Thief of Time

never found a way of detecting which way–”

He stopped and rummaged in his sack. Then he used the sack to sweep snow off a flat boulder.

“We'll see what—”

Glass house.

This time Lobsang could concentrate on the tones that filled the air. Wet finger on a wineglass? Well, you could start there. But the finger would have to be the finger of a god, on the glass of some celestial sphere. And the wonderful, complex, shifting tones did not simply fill the air, they were the air.

The moving blur beyond the walls was getting closer now. It was just beyond the closest wall, then it found the open doorway… and vanished.

Something was behind Lobsang.

He turned. There was nothing there that he could see, but he felt movement and, for just a moment, something warm brushed his cheek…

“—the sand says,” said Lu-Tze, tipping the contents of a small bag onto the rock.

The coloured grains bounced and spread. They did not have the sensitivity of the Mandala itself, but there was a blue bloom in the chaos.

He gave Lobsang a sharp look.

“It's been proved that no one can do what you just did,” he said. “We've never found any way of detecting where a disturbance in time is actually being caused.”

“Er, sorry.” Lobsang raised a hand to his cheek. It was damp. “Er, what did I do?”

“It takes a huge—” Lu-Tze stopped. “Ankh-Morpork's that way,” he said. “Did you know that?”

“No! Anyway, you said you had a feeling things would happen in Ankh- Morpork!”

“Yes, but I've had a lifetime of experience and cynicism!” Lu-Tze scooped the sand back into its bag. “You're just gifted. Come on.”

Four more seconds, sliced thinly, took them below the snowline, into scree slopes that slid under their feet and then through alder forests not much taller than themselves. And it was there they met the hunters, gathered round in a wide circle.

The men did not pay them much attention. Monks were commonplace in these parts. The leader, or at least the one who was shouting, and this is usually the leader, looked up and waved them past.

Lu-Tze stopped, though, and looked amiably at the thing in the centre of the circle. It looked back at him.

“Good catch,” he said. “What're you going to do now, boys?”

“Is it any business of yours?” said the leader.

“No, no, just asking,” said Lu-Tze. “You boys up from the lowlands, yes?”

“Yeah. You'd be amazed at what you can get for catching one of these.”

“Yes,” said Lu-Tze. “You would be amazed.”

Lobsang looked at the hunters. There were more than a dozen of them, all heavily armed and watching Lu-Tze carefully.

“Nine hundred dollars for a good pelt and another thousand for the feet,” said their leader.

“That much, eh?” said Lu-Tze. “That's a lot of money for a pair of feet.”

“That's 'cos they're big feet,” said the hunter. “And you know what they say about men with big feet, eh?”

“They need bigger shoes?”

“Yeah, right,” said the hunter, grinning. “Load of nonsense, really, but there's rich old boys with young wives over on the Counterweight Continent who'll pay a fortune for a powdered yeti foot.”

“And there was me thinking they're a protected species,” said Lu-Tze, leaning his broom against a tree.

“They're only a kind of troll. Who's going to protect them out here?” said the hunter. Behind him, the local guides, who did know Rule One, turned and ran.

“Me,” said Lu-Tze.

“Oh?” said the hunter, and this time the grin was nasty. “You don't even have a weapon.” He turned to look at the fleeing guides. “You're one of the weird monks from up in the valleys, aren't you?”

“That's right,” said Lu-Tze. “Small smiling, weird monk. Totally unarmed.”

“And there's fifteen of us,” said the hunter. “Well armed, as you can see.”

“It's very important that you are all heavily armed,” said Lu-Tze, pulling his sleeves out of the way. “It makes it fairer.”

He rubbed his hands together. No one seemed inclined to retreat. “Er, any of you boys heard of any rules?” he said, after a while.

“Rules?” said one of the hunters. “What rules?”

“Oh, you know,” said Lu-Tze. “Rules like… Rule Two, say, or Rule Twenty-seven. Any kind of rules of that sort of description.”

The leading hunter frowned. “What in damnation are you talking about, mister?”

“Er, not so much a ‘mister’ as a small rather knowing, elderly, entirely unarmed, weird monk,” said Lu-Tze. “I'm just wondering if there is anything about this situation that makes you, you know… slightly nervous?”

“You mean, us being well armed and outnumbering you, and you backing away like that?” said one of the hunters.

“Ah. Yes,” said Lu-Tze. “Perhaps we're up against a cultural thing here. I know, how about… this?” He stood on one leg, wobbling a little, and raised both hands. “Ai! Hai-eee! Ho? Ye-hi? No? Anyone?”

There was a certain amount of bewilderment amongst the hunters.

“Is it a book?” said one who was slightly intellectual. “How many words?”

“What I'm trying to find out here,” said Lu-Tze, “is whether you have any idea what happens when a lot of big armed men try to attack a small, elderly, unarmed monk?”

“To the best of my knowledge,” said the intellectual of the group, “he turns out to be a very unlucky monk.”

Lu-Tze shrugged. “Oh, well,” he said, “then we'll just have to try it the hard way.”

A blur in the air hit the intellectual on the back of the neck. The leader stirred to step forward, and learned too late that his boot laces were tied together. Men reached for knives that were no longer in sheaths, for swords that were inexplicably leaning against a tree on the far side of the clearing. Legs were swept from underneath them, invisible elbows connected with soft parts of their bodies. Blows rained out of empty air. Those who fell down learned to stay that way. A raised head hurt.

The group was reduced to men lying humbly on the ground, groaning gently. It was then that they heard a low, rhythmic sound.

The yeti was clapping. It had to be a slow handclap, because of the creature's long arms. But when the hands met, they'd come a long way and were glad to see one another. They echoed around the mountains.

Lu-Tze reached down and raised the leader's chin.

“If you have enjoyed this afternoon, please tell your friends,” he said. “Tell them to remember Rule One.”

He let the chin go, and walked across to the yeti and bowed.

“Shall I release you, sir, or would you like to do it yourself?” he said.

The yeti stood up, looked down at the cruel iron trap around one leg, and concentrated for a moment.

At the end of the moment, the yeti was a little way from the trap, which was still set and almost hidden in leaves.

“Well done,” said Lu-Tze. “Methodical. And very smooth. Headed down to the lowlands?”