Thief of Time

“…and then I thought, what's a job that really needs someone with my talents?” said Ronnie. “To me, time is just another direction. And then I thought, everyone wants fresh milk, yes? And everyone wants it delivered early in the morning.”

“Got to be better than the window-cleaning,” said Lu-Tze.

“I only went into that after they invented windows,” said Ronnie. “It was the jobbing gardening before that. More rancid yak butter in that?”

“Please,” said Lu-Tze, holding out his cup.

Lu-Tze was eight hundred years old, and that was why he was having a rest. A hero would have leapt up and rushed out into the silent city and then—

And there you had it. Then a hero would have had to wonder what to do next. Eight hundred years had taught Lu-Tze that what happens stays happened. It might stay happened in a different set of dimensions, if you wanted to get technical, but you couldn't make it un-happen. The clock had struck, and time had stopped. Later, a solution would present itself. In the meantime, a cup of tea and conversation with his serendipitous rescuer might speed that time. After all, Ronnie was not your average milkman..

Lu-Tze had long considered that everything happens for a reason, except possibly football.

“It's the real stuff you got there, Ronnie,” he said, taking a sip. “The butter we're getting these days, you wouldn't grease a cart with it.”

“It's the breed,” said Ronnie. “I go and get this from the highland herds six hundred years ago.”

“Cheers,” said Lu-Tze, raising his cup. “Funny, though. I mean, if you said to people there were originally five Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and then one of them left and became a milkman, well, they'd be a bit surprised. They'd wonder about why you…”

For a moment Ronnie's eyes blazed silver.

“Creative differences,” he growled. “The whole ego thing. Some people might say… no, I don't like to talk about it. I wish them all the luck in the world, of course.”

“Of course,” said Lu-Tze, keeping his expression opaque.

“And I've watched their careers with great interest.”

“I'm sure.”

“Do you know I even got written out of the official history?” said Ronnie.

He held up a hand and a book appeared in it. It looked brand new.

“This was before,” he said sourly. “Book of Om. Prophecies of Tobrun. Ever meet him? Tall man, beard, tendency to giggle at nothing?”

“Before even my time, Ronnie.”

Ronnie handed the book over.

“First edition. Try Chapter 2, verse 7,” he said.

And Lu-Tze read: “And the Angel clothèd all in white opened the Iron Book, and a fifth rider appeared in a chariot of burning ice, and there was a snapping of laws and a breaking of bonds and the multitudes cried ‘Oh God, we're in trouble now!’”

“That was me,” said Ronnie proudly.

Lu-Tze's eyes strayed to verse 8: “And I saw, sort of like rabbits, in many colours but basically a plaid pattern, kind of spinning around, and there was a sound as of like big syrupy things.”

“That verse got cut for the next edition,” said Ronnie. “Very open to visions of all sorts, old Tobrun. The fathers of Omnianism could pick and mix what they wanted. Of course, in those days everything was new. Death was Death, of course, but the rest were really just Localized Crop Failure, Scuffles and Spots.”

“And you—?” Lu-Tze ventured.

“The public wasn't interested in me any more,” said Ronnie. “Or so I was told. Back in those days we were only playing to very small crowds. One plague of locusts, some tribe's waterhole drying up, a volcano exploding… We were glad of any gig going. There wasn't room for five.” He sniffed. “So I was told.”

Lu-Tze put down his cup. “Well, Ronnie, it's been very nice talking to you, but time's… time's not rushing, you see.”

“Yeah. Heard about that. The streets are full of the Law.” Ronnie's eyes blazed again.

“Law?”

“Dhlang. The Auditors. They've had the glass clock built again.”

“You know that?”

“Look, I might not be one of the Fearsome Four, but I do keep my eyes and ears open,” said Ronnie.

“But that's the end of the world!”

“No, it's not,” said Ronnie calmly. “Everything's still here.”

“But it's not going anywhere!”

“Oh, well, that's not my problem, is it?” said Ronnie. “I do milk and dairy products.”

Lu-Tze looked around the sparkling dairy, at the glistening bottles, at the gleaming churns. What a job for a timeless person. The milk would always be fresh.

He looked back at the bottles, and an unbidden thought rose in his mind.

The Horsemen were people-shaped, and people are vain. Knowing how to use other people's vanity was a martial art all in itself, and Lu-Tze had been doing it for a long time.

“I bet I can work out who you were,” he said. “I bet I can work out your real name.”

“Hah. Not a chance, monk,” said Ronnie.

“Not a monk, just a sweeper,” said Lu-Tze calmly. “Just a sweeper. You called them the Law, Ronnie. There's got to be a law, right? They make the rules, Ronnie. And you've got to have rules, isn't that true?”