Thief of Time

RONALD SOAK, HYGIENIC DAIRYMAN.

ESTABLISHED

Perhaps it was odd that people never asked, “Established when, exactly?” If they ever had, the answer would have had to be quite complicated.

Ronnie opened the gates to the yard and, milk crates rattling, set out into the timeless moment. It was terrible, he thought, the way things conspired against the small businessman.

Lobsang Ludd awoke to a little clicking, spinning sound.

He was in darkness, but it yielded reluctantly to his hand. It felt like velvet, and it was. He'd rolled under one of the display cabinets.

There was a vibration in the small of his back. He reached around gingerly, and realized that the portable Procrastinator was revolving in its cage.

So…

How did it go, now? He was living on borrowed time. He'd got maybe an hour, perhaps a lot less. But he could slice it, so…

No. Something told him that trying that would be a really terminal idea with time stored in a device made by Qu. The mere thought made him feel that his skin was inches from a universe full of razorblades.

So… one hour, perhaps a lot less. But you could rewind a spinner, right?

No. The handle was at the back. You could rewind someone else's spinner. Thank you, Qu, and your experimental models.

Could you take it off, then? No. The harness was part of it. Without it, different parts of your body would be travelling at different speeds. The effect would probably be rather like freezing a human body solid, and then pushing it down a flight of stone stairs.

Open the box with the crowbar that you will find inside…

There was a green-blue glow through the crack in the door. He took a step towards it, and heard the spinner suddenly pick up speed. That meant it was shedding more time, and that was bad when you had an hour, perhaps a lot less.

He took a step away from the door and the Procrastinator settled back into its routine clicking.

So…

Lu-Tze was out in the street and he had a spinner and that should have cut in automatically, too. In this timeless world, he was going to be the only person who could turn a handle.

The glass that he had broken in his leap through the window had opened around the hole like a great sparkling flower. He reached out to touch a piece. It moved as though alive, cut his finger, and then dropped towards the ground, stopping only when it fell out of the field around his body.

Don't touch people, Lu-Tze had said. Don't touch arrows. Don't touch things that were moving, that was the rule. But the glass—

–but the glass, in normal time, had been flying through the air. It'd still have that energy, wouldn't it?

He eased himself carefully around the glass, and opened the front door of the shop. The wood moved very slowly, fighting against the enormous speed.

Lu-Tze was not in the street. But there was something new, hovering in the air just a few inches above the ground right where the old man had been. It had not been there before.

Someone with their own portable time had been here, and dropped this, and had moved on before it reached the ground.

It was a small glass jar, coloured blue by temporal effects. Now… how much energy could it have? Lobsang cupped his hand and gingerly brought it underneath and up, and there was a tingle and a sudden feeling of weight as the spinners field claimed it.

Now its true colours came back. The jar was a milky pink or, rather, clear glass that looked pink because of the contents. The paper lid was covered with badly printed pictures of unbelievably flawless strawberries, surrounding some ornate lettering which read: RONALD SOAK, HYGIENIC DAIRYMAN. STRAWBERRY YOGHURT “FRESH AS THE MORNING DEW.”

Soak? He knew the name! The man had delivered milk to the Guild! Good fresh milk, too, not the watery, green-tinted stuff the other dairies supplied. Very reliable, everyone said. But, reliable or not, he was just a milkman… all right, just a very good milkman… and if time had stopped, then why—

Lobsang looked around desperately. The people and carts that thronged the street were still there. No one had moved. No one could move.

But something was running along the gutter. It looked like a rat in a black robe, running along on its hind legs. It looked up at Lobsang, and he saw that it had a skull rather than a head. As skulls went, it was quite a cheerful one.

The word SQUEAK manifested itself inside his brain without bothering to go via his ears. Then the rat hopped onto the pavement and scampered down an alley.

Lobsang followed it.

A moment later someone behind him grabbed him by the neck. He went to break the lock, and realized how much he'd relied on slicing when he was fought. Besides, the person behind him had a very strong grip indeed.

“I just want to make sure you don't do anything silly,” it said. It was a female voice. “What is this thing on your back?”

“Who are—?”

“The protocol in these matters,” said the voice, “is that the person with the killer neckgrip asks the questions.”

“Er, it's a Procrastinator. Er, it stores time. Who—”

“Oh dear, there you go again. What is your name?”

“Lobsang. Lobsang Ludd. Look, could you wind me up, please? It's urgent.”

“Certainly. Lobsang Ludd, you are thoughtless and impulsive and deserve to die a stupid and pointless death.”

“What?”

“And you are also rather slow on the uptake. You are referring to this handle?”

“Yes. I'm running out of time. Now can I ask who you are?”

“Miss Susan. Hold still.”

He heard, behind him, the incredibly welcome sound of the Procrastinators clockwork being rewound.

“Miss Susan?” he said.

“That's what most people I know call me. Now, I'm going to let you go. I will add that trying anything stupid will be counterproductive. Besides, I'm the only person in the world right now who might be inclined to twiddle your handle again.”

The pressure was released. Lobsang turned slowly.

Miss Susan was a slightly built young woman, dressed severely all in black. Her hair stood out around her head like an aura, white-blond with one black streak. But the most striking thing about her was… was everything, Lobsang realized, everything from her expression to the way she stood. Some people fade into the background. Miss Susan faded into the foreground. She stood out. Everything she stood in front of became nothing more than background.

“Finished?” she said. “Seen everything?”

“Sorry. Have you seen an old man? Dressed a bit like me? With one of these on