Thief of Time - Terry Pratchett [47]
“Oh,” he said, and added with sudden certainty, “you’re Death, right?”
YES. I AM SORRY THAT I AM LATE.
The spirit formerly known as Shoblang looked down at the pile of dust that represented his worldly habitation for the previous six hundred years.
“So am I,” he said. He nudged Death in the ribs.
EXCUSE ME?
“I said ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ Badabingbadaboom.”
I BEG YOUR PARDON?
“Er…you know…sorry I’m late. Like…dead?”
Death nodded. OH, I SEE. IT WAS THE BADABINGBADABOOM I DID NOT UNDERSTAND.
“Er…that was to show it was a joke,” said Shoblang.
AH, YES. I CAN SEE HOW THAT WOULD BE NECESSARY. IN FACT, MR. SHOBLANG, WHILE YOU ARE LATE, YOU ARE ALSO EARLY. BADABING-BADABOOM.
“Pardon?”
YOU HAVE DIED BEFORE YOUR TIME.
“Well, yes, I should think so!”
DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHY? IT’S VERY UNUSUAL.
“All I know is that spinners went wild and I must’ve copped a load when one of ’em went overspeed,” said Shoblang. “But, hey, what about that kid, eh? Look at the way he’s making the buggers dance! I wish I’d had him training under me! What am I saying? He could give me a few tips!”
Death looked around.
TO WHOM DO YOU REFER?
“That boy up on the podium, see him?”
NO, I’M AFRAID I SEE NO ONE THERE.
“What? Look, he’s right there! Plain as the nose on your fa—well, obviously not on your face…”
I SEE THE COLORED PEGS MOVING…
“Well, who do you think is moving them? I mean, you are Death, right? I thought you could see everyone!”
Death stared at the dancing bobbins.
EVERYONE…THAT I SHOULD SEE, he said. He continued to stare.
“Ahem,” said Shoblang.
OH, YES. WHERE WERE WE?
“Look, if I’m, er, too early, then can’t you—”
EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS, STAYS HAPPENED.
“What kind of philosophy is that?”
THE ONLY ONE THAT WORKS. Death took out an hourglass and consulted it. I SEE THAT BECAUSE OF THIS PROBLEM YOU ARE NOT DUE TO REINCARNATE FOR SEVENTY-NINE YEARS. DO YOU HAVE ANYWHERE TO STAY?
“Stay? I’m dead. It’s not like locking yourself out of your own house!” said Shoblang, who was beginning to fade.
PERHAPS YOU COULD BE BUMPED UP TO AN EARLIER BIRTH?
Shoblang vanished.
In the timeless moment, Death turned back to stare at the hall of spinners…
Tick
The chalk cylinder started to spin up again, squeaking gently.
One by one, the oak Procrastinators began to revolve, picking up the rising load. This time there was no scream of bearings. They twirled slowly, like old ballerinas, this way and that, gradually taking up the strain as millions of humans in the world outside bent time around themselves. The creaking sounded like a tea clipper rounding Cape Wrath on a gentle breeze.
Then the big stone cylinders groaned as they picked up the time their smaller brethren couldn’t handle. A rumbling underlaid the creaking now, but it was still gentle, controlled…
Lu-Tze lowered his hand gently and straightened up.
“A nice clean pick-up,” he said. “Well done, everyone.” He turned to the astonished, panting monks and beckoned the most senior toward him.
Lu-Tze pulled a ragged cigarette end out of its lodging behind his ear and said, “Well now, Rambut Handisides, what d’you think happened just now, eh?”
“Er…well, there was a surge, which blew out—”
“Nah, nah, after that,” said Lu-Tze, striking a match on the sole of his sandal. “See, what I don’t think happened was that you boys ran around like a lot of headless chickens and a novice got up on the platform and did the sweetest, smoothest bit of rebalancing that I’ve ever seen. That couldn’t have happened, because that sort of thing does not happen. Am I right?”
The monks of the Procrastinator floor were not among the temple’s great political thinkers. Their job was to tend and grease and strip down and rebuild and follow the directions of the man on the platform. Rambut Handisides’s brow wrinkled.
Lu-Tze sighed. “See, what I think happened,” he said helpfully, “was that you lads rose to the occasion, right, and left myself and the young man there aghast at the practical skills you all showed. The abbot will be impressed and blow happy bubbles. You could be looking at some