Auditors respected facts. At least until now. Miss Brown took a step back.
‘Nevertheless,’ she said, ‘being here is dangerous. It is my view that we should discarnate.’
Mr White found his body replying by itself. It let out a breath of air.
‘And leave things unknown?’ he said. ‘Things that are unknown are dangerous. We are learning much.’
‘What we are learning makes no sense,’ said Miss Brown.
‘The more we learn, the more sense it will make. There is nothing we cannot understand,’ said Mr White.
‘I do not understand why it is that I now perceive a desire to bring my hand in sharp contact with your face,’ said Miss Brown.
‘Exactly my point,’ said Mr White. ‘You do not understand it, and therefore it is dangerous. Perform the act, and we will know more.’
She hit him.
He raised his hand to his cheek.
‘Unbidden thoughts of avoidance of repetition are engendered,’ he said. ‘Also heat. Remarkably, the body does indeed appear to do some thinking on its own behalf.’
‘For my part,’ said Miss Brown, ‘the unbidden thoughts are of satisfaction coupled with apprehension.’
‘Already we learn more about humans,’ said Mr White.
‘To what end?’ said Miss Brown, whose sensations of apprehension were increasing at the sight of the contorted expression on Mr White’s face. ‘For our purposes, they are no longer a factor. Time has ended. They are fossils. The skin under one of your eyes is twitching.’
‘You are guilty of inappropriate thought,’ said Mr White. ‘They exist. Therefore we must study them in every detail. I wish to try a further experiment. My eye is functioning perfectly.’
He took an axe from a market stall. Miss Brown took another step back.
‘Unbidden thoughts of apprehension increase markedly,’ she said.
‘Yet this is a mere lump of metal on a piece of wood,’ said Mr White, hefting the axe. ‘We, who have seen the hearts of stars. We, who have watched worlds burn. We, who have seen space tormented. What is there about this axe that could cause concern to us?’
He swung. It was a clumsy blow and the human neck is a lot tougher than people believe, but Miss Brown’s neck exploded into coloured motes and she collapsed.
Mr White looked around at the nearest Auditors, who all stepped back.
‘Is there anyone else who wishes to try the experiment?’ he said.
There was a chorus of hasty refusals.
‘Good,’ said Mr White. ‘Already we are learning a great deal!’
‘He chopped her head off!’
‘Don’t shout! And keep your head down!’ Susan hissed.
‘But he-‘
‘I think she knows! Anyway, it’s an it. And so’s it.’
‘What’s going on?’
Susan drew back into the shadows. ‘I’m not… entirely sure,’ she said, ‘but I think they’ve tried to make themselves human bodies. Pretty good copies, too. And now… they’re acting human.’
‘Do you call that acting human?’
Susan gave Lobsang a sad look. ‘You don’t get out much, do you? My grandfather says that if an intelligent creature takes a human shape, it starts to think human. Form defines function.’
‘That was the action of an intelligent creature?’ said Lobsang, still shocked.
‘Not only doesn’t get out much, also doesn’t read history,’ said Susan glumly. ‘Do you know about the curse of the werewolves?’
‘Isn’t being a werewolf curse enough?’
‘They don’t think so. But if they stay wolf-shaped for too long, they stay a wolf,’ said Susan. ‘A wolf is a very strong… form, you see? Even though the mind is human, the wolf creeps in through the nose and the ears and the paws. Know about witches?’
‘We, er, stole the broomstick of one of them to get here,’ said Lobsang.
‘Really? Bit of luck for you that the world’s ended, then,’ said Susan. ‘Anyway, some of the best witches have this trick they call Borrowing. They can get into the mind of an animal. Very useful. But the trick is to know when to pull out. Be a duck for too long and a duck you’ll stay. A bright duck, maybe, with some odd memories, but still a duck.’
‘The poet Hoha once dreamed he was a butterfly, and then he awoke and said, “Am I a man who dreamed he was a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming he is a man?”‘ said Lobsang, trying to join in.
‘Really?’ said Susan briskly. ‘And which was he?’
‘What? Well… who knows?’
‘How did he write his poems?’ said Susan.
‘With a brush, of course.’
‘He didn’t flap around making information-rich patterns in the air or laying eggs on cabbage leaves?’
‘No one ever mentioned it.’
‘Then he was probably a man,’ said Susan. ‘Interesting, but it doesn’t move us on a lot. Except you could say that the Auditors are dreaming that they’re human, and the dream is real. And they’ve got no imagination. Just like my grandfather, really. They can create a perfect copy of anything, but they can’t make anything that’s new. So what I think is happening is that they’re finding out what being human really means.’
‘Which is?’
‘That you’re not as much in control as you think.’ She took another careful look at the crowd in the square. ‘Do you know anything about the person who built the clock?’
‘Me? No. Well, not really…’
‘Then how did you find the place?’
‘Lu-Tze thought this was where the clock was being built.’
‘Really? Not a bad guess. You even got the right house.’
‘I, er, it was me that found the house. It, er, I knew that was where I should be. Does that sound silly?’
‘Oh, yes. With twinkly bells and bluebirds on it. But it might be true. I always know where I should be, too. And where should you be now?’
‘Just a minute,’ said Lobsang. ‘Who are you? Time has stopped, the world is given over to… fairy tales and monsters, and there’s a schoolteacher walking around?’
‘Best kind of person to have,’ said Susan. ‘We don’t like silliness. Anyway, I told you. I’ve inherited certain talents.’
‘Like living outside time?’
‘That’s one of them.’
‘It’s a weird talent for a schoolteacher!’
‘Good for marking, though,’ said Susan calmly.
‘Are you actually human?’
‘Hah! As human as you are. I won’t say I haven’t got a few skeletons in the family closet, though.’
There was something about the way she said it…
‘That wasn’t just a figure of speech, was it?’ said Lobsang flatly.
‘No, not really,’ said Susan. ‘That thing on your back. What happens when it stops spinning?’
‘I’ll run out of time, of course.’
‘Ah. So the fact that it slowed down and stopped back there when that Auditor practised its axemanship isn’t a factor, then?’
‘It’s not turning?’ Panicking, Lobsang tried to reach round to the small of his back, spinning himself in the effort.
‘It looks as though you have a hidden talent,’ said Susan, leaning against the wall and grinning.
‘Please! Wind me up again!’
‘All right. You are a-‘
‘That wasn’t very funny the first time!’
‘That’s all right, I don’t have much of a sense of humour.’
She grabbed his arms as he wrestled with the straps of the spinner.
‘You don’t need it, understand?’ she said. ‘It’s just a dead weight! Trust me! Don’t give in! You’re making your own time. Don’t wonder how.’
He stared at her in terror. ‘What’s happening?’
‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ said Susan, as patiently as she could. ‘This sort of thing always comes as a shock. When it happened to me there wasn’t anyone around, so consider yourself lucky.’
‘What happened to you?’
‘I found out who my grandfather was. And don’t ask. Now, concentrate. Where ought you to be?’
‘Uh, uh …’ Lobsang looked around. ‘Uh … over that way, I think.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you how you know,’ said Susan. ‘And it’s away from that mob.’
She smiled. ‘Look on the bright side,’ she added. ‘We’re young, we’ve got all the time in the world…’ She swung the wrench onto her shoulder. ‘Let’s go clubbing.’
If there had been such a thing as time, it would have been a few minutes after Susan and Lobsang left that a small robed figure, about six inches high, strutted into the workshop. It was followed by a raven, which perched on the door and regarded the glowing clock with considerable suspicion.
‘Looks dangerous to me,’ it said.
SQUEAK? said the Death of Rats, advancing on the clock.
‘No, don’t you go trying to be a hero,’ said Quoth.
The rat walked up to the base of the clock, stared up at it with a the-bigger-they-are-the-harder-they-fall expression, and then whacked it with its scythe.
Or, at least, tried to. There was a flash as the blade made contact. For a moment the Death of Rats was a ring-shaped, black-and-white blur around the clock, and then it vanished.
‘Told yer,’ said the raven, preening its feathers. ‘I bet you feel like Mister Silly now, right?’