Thief of Time

The smile vanished. “Yes, Sweeper.”

“You've got to test them all and see to those bearings.”

“Yes, Sweeper.”

“And someone clear up Mr Shoblang.”

“Yes, Sweeper.”

“Fair play to you, then. Me and young Lobsang here will be going. You've done a lot for his education.”

He took the unresisting Lobsang by the hand and led him out of the hall, past the long lines of turning, humming Procrastinators. A pall of blue smoke still hung under the high ceiling.

“Truly it is written, ‘You could knock me down with a feather,’” he muttered, as they headed up the sloping passage. “You spotted that inversion before it happened. I'd have blown us into next week. At least.”

“Sorry, Sweeper.”

“Sorry? You don't have to be sorry. I don't know what you are, son. You're too quick. You're taking to this place like a duck to water. You don't have to learn stuff that takes other people years to get the hang of. Old Shoblang, may he be reincarnated somewhere nice and warm, even he couldn't balance the load down to a second. I mean, a second. Over a whole damn world!” He shuddered. “Here's a tip. Don't let it show. People can be funny about that sort of thing.”

“Yes, Sweeper.”

“And another thing,” said Lu-Tze, leading the way out into the light. “What was all that fuss just before the Procrastinators cut loose? You felt something?”

“I don't know. I just felt… everything went wrong for a moment.”

“Ever happened before?”

“No-o. It was a bit like what happened in the Mandala Hall.”

“Well, don't talk about it to anyone else. Most of the high-ups these days probably don't even know how the spinners work. No one cares about them any more. No one notices something that works too well. Of course, in the old days you weren't even allowed to become a monk until you'd spent six months in the hall, greasing and cleaning and fetching. And we were better for it! These days it's all about learning obedience and cosmic harmony. Well, in the old days you learned that in the halls. You learned that if you didn't jump out of the way when someone yelled, ‘She's dumping!’ you got a couple of years where it hurt, and that there's no harmony better than all the spinners turning sweetly.”

The passage rose into the main temple complex. People were still scurrying around as they headed for the Mandala Hall.

“You're sure you can look at it again?” said Lu-Tze.

“Yes, Sweeper.”

“Okay. You know best.”

The balconies overlooking the hall were crowded with monks, but Lu-Tze worked his way forward by polite yet firm use of his broom. The senior monks were clustered at the edge.

Rinpo caught sight of him. “Ah, Sweeper,” he said. “Some dust delayed you?”

“Spinners cut free and went overspeed,” muttered Lu-Tze.

“Yes, but you were summoned by the abbot,” said the acolyte reproachfully.

“Upon a time,” said Lu-Tze, “every man jack of us would have legged it down to the hall when the gongs went.”

“Yes, but—”

“BRRRRbrrrrbrrrr,” said the abbot, and Lobsang saw now that he was being carried in a sling on the acolyte's back, with an embroidered pixie hood on his head to keep off the chill. “Lu-Tze always was very keen on the practical approach BRRRbrrr.” He blew milky suds into the acolyte's ear. “I am glad matters have been resolved, Lu-Tze.”

The sweeper bowed, while the abbot started to beat the acolyte gently over the head with a wooden bear.

“History has repeated, Lu-Tze. DumDumBBBRRRR…”

“Glass clock?” said Lu-Tze.

The senior monks gasped.

“How could you possibly know that?” said the chief acolyte. “We haven't rerun the Mandala yet!”

“It is written, ‘I've got a feeling in my water,’” said Lu-Tze. “And that was the only other time I ever heard of when all the spinners went wild like that. They all cut loose. Time-slip. Someone's building a glass clock again.”

“That is quite impossible,” said the acolyte. “We removed every trace!”

“Hah! It is written, ‘I'm not as green as I'm cabbage-looking!’” snapped Lu-Tze. “Something like that you can't kill. It leaks back. Stories. Dreams. Paintings on cave walls, whatever—”

Lobsang looked down at the Mandala floor. Monks were clustered around a group of tall cylinders at the far end of the hall. They looked like Procrastinators, but only one small one was spinning, slowly. The others were motionless, showing the mass of symbols that were carved into them from top to bottom.

Pattern storage. The thought arrived in his head. That is where the Mandala's patterns are kept, so that they can be replayed. Today's patterns on the little one, long-term storage on the big ones.

Below him the Mandala rippled, blotches of colour and scraps of pattern drifting across its surface. One of the distant monks called out something, and the small cylinder stopped.

The rolling sand grains were stilled.

“This is how it looked twenty minutes ago,” said Rinpo. “See the blue-white dot there? And then it spreads—”

“I know what I'm looking at,” said Lu-Tze grimly. “I was there when it happened before, man! Your Reverence, get them to run the old Glass Clock sequence! We haven't got a lot of time!”

“I really think we—” the acolyte began, but he was interrupted by a blow from a rubber brick.

“Wannapottywanna if Lu-Tze is right, then we must not waste time, gentlemen, and if he is wrong then we have time to spare, is this not so? Pottynowwannawanna!”

“Thank you,” said the sweeper. He cupped his hands. “Oi! You lot! Spindle two, fourth bhing, round about the nineteenth gupa! And jump to it!”

“I really must respectfully protest, Your Reverence,” said the acolyte. “We have practised for just such an emergency as—”

“Yeah, I know all about practising procedures for emergencies,” said Lu-Tze. “And there's always something missing.”

“Ridiculous! We take great pains to—”

“You always leave out the damn emergency.” Lu-Tze turned back to the hall and the apprehensive workers. “Ready? Good! Put it on the floor now! Or I shall have to come down there! And I don't want to have to come down there!”

There was some frantic activity by the men around the cylinders, and a new pattern replaced the one below the balcony. The lines and colours were in different places, but a blue-white circle occupied the centre.

“There,” said Lu-Tze. “That was less than ten days before the clock struck.”

There was silence from the monks.

Lu-Tze smiled grimly. “And ten days later—”

“Time stopped,” said Lobsang.

“That's one way of putting it,” said Lu-Tze. He'd gone red in the face.

One of the monks put a hand on his shoulder.

“It's all right, Sweeper,” he said soothingly. “We know you couldn't have got there in time.”

“Being in time is supposed to be what we do,” said Lu-Tze. “I was nearly at the