Thief of Time - Terry Pratchett [29]
Some, who did not know, would say: “What is this Way that gives him so much power?”
And they were told: “It is the Way of Mrs. Marietta Cosmopilite, 3 Quirm Street, Ankh-Morpork, Rooms To Rent Very Reasonable. No, we don’t understand it, either. Some subsendential rubbish, apparently.”
Tick
Lu-Tze listened to the senior monks, while leaning on his broom. Listening was an art he had developed over the years, having learned that if you listened hard and long enough people would tell you more than they thought they knew.
“Soto is a good field operative,” he said at last. “Weird, but good.”
“The fall even showed up on the Mandala,” said Rinpo. “The boy knew none of the appropriate actions. Soto said he’d done it reflexively. He said he thought the boy was as close to null as he has ever witnessed. He had him put on a cart for the mountains within the hour. He then spent three whole days performing the Closing of the Flower at the Guild of Thieves, where the boy had apparently been left as a baby.”
“The closure was successful?”
“We authorized the run time of two Procrastinators. Perhaps a few people will have faint memories, but the guild is a large and busy place.”
“No brothers, no sisters. No love of parents. Just the brotherhood of thieves,” said Lu-Tze sadly.
“He was, however, a good thief.”
“I’ll bet. How old is he?”
“Sixteen or seventeen, it appears.”
“Too old to teach, then.”
The senior monks exchanged glances.
“We cannot teach him anything,” said the Master of Novices. “He—”
Lu-Tze held up a skinny hand. “Let me guess. He knows it already?”
“It’s as though he’s being told something that had momentarily slipped his memory,” said Rinpo. “And then he gets bored and angry. He’s not all there, in my opinion.”
Lu-Tze scratched in his stained beard.
“Mystery boy,” he said thoughtfully. “Naturally talented.”
“And we ask ourselves wanna potty wanna potty poo why now, why at this time?” said the abbot, chewing the foot of a toy yak.
“Ah, but is it not said ‘There is a Time and Place for Everything’?” said Lu-Tze. “Anyway, reverend sirs, you have taught pupils for hundreds of years. I am but a sweeper.” Absent-mindedly, he stuck out his hand just as the yak left the fumbling fingers of the abbot, and caught it in midair.
“Lu-Tze,” said the Master of Novices, “to be brief, we were unable to teach you. Remember?”
“But then I found my Way,” said Lu-Tze.
“Will you teach him?” said the abbot. “The boy needs to mmm brmmm find himself.”
“Is it not written: ‘I have only one pair of hands’?” said Lu-Tze.
Rinpo looked at the Master of Novices. “I don’t know,” he said. “None of us ever see this stuff you quote.”
Still looking thoughtful, as if his mind were busy elsewhere, Lu-Tze said, “It could only be here and now. For it is written: ‘It never rains but it pours.’”
Rinpo looked puzzled, and then enlightenment dawned. “A jug,” he said, looking pleased. “A jug never rains, but it pours!”
Lu-Tze shook his head sadly. “And the sound of one hand clapping is a ‘cl,’” he said.
“Very well, Your Reverence. I help him find a Way. Will there be anything else, reverend sirs?”
Tick
Lobsang stood up when Lu-Tze returned to the anteroom, but he did it hesitantly, embarrassed at appearing to show respect.
“Okay, here are the rules,” said Lu-Tze, walking straight past. “Word one is, you don’t call me ‘master’ and I don’t name you after some damn insect. It’s not my job to discipline you, it’s yours. For it is written: ‘I can’t be having with that kind of a thing.’ Do what I tell you and we’ll get along fine. All right?”
“What? You want me as an apprentice?” said Lobsang, running to keep up.
“No, I don’t want you as an apprentice, not at my age, but you’re going to be so we’d both better make the best of it, okay?”
“And you will teach me everything?”
“I don’t know about