Thief of Time

The yeti had to bend double to bring its long face close to Lu-Tze.

“Yaas,” it said.

“What do you want to do with these people?”

The yeti looked round at the cowering hunters.

“It bein' daark soon,” he said. “No guides noaw.”

“They've got torches,” said Lu-Tze.

“Ha. Ha,” said the yeti, and it said it, rather than laughed. “Dat's good. Torches show up aat night.”

“Hah! Yes. Can you give us a lift? It's really important.”

“You and daat whizzin' kid I seein' there?”

A patch of grey air at the edge of the clearing became Lobsang, out of breath. He dropped the broken branch he'd been holding.

“The lad is called Lobsang. I'm training him up,” said Lu-Tze.

“Looks like you gotta hurry before you runnin' out of things he don't knoow,” said the yeti. “Ha. Ha.”

“Sweeper, what were you—” Lobsang began, hurrying forward.

Lu-Tze put his finger to his lips. “Not in front of our fallen friends,” he said. “I'm looking for Rule One to become a lot better respected in these parts as a result of this day's work.”

“But I had to do all the—”

“We must be going,” said Lu-Tze, waving him into silence. “I reckon we can snooze quite happily while our friend here carries us.”

Lobsang glanced up at the yeti, and then back at Lu-Tze. And then back to the yeti. It was tall. In some ways it was like the trolls he'd met in the city, but rolled out thin. It was more than twice as high as he was, and most of the extra height was skinny legs and arms. The body was a ball of fur, and the feet were indeed huge.

“If he could've got out of the trap at any—” he began.

“You are the apprentice, right?” said Lu-Tze. “Me, I'm the master? I'm sure I wrote that down somewhere…”

“But you said you weren't going to say any of those know-it-all—”

“Remember Rule One! Oh, and pick up one of those swords. We'll need it in a minute. Okay, yer honour…”

The yeti picked them up gently and firmly, cradled them in the crook of each arm, and strode away through the snow and trees.

“Snug, eh?” said Lu-Tze after a while. “Their wool is spun out of rock in some way, but it's pretty comfy.”

There was no answer from the other arm.

“I spent some time with the yetis,” said Lu-Tze. “Amazing people. They taught me a thing or two. Valuable stuff. For is it not written, ‘We live and learn’?”

Silence, a kind of sullen, deliberate silence, reigned.

“I'd think myself lucky if I was a boy your age actually being carried by an actual yeti. A lot of people back in the valley have never even seen one. Mind you, they don't come that close to settlements any more. Not since that rumour about their feet got around.”

Lu-Tze got the feeling that he was taking part in a dialogue of one.

“Something you want to say, is there?” he said.

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes, there is, actually,” said Lobsang. “You let me do all the work back there! You weren't going to do anything!”

“I was making sure I had their full attention,” said Lu-Tze smoothly.

“Why?”

“So that you didn't have their full attention. I had every confidence in you, of course. A good master gives the pupil an opportunity to demonstrate his skills.”

“And what would you have done if I hadn't been here, pray?”

“Yes, probably,” said Lu-Tze.

“What?”

“But I expect I would have found some way to use their stupidity against them,” said Lu-Tze. “There generally is one. Is there a problem here?”

“Well, I just… I thought… well, I just thought you'd be teaching me more, that's all.”

“I'm teaching you things all the time,” said Lu-Tze. “You might not be learning them, of course.”

“Oh, I see,” said Lobsang. “Very smug. Are you going to try to teach me about this yeti, then, and why you made me bring a sword?”

“You'll need the sword to learn about yetis,” said Lu-Tze.

“How?”

“In a few minutes we'll find a nice place to stop and you can cut his head off. Is that all right by you, sir?”

“Yaas. Sure,” said the yeti.

In the Second Scroll of Wen the Eternally Surprised a story is written concerning one day when the apprentice Clodpool, in a rebellious mood, approached Wen and spake thusly:

“Master, what is the difference between a humanistic, monastic system of belief in which wisdom is sought by means of an apparently nonsensical system of questions and answers, and a lot of mystic gibberish made up on the spur of the moment?”

Wen considered this for some time, and at last said: “A fish!”

And Clodpool went away, satisfied.

Tick

The Code of the Igors was very strict.

Never Contradict: it was no part of an Igor's job to say things like “No, thur, that'th an artery.” The marthter was always right.

Never Complain: an Igor would never say “But that'th a thouthand mileth away!”

Never Make Personal Remarks: no Igor would dream of saying anything like “I thould have thomething done about that laugh, if I wath you.”

And never, ever Ask Questions. Admittedly, Igor knew, that meant never ask BIG questions. “Would thur like a cup of tea around now?” was fine, but “What do you need a hundred virginth for?” or “Where do you ecthpect me to find a brain at thith time of night?” was not. An Igor stood for loyal, dependable, discreet service with a smile, or at least a sort of lopsided grin, or possibly just a curved scar in the right place.12

And, therefore, Igor was getting worried. Things were wrong, and when an Igor thinks that, they are really wrong. Great difficulty lay in getting this across to Jeremy without breaking the Code, though. Igor was increasingly ill at ease with someone so clearly stark, staring sane. Nevertheless, he tried.

“Her ladythip will be along again thith morning,” he said, as they watched yet another crystal grow in its solution. And I know you know that, he thought, because you've smoothed your hair down with soap and put on a clean shirt.

“Yes,” said Jeremy. “I wish we had better progress to report. However, I'm sure we're nearly there now.”

“Yeth, that'th very thtrange, ithn't it,” said Igor, seizing the opening.

“Strange, you say?”