'Wait, I'll open the door. And be careful.' The door moved very slowly. Lobsang stepped into the workshop after the girl. The spinner began to speed up. The clock glowed in the middle of the floor, painful to look at. But he stared nevertheless. 'It's ... it's just as I imagined it,' he said. 'It's the way to-'
'Don't go near it,' said Susan. 'It's uncertain death, believe me. Do pay attention.' Lobsang blinked. The last couple of thoughts didn't seem to have belonged to him. 'What did you say?'
'I said it's uncertain death.'
'Is that worse than certain death?'
'Much. Watch.' Susan picked up a hammer that was lying on the floor and poked it gently towards the clock. It vibrated in her hand when she brought it closer, and she swore under her breath as it was dragged from her fingers and vanished. Just before it did there was a brief, contracting ring around the clock that might have been something like a hammer would be if you rolled it very flat and bent it into a circle. 'Have you any idea why that happened?' she said. 'No.'
'Nor have I. Now imagine that you were the hammer. Uncertain death, see?' Lobsang looked at the two frozen people. One was medium-sized and had all the right number of appendages to qualify as a member of the human race, and so therefore probably had to be given the benefit of the doubt. It was staring at the clock. So was the other figure, which was that of a middle-aged, sheep-faced man still holding a cup of tea and, as far as Lobsang could make out, a biscuit. 'The one who wouldn't win a beauty contest even if he was the only entrant is an Igor,' said Susan. 'The other one is Dr Hopkins of the Clockmakers' Guild here.'
'So we know who built the clock, at least,' said Lobsang.
'I don't think so. Mr Hopkins's workshop is several streets away. And he makes novelty watches for a rather strange kind of discerning customer. It's his speciality.'
'Then the... Igor must've built it?'
'Good grief, no! Igors are professional servants. They never work for themselves.'
'You seem to know a lot,' said Lobsang, as Susan circled the clock like a wrestler trying to spy out a hold. 'Yes,' she said, without turning her head. 'I do. The first clock broke. This one's holding. Whoever designed it was a genius.'
'An evil genius?'
'It's hard to say. I can't see any signs.'
'What kind of signs?'
'Well, “Hahaha!!!!!” painted on the side would be a definite clue, don't you think?' she said, rolling her eyes. 'I'm in your way, am I?' said Lobsang. 'No, not at all,' said Susan, turning her attention to the workbench. 'Well, there's nothing here. I suppose he could have set a timer. A sort of alarm clock-' She stopped. She picked up a length of rubber hosepipe that was coiled on a hook by the glass jars and looked hard at it. Then she tossed it into a corner and stared at it as if she had never seen anything like it before. 'Don't say a word,' she said quietly. 'They have some very acute senses. Just ease back among those big glass vats behind you and try to look inconspicuous. And do it NOW.' The last word had odd harmonics to it and Lobsang felt his legs begin to move almost without his conscious control. The door moved a little and a man came in. What was strange about the face, Lobsang thought afterwards, was how unmemorable it was. He'd never seen a face so lacking in anything to mention. It had a nose and mouth and eyes, and they were all quite flawless, but somehow they didn't make up a face. They were just parts that made no proper whole. If they became anything at all it was the face of a statue, good looking but without anything looking out of it. Slowly, like someone who had to think about his muscles, the man turned to look at Lobsang. Lobsang felt himself bunch up to slice time. The spinner groaned a warning on his back.
ok a step away from the door and the Procrastinator settled back into its routine clicking. So... Lu-Tze was out in the street and he had a spinner and that should have cut in automatically too. In this timeless world, he was going to be the only person who could turn a handle. The glass that he had broken in his leap through the window had opened around the hole like a great sparkling flower. He reached out to touch a piece. It moved as though alive, cut his finger, and then dropped towards the ground, stopping only when it fell out of the field around his body. Don't touch people, Lu-Tze had said. Don't touch arrows. Don't touch things that were moving, that was the rule. But the glass- -but the glass, in normal time, had been flying through the air. It'd still have that energy, wouldn't it? He eased himself carefully around the glass, and opened the front door of the shop. The wood moved very slowly, fighting against the enormous speed. Lu-Tze was not in the street. But there was something new, hovering in the air just a few inches above the ground right where the old man had been. It had not been there before. Someone with their own portable time had been here, and dropped this and moved on before it reached the ground. It was a small glass jar, coloured blue by temporal effects. Now, how much energy could it have? Lobsang cupped his hand and gingerly brought it underneath and up, and there was a tingle and a sudden feeling of weight as the spinners field claimed it. Now its true colours came back. The jar was a milky pink or, rather, clear glass that looked pink because of the contents. The paper lid was covered with badly printed pictures of unbelievably flawless strawberries, surrounding some ornate lettering which read: Ronald Soak, Hygienic Dairyman STRAWBERRY YOGHURT 'Fresh As The Morning Dew' Soak? He knew the name! The man had delivered milk to the Guild! Good fresh milk, too, not the watery, green-tinted stuff the other dairies supplied. Very reliable, everyone said. But, reliable or not, he was just a milkman. All right, just a very good milkman, and if time had stopped, then why- Lobsang looked around desperately. The people and carts that thronged the street were still there. No one had moved. No one could move.
But something was running along the gutter. It looked like a rat in a black robe, running along on its hind legs. It looked up at Lobsang, and he saw that it had a skull rather than a head. As skulls went, it was quite a cheerful one. The word SQUEAK manifested itself inside his brain without bothering to go via his ears. Then the rat hopped onto the pavement and scampered down an alley. Lobsang followed it. A moment later someone behind him grabbed him by the neck. He went to break the lock, and realized how much he'd relied on slicing when he was fought. Besides, the person behind him had a very strong grip indeed. 'I just want to make sure you don't do anything silly,' it said. It was a female voice. 'What is this thing on your back?'
'Who are-?'
'The protocol in these matters,' said the voice, 'is that the person with the killer neck-grip asks the questions.'
'Er, it's a Procrastinator. Er, it stores time. Who-'
'Oh dear, there you go again. What is your name?'
'Lobsang. Lobsang Ludd. Look, could you wind me up, please? It's urgent.'
'Certainly. Lobsang Ludd, you are thoughtless and impulsive and deserve to die a stupid and pointless death.'
'What?'
'And you are also rather slow on the uptake. You are referring to this handle?'
'Yes. I'm running out of time. Now can I ask who you are?'
'Miss Susan. Hold still.' He heard, behind him, the incredibly welcome sound of the Procrastinators clockwork being rewound. 'Miss Susan?' he said. 'That's what most people I know call me. Now, I'm going to let you go. I will add that trying anything stupid will be counterproductive. Besides, I'm the only person in the world right now who might be inclined to twiddle your handle again.' The pressure was released. Lobsang turned slowly.
Miss Susan was a slightly built young woman, dressed severely all in black. Her hair stood out around her head like an aura, white-blond with one black streak. But the most striking thing about her was... was everything, Lobsang realized, everything from her expression to the way she stood. Some people fade into the background. Miss Susan faded into the foreground. She stood out. Everything she stood in front of became nothing more than background. 'Finished?' she said. 'Seen everything?'
'Sorry. Have you seen an old man? Dressed a bit like me? With one of these on his back?'
'No. Now it's my turn. Have you got rhythm?'