is nothing like as complex,” said Wen. “It merely stores and moves time.”

“That simple, eh?”

“And now I shall test it,” said Wen. He gave it a half-turn with his hand.

“Ah. Very nice, master,” said Clodpool. “A prayer wheel, yes?”

“No, this is nothing like as complex,” said Wen. “It merely stores and moves time.”

“That simple, eh?”

“And now I shall test it,” said Wen. He moved it a little less this time.

“That simple, eh?”

“And now I shall test it,” said Wen. This time he twisted it gently to and fro.

“That si-si-si That simple-ple, eh eheh simple, eh?” said Clodpool.

“And I have tested it,” said Wen.

“It worked, master?”

“Yes, I think so.” Wen stood up. “Give me the rope that you used to carry the firewood. And… yes, a pit from one of those cherries you picked yesterday.”