Thief of Time - Terry Pratchett [106]
Jeremy was lying on a bed, although it was no softer than anything else in the timeless world. Lobsang stopped and stared.
“He looks…quite like me,” he said.
“Oh, yes,” said Susan.
“Thinner, perhaps.”
“Could be, yes.”
“Different…lines on his face.”
“You’ve led different lives,” said Susan.
“How did you know about him and me?”
“My grandfather takes, er, an interest in this sort of thing. I found out some more by myself, too,” she said.
“Why should we interest anyone? We’re not special.”
“This is going to be quite hard to explain.” Susan looked around at Lady LeJean.
“How safe are we here?”
“The signs upset them,” said her ladyship. “They tend to keep away. I…shall we say…took care of the ones who followed you.”
“Then you’d better sit down, Mr. Ludd,” said Susan. “It might help if I told you about me.”
“Well?”
“My grandfather is Death.”
“That’s a strange thing to say. Death is just the end of life. It’s not a…a person—”
PAY ATTENTION TO ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU…
A wind whipped around the room, and the light changed. Shadows formed on Susan’s face. A faint blue light outlined her.
Lobsang swallowed.
The light faded. The shadows vanished.
“There is a process called death, and there is a person called Death,” said Susan. “That is how it works. And I am Death’s granddaughter. Am I going too fast for you?”
“Er…no…although right up until just now you looked human,” said Lobsang.
“Both my parents were human. There’s more than one kind of genetics.” Susan paused. “You look human, too. Human is a very popular look in these parts. You’d be amazed.”
“Except that I am human.”
Susan gave a little smile that, on anyone less obviously in full control of themselves, might have seemed slightly nervous.
“Yes,” she said. “And, then again, no.”
“No?”
“Take War, now,” said Susan, backing away from the point. “Big man, hearty laugh, tends to fart after meals. As human as the next man, you say. But the next man is Death. He’s human-shaped, too. And that’s because humans invented the idea of…of…of ideas, and they think in human shapes—”
“Get back to the ‘and, then again, no,’ will you?”
“Your mother is Time.”
“No one knows who my mother is!”
“I could take you to the midwife,” said Susan. “Your father found the best there’s ever been. She delivered you. Your mother was Time.”
Lobsang sat with his mouth open.
“It was easier for me,” said Susan. “When I was very small my parents used to let me visit my grandfather. I thought every grandfather had a long black robe and rode a pale horse. And then they decided that maybe that wasn’t the right environment for a child. They were worried about how I was going to grow up!” She laughed mirthlessly.
“I had a very strange education, you know? Maths, logic, that sort of thing. And then, when I was a bit younger than you, a rat turned up in my room and suddenly everything I thought I knew was wrong.”
“I’m a human! I do human things! I’d know if—”
“You had to live in the world. Otherwise, how could you learn to be human?” said Susan as kindly as she could.
“And my brother? What about him?”
Here it comes, Susan thought.
“He’s not your brother,” said Susan. “I lied a bit. I’m sorry.”
“But you said—”
“I had to lead up to it,” said Susan. “It’s one of those things you have to get hold of a bit at a time, I’m afraid. He’s not your brother. He’s you.”
“Then who am I?”
Susan sighed. “You. Both of you…are you.”
“And there I was, and there she was,” said Mrs. Ogg, “and out the baby came, no problem there, but that’s always a tryin’ moment for the new mum, and there was…” she paused, her eyes peering through the windows of memory, “like…like a feelin’that the world had stuttered, and I was holdin’ the baby and I looked down and there was me deliverin’ a baby, and I looked at me, and I looked at me, and I remember saying, ‘This is a fine to-do, Mrs. Ogg,’ and she, who was me, said, ‘You never said a truer word, Mrs. Ogg,’ and then it all went strange and there I was, just one