Thief of Time

The monk suddenly looked guilty. “Spinners? What spinners?”

Lu-Tze walked across the room and pressed a hand against part of the wall, which slid aside.

“These spinners, Qu. Don't muck me about, we haven't got time.”

Lobsang saw what looked very much like two small Procrastinators, each one within a metal framework mounted on a board. There was a harness attached to each board.

“You haven't told the abbot about them yet, have you?” said Lu-Tze, unhooking one of the things. “He'd put a stop to them if you did, you know that.”

“I didn't think anyone knew!” said Qu. “How did you–”

Lu-Tze grinned. “No one notices a sweeper,” he said.

“They're still very experimental!” said Qu, close to panic. “I was going to tell the abbot, of course, but I was waiting until I had something to demonstrate! And it would be terrible if they fell into the wrong hands!”

“Then we'll see to it that they don't,” said Lu-Tze, examining the straps. “How're they powered now?”

“Weights and ratchets were too unreliable,” said Qu. “I'm afraid I had to resort to… clockwork.”

Lu-Tze stiffened, and he glared at the monk. “Clockwork?”

“Only as a motive force, only as a motive force!” Qu protested. “There's really no other choice!”

“Too late now, it'll have to do,” said Lu-Tze, unhooking the other board and passing it across to Lobsang. “There you go, lad. With a bit of sacking round it it'll look just like a backpack.”

“What is it?”

Qu sighed. “They're portable Procrastinators. Try not to break them, please.”

“What will we need them for?”

“I hope you won't have to find out,” said Lu-Tze. “Thanks, Qu.”

“Are you sure you wouldn't prefer some time bombs?” said Qu hopefully. “Drop one on the floor and time will slow for—”

“Thanks, but no.”

“The other monks were fully equipped,” said Qu.

“But we're travelling light,” said Lu-Tze firmly. “We'll go out the back way, Qu, okay?”

The back way led to a narrow path and a small gate in the wall. Dismembered wooden dummies and patches of scorched rock indicated that Qu and his assistants often came this way. And then there was another path, beside one of the many icy streamlet's.

“Qu means well,” said Lu-Tze, walking fast. “But if you listen to him you end up clanking when you walk and exploding when you sit down.”

Lobsang ran to keep up.

“It'll take weeks to walk to Ankh-Morpork, Sweeper!”

“We'll slice our way there,” said Lu-Tze, and he stopped and turned. “You think you can do that?”

“I've done it hundreds of times—” Lobsang began.

“Back in Oi Dong, yes,” said Lu-Tze. “But there's all kinds of checks and safeguards in the valley. Oh, didn't you know that? Slicing in Oi Dong is easy, lad. It's different out there. The air tries to get in the way. Do it wrong and the air is a rock. You have to shape the slice around you so that you move like a fish in water. Know how to do that?”

“We learned a bit of the theory, but—”

“Soto said you stopped time for yourself back in the city. The Stance of the Coyote, it's called. Very hard to do, and I don't reckon they teach it in the Thieves' Guild, eh?”

“I suppose I was lucky, Sweeper.”

“Good. Keep it up. We'll have plenty of time for you to practise before we leave the snow. Get it right before you tread on grass, or kiss your feet goodbye.”

They called it slicing time…

There is a way of playing certain musical instruments that is called “circular breathing”, devised to allow people to play the didgeridoo or the bagpipes without actually imploding or being sucked down the tube. “Slicing time” was very much the same, except time was substituted for air and it was a lot quieter. A trained monk could stretch a second further than an hour…

But that wasn't enough. He'd be moving in a rigid world. He'd have to learn to see by echo light and hear by ghost sound and let time leach into his immediate universe. It wasn't hard, once he found the confidence; the sliced world could almost seem normal, apart from the colours…