Thief of Time

in hours and minutes were falling silent.

There was a squeaking noise.

Beside him, one final little chalk cylinder at the end of a row rattled around on its bearing like a spinning- top.

Lu-Tze crept towards it, staring at it intently, one hand raised. The squeaking was the only sound now, apart from the occasional clink of cooling bearings.

“Nearly there,” he called out. “Slowing down now… wait for it, wait… for… it…”

The chalk Procrastinator, no bigger than a reel of cotton, slowed, spun… stopped.

On the racks, the last two shutters closed.

Lu-Tze's hand fell.

“Now! Kill the board! No one touch a thing!”

For a moment there was dead silence in the hall. The monks watched, holding their breath.

This was a timeless moment, of perfect balance.

Tick

And in that timeless moment the ghost of Mr Shoblang, to whom the scene was hazy and fuzzy as though seen through a gauze, said, “This is just impossible! Did you see that?”

SEE WHAT? said a dark figure behind him.

Shoblang turned. “Oh,” he said, and added with sudden certainty, “You're Death, right?”

YES. I AM SORRY I AM LATE.

The spirit formerly known as Shoblang looked down at the pile of dust that represented his worldly habitation for the previous six hundred years.

“So am I,” he said. He nudged Death in the ribs.

EXCUSE ME?

“I said, ‘I'm sorry I'm late.’ Boom, boom.”

I BEG YOUR PARDON?

“Er, you know… Sorry I'm late. Like… dead?”

Death nodded. OH, I SEE. IT WAS THE “BOOM BOOM” I DID NOT UNDERSTAND.

“Er, that was to show it was a joke,” said Shoblang.

AH, YES. I CAN SEE HOW THAT WOULD BE NECESSARY. IN FACT, MR SHOBLANG, WHILE YOU ARE LATE, YOU ARE ALSO EARLY. BOOM, BOOM.

“Pardon?”

YOU HAVE DIED BEFORE YOUR TIME.

“Well, yes, I should think so!”

DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHY? IT'S VERY UNUSUAL.

“All I know is that the spinners went wild and I must've copped a load when one of 'em went overspeed,” said Shoblang. “But, hey, what about that kid, eh? Look at the way he's making the buggers dance! I wish I'd had him training under me! What am I saying? He could give me a few tips!”

Death looked around. TO WHOM DO YOU REFER?

“That boy up on the podium, see him?”

NO, I'M AFRAID I SEE NO ONE THERE.

“What? Look, he's right there! Plain as the nose on your fa—Well, obviously not on your face…”

I SEE THE COLOURED PEGS MOVING…

“Well, who do you think is moving them? I mean, you are Death, right? I thought you could see everyone!”

Death stared at the dancing bobbins.

EVERYONE… THAT I SHOULD SEE, he said. He continued to stare.

“Ahem,” said Shoblang.

OH, YES. WHERE WERE WE?

“Look, if I'm, er, too early, then can't you—”

EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS STAYS HAPPENED.

“What kind of philosophy is that?”

THE ONLY ONE THAT WORKS. Death took out an hourglass and consulted it. I SEE THAT BECAUSE OF THIS PROBLEM YOU ARE NOT DUE TO REINCARNATE FOR SEVENTY-NINE YEARS. DO YOU HAVE ANYWHERE TO STAY?

“Stay? I'm dead. It's not like locking yourself out of your own house!” said Shoblang, who was beginning to fade.

PERHAPS YOU COULD BE BUMPED UP TO AN EARLIER BIRTH?

Shoblang vanished.

In the timeless moment Death turned back to stare at the hall of spinners…

Tick

The chalk cylinder started to spin again, squeaking gently.

One by one, the oak Procrastinators began to revolve, picking up the rising load. This time there was no scream of bearings. They twirled slowly, like old ballerinas, this way and that, gradually taking up the strain as millions of humans in the world outside bent time around themselves. The creaking sounded like a teaclipper rounding Cape Wrath on a gentle breeze.

Then the big stone cylinders groaned as they picked up the time their smaller brethren couldn't handle. A rumbling underlay the creaking now, but it was still gentle, controlled…

Lu-Tze lowered his hand gently and straightened up.

“A nice clean pick-up,” he said. “Well done, everyone.” He turned to the astonished, panting monks and beckoned the most senior towards him.

Lu-Tze pulled a ragged cigarette end out of its lodging behind his ear and said, “Well now, Rambut Handisides, what d'you think happened just now, eh?”

“Er, well, there was a surge which blew out—”

“Nah, nah, after that,” said Lu-Tze, striking a match on the sole of his sandal. “See, what I don't think happened was that you boys ran around like a lot of headless chickens and a novice got up on the platform and did the sweetest, smoothest bit of rebalancing that I've ever seen. That couldn't have happened, because that sort of thing does not happen. Am I right?”

The monks of the Procrastinator floor were not among the temple's great political thinkers. Their job was to tend and grease and strip down and rebuild and follow the directions of the man on the platform. Rambut Handisides' brow wrinkled.

Lu-Tze sighed. “See, what I think happened,” he said helpfully, “was that you lads rose to the occasion, right, and left myself and the young man there aghast at the practical skills you all showed. The abbot will be impressed and blow happy bubbles. You could be looking at some extra momos in your thugpa come dinner-time, if you get my drift?”

Handisides ran this up his mental flagpole and it did indeed send prayers to heaven. He began to smile.

“However,” said Lu-Tze, stepping closer and lowering his voice, “I'll probably be around again soon, this place looks as though it could do with a good sweeping, and if I don't find you boys pin- sharp and prodding buttock inside a week, you and I will have a… talk.”