And Time had a son.
How? Susan had the kind of mind that would sour a narrative with a question like that. Time and a mortal man. How could they ever… ? Well, how could they?
Then she thought: my grandfather is Death. He adopted my mother. My father was his apprentice for a while. That’s all that happened. They were both human, and I turned up in the normal way. There is no way I should be able to walk through walls and live outside time and be a little bit immortal, but I am, and so this is not an area where logic and, let’s face it, basic biology have any part to play.
In any case, time is constantly creating the future. The future contains things that didn’t exist in the past. A small baby should be easy for something… someone who rebuilds the universe once every instant.
Susan sighed. And you had to remember that Time probably wasn’t time, in the same way that Death wasn’t exactly the same as death and War wasn’t exactly the same as war. She’d met War, a big fat man with an inappropriate sense of humour and a habit of losing the thread, and he certainly didn’t personally attend every minor fracas. She disliked Pestilence, who gave her funny looks, and Famine was just wasted and weird. None of them ran their … call it their discipline. They personified it.
Given that she’d met the Tooth Fairy, the Soul Cake Duck and Old Man Trouble, it amazed Susan that she had grown up to be mostly human, nearly normal.
As she stared at her notes, her hair unwound itself from its tight bun and took up its ground-state position, which was the hair of someone who had just touched something highly electrical. It spread out around her head like a cloud, with one black streak of nearly normal hair.
Grandfather might be an ultimate destroyer of worlds and the final truth of the universe, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t take an interest in the little people. Perhaps Time did, too.
She smiled.
Time waited for no man, they said.
Perhaps she’d waited for one, once.
Susan was aware that someone was looking at her, turned and saw the Death of Rats peering through the lens of the glasses belonging to the mildly distracted man searching for them on the other side of the room. Up on a long-disregarded bust of a former historian the raven preened itself.
‘Well?’ she said.
SQUEAK!
‘Oh, he is, is he?’
The doors of the library were nuzzled open and a white horse walked in. There is a terrible habit amongst horsy people to call a white horse ‘grey’, but even one of that bowlegged fraternity would have had to admit that this horse, at least, was white – not as white as snow, which is a dead white, but at least as white as milk, which is alive. His bridle and reins were black, and so was the saddle, but all of them were in a sense just for show. If the horse of Death was inclined to let you ride him, then you’d stay on, saddle or no. And there was no upper limit to the number of people he could carry. After all, plagues sometimes happened suddenly.
The historians paid him no attention. Horses did not walk into libraries.
Susan mounted. There were plenty of times when she wished she’d been born completely human and wholly normal, but the reality was that she’d give it all up tomorrow-
-apart from Binky.
A moment later, four hoofprints glowed like plasma in the air above the library, and then faded away.
Tick
The crunch-crunch of the yeti’s feet over the snow and the eternal wind of the mountains were the only sounds.
Then Lobsang said, ‘By “cut off his head”, you actually mean… ?’
‘Sever the head from the body,’ said Lu-Tze.
‘And,’ said Lobsang, still in the tones of one carefully exploring every corner of the haunted cave, ‘he doesn’t mind?’
‘Waal, it’s a nuisance,’ said the yeti. ‘A bit of a paarty trick. But it’s okaay, if it helps. The sweeper haas alwaays been a goood friend to us. We owe him faavours.’
‘I’ve tried teaching ’em the Way,’ said Lu-Tze proudly.
‘Yaas. Ver’ usefuul. “A washed pot never boils,”‘said the yeti.
Curiosity vied with annoyance in Lobsang’s head, and won.
‘What have I missed here?’ he said. ‘You don’t die?’
‘I doon’t die? Wit my head cut off? For laughing! Ho. Ho,’ said the yeti. ‘Of course I die. But this is not such a sizeaable traansaaction.’
‘It took us years to work out what the yetis were up to,’ said Lu-Tze. ‘Their loops played hob with the Mandala until the abbot worked out how to allow for them. They’ve been extinct three times.’
‘Three times, eh?’ said Lobsang. ‘That’s a lot of times to go extinct. I mean, most species only manage it once, don’t they?’
The yeti was entering taller forest now, of ancient pines.
‘This’d be a good place,’ said Lu-Tze. ‘Put us down, sir.’
‘And we’ll chop your head off,’ said Lobsang weakly. ‘What am I saying? I’m not going to chop anyone’s head off!’
‘You heard him say it doesn’t worry him,’ said Lu-Tze, as they were gently lowered to the ground.
‘That’s not the point!’ said Lobsang hotly.
‘It’s his head,’ Lu-Tze pointed out.
‘But I mind!’
‘Oh, well, in that case,’ said Lu-Tze, ‘is it not written, “If you want a thing done properly you’ve got to do it yourself”?’
‘Yaas, it is,’ said the yeti.
Lu-Tze took the sword out of Lobsang’s hand. He held it carefully, like someone unused to weapons. The yeti obligingly knelt.
‘You’re up to date?’ said Lu-Tze.
‘Yaas.’
‘I cannot believe you’re really doing this!’ said Lobsang.
‘Interesting,’ said Lu-Tze. ‘Mrs Cosmopilite says, “Seeing is believing,” and, strangely enough, the Great Wen said, ‘I have seen, and I believe”!’
He brought the sword down and cut off the yeti’s head.
Tick
There was a sound rather like a cabbage being sliced in half, and then a head rolled into the basket to cheers and cries of ‘Oh, I say, well done!’ from the crowd. The city of Quirm was a nice, peaceful, law-abiding place and the city council kept it that way with a penal policy that combined the maximum of deterrence with the minimum of re-offending.
GRIPPER ‘THE BUTCHER’ SMARTZ?
The late Gripper rubbed his neck.
‘I demand a retrial!’ he said.
THIS MAY NOT BE A GOOD TIME, said Death.
‘It couldn’t possibly have been murder because the…’ The soul of Gripper Smartz fumbled in its spectral pockets for a ghostly piece of paper, unfolded it and continued, in a voice of those to whom the written word is an uphill struggle, ‘… because the bal-ance of my mind was d … dess-turbed.’
REALLY, said Death. He found it best to let the recently departed get things off their chest.
‘Yes, ‘cos I really, really wanted to kill him, right? And you can’t tell me that’s a normal frame of mind, right? He was a dwarf, anyway, so I don’t think that should count as manslaughter.’
I UNDERSTAND THAT WAS THE SEVENTH DWARF YOU KILLED, said Death.
‘I’m very prone to being dess-turbed,’ said Gripper. ‘Really, it’s me who’s the victim here. All I needed was a bit of understanding, someone to see my point of view for five minutes…’
WHAT WAS YOUR POINT OF VIEW?
‘All dwarfs need a damn good kicking, in my opinion. ‘Ere, you’re Death, right?’
YES INDEED.
‘I’m a big fan! I’ve always wanted to meet you, y’know? I’ve got a tattoo of you on my arm, look here. Done it myself.’
The benighted Gripper turned at the sound of hooves. A young woman in black, entirely unregarded by the crowd, who were gathered around the food stalls and souvenir stands and the guillotine, was leading a large white stallion towards them.
‘And you’ve even got valet parking!’ said Gripper. ‘Now that’s what I call style!’ and with that he faded.
WHAT A CURIOUS PERSON, said Death. AH, SUSAN. THANK YOU FOR COMING. OUR SEARCH NARROWS.
‘Our search?’
YOUR SEARCH, IN FACT .
‘It’s just mine now, is it?’
I HAVE SOMETHING ELSE TO ATTEND TO.
‘More important than the end of the world?’
IT IS THE END OF THE WORLD. THE RULES SAY THAT THE HORSEMEN SHALL RIDE OUT .
‘That old legend? But you don’t have to do that!’
IT IS ONE OF MY FUNCTIONS. I HAVE TO OBEY THE RULES.
‘Why? They’re breaking the rules!’
BENDING THEM. THEY HAVE FOUND A LOOPHOLE. I DO NOT HAVE THAT KIND OF IMAGINATION.
It was like Jason and the Battle for the Stationery Cupboard, Susan told herself. You soon learned that ‘No one is to open the door of the Stationery Cupboard’ was a prohibition that a seven year-old simply would not understand. You had to think, and rephrase it in more immediate terms, like, ‘No one, Jason, no matter what, no, not even if they thought they heard someone shouting for help, no one – are you paying attention, Jason? – is to open the door of the Stationery Cupboard, or accidentally fall on the door handle so that it opens, or threaten to steal Richenda’s teddy bear unless she opens the door of the Stationery Cupboard, or be standing nearby when a mysterious wind comes out of nowhere and blows the door open all by itself, honestly, it really did, or in any way open, cause to open, ask anyone else to open, jump up and down on the loose floorboard to open or in any other way seek to obtain entry to the Stationery Cupboard, Jason!’