Thief of Time

“Body again, I am afraid. The brain is a very imprecise instrument.” Lady LeJean got control of her hands at last.

One said, Yes.

Another said, When water fills a jug, it takes the shape of the jug. But the water is not the jug, nor is the jug the water.

“Of course,” said Lady LeJean. And, inside, a thought that she hadn't known she was thinking, a thought that turned up out of the darkness behind the eyes, said: We are surely the most stupid creatures in the universe.

One said, It is not good to act alone.

She said, “Of course.” And once again a thought emerged from the darkness: I'm in trouble now.

One said, And therefore you will have companions. No blame attaches. One should never be alone. Together, resolve is strengthened.

Motes began to twinkle in the air.

Lady LeJean's body backed away automatically and, when she saw what was forming, she backed it away further. She had seen humans in all states of life and death, but seeing a body being spun out of raw matter was curiously disquieting when you were currently inhabiting a similar one. It was one of those times when the stomach did the thinking, and thought it wanted to throw up.

Six figures took shape, blinked, and opened their eyes. Three of the figures were male, three were female. They were dressed in human-sized equivalents of the Auditors' robes.

The remaining Auditors drew back, but one said: They will accompany you to the clockmaker, and matters will be resolved today. They will not eat or breathe.

Hah! thought one of the little voices that made up Lady LeJean's thinking.

One of the figures whimpered.

“The body will breathe,” said her ladyship. “You will not persuade it that air is not required.”

She was aware of the choking noises.

“You are thinking, yes, we can exchange necessary materials with the outside world, and this is true,” she went on. “But the body does not know that. It thinks it is dying. Let it breathe.”

There was a series of gasps.

“And you will feel better shortly,” said her ladyship, and was enthralled to hear the inner voice think: These are your jailers, and you are already stronger than them.

One of the figures felt its face with a clumsy hand and, panting, said, “Whom do you speak to with your mouth?”

“You,” said Lady LeJean.

“Us?”

“This will take some explaining—”

“No,” said the Auditor. “Danger lies that way. We believe the body imposes a method of thought on the brain. No blame attaches. It is a… malfunction. We will accompany you to the clockmaker. We will do this now.”

“Not in those clothes,” said Lady LeJean. “You will frighten him. It may lead to irrational actions.”

There was a moment of silence. The Auditors-made-flesh looked hopelessly at one another.

“You have to talk with your mouth,” Lady LeJean prompted. “The minds stay inside the head.”

One said, “What is wrong with these clothes? It is a simple shape found in many human cultures.”

Lady LeJean walked to the window. “See the people down there?” she said. “You must dress in appropriate city fashions.”

Reluctantly the Auditors did so, and, while they retained the greyness, they did give themselves clothes that would pass unnoticed in the street. Up to a point, anyway.

“Only those of female appearance should wear dresses,” Lady LeJean pointed out.

A hovering grey shape said, Warning. Danger. The one calling itself Lady LeJean may give unsafe advice. Warning.

“Understood,” said one of the incarnate ones. “We know the way. We will lead.”

It walked into the door.

The Auditors clustered around the door for a while, and then one of them glared at Lady LeJean, who smiled.

“Doorknob,” she said.

The Auditor turned back to the door, stared at the brass knob, and then looked the door up and down. It dissolved into dust.

“Doorknob was simpler,” said Lady LeJean.

Tick

There were big mountains around the Hub. But the ones towering above the temple didn't all have names, because there were simply too many of them. Only gods have enough time to name all the pebbles on a beach, but gods don't have the patience.

Copperhead was small enough to be big enough to have a name. Lobsang awoke and saw its crooked peak, towering above the lesser local mountains, outlined against the sunrise.

Sometimes the gods have no taste at all. They allow sunrises and sunsets in ridiculous pink and blue hues that any professional artist would dismiss as the work of some enthusiastic amateur who'd never looked at a real sunset. This was one of those sunrises. It was the kind of sunrise a man looks at and says, “No real sunrise could paint the sky Surgical Appliance Pink.”