Thief of Time

“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 meself.”

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.