Thief of Time

his vest,” said Mrs. War firmly. “It’s just the sort of thing I—”
    She had to stop because the angel had wrenched the halo from its head and was dragging it down the fused edge of the pages, with sparks and a sound like a cat slipping down a blackboard.
    The pages clanged apart.
    “Right, let’s see…” It scanned the newly revealed text. “Done that…done that…oh…” It stopped and turned a pale face to Mrs. War.
    “Oh boy,” it said, “we’re in trouble now…”
    A comet sprang up from the world below, growing visibly larger as the angel spoke. It flamed across the sky, burning fragments detaching and dropping away and revealing, as it closed with the horsemen, a chariot on fire.
    It was a blue flame. Chaos burned with cold.
    The figure standing in the chariot wore a full-face helmet dominated by two eyeholes that looked slightly like the wings of a butterfly and rather more like the eyes of some strange, alien creature. The burning horse, barely sweating, trotted to a halt; the other horses, regardless of their riders, moved aside to make room.
    “Oh no,” said Famine, waving a hand in disgust. “Not him, too? I said what’d happen if he came back, didn’t I? Remember that time he threw the minstrel out of the hotel window in Zok? Didn’t I say—”
    S HUT UP , said Death. He nodded. H ELLO, R ONNIE. G OOD TO SEE YOU. I WONDERED IF YOU WOULD COME.
    A hand trailing cold steam came up and removed the helmet.
    “Hello, boys,” said Chaos pleasantly.
    “Uh…long time no see,” said Pestilence.
    War coughed. “Heard you were doing well,” he said.
    “Yes indeed,” said Ronnie in a careful tone of voice. “There’s a real future in the retail milk and milk-derivatives business.”
    Death glanced at the Auditors. They’d stopped moving in but were circling watchfully.
    “Well, the world will always need cheese,” said War desperately. “Haha.”
    “Looks like there’s some trouble here,” said Ronnie.
    “We can handl—” Famine began.
    W E CAN’T, said Death. Y OU CAN SEE HOW IT IS, R ONNIE. T IMES HAVE CHANGED. W OULD YOU CARE TO SIT IN FOR THIS ONE?
    “Hey, we haven’t discussed—” Famine began, but stopped when War glared at him.
    Ronnie Soak put on his helmet, and Chaos drew his sword. It glinted and, like the glass clock, looked like the intrusion into the world of something a great deal more complex.
    “Some old man told me you live and learn,” he said. “Well. I have lived, and now I’ve learned that the edge of a sword is infinitely long. I’ve also learned how to make damn good yogurt, although this is not a skill I intend to employ today. Shall we go get ’em, boys?”

    Far down, in the street, a few of the Auditors moved forward.
    “What is Rule One?” said one of them.
    “It does not matter. I am Rule One!” An Auditor with a big ax waved them back. “Obedience is necessary!”
    The Auditors wavered, watching the cleaver. They’d learned about pain. They’d never felt pain before, not in billions of years. Those who had felt it had no desire at all to feel it again.
    “Very well,” said Mr. White. “Now get back to—”
    A chocolate egg spun out of nowhere and smashed on the stones. The crowd of Auditors rippled forward, but Mr. White slashed the ax through the air a few times.
    “Stand back! Stand back!” he screamed. “You three! Find out who threw that! It came from behind that stall! No one is to touch the brown material!”
    He stooped carefully and picked up a large fragment of chocolate, on which could just be made out the shape of a smiling duck in yellow icing. Hand shaking and sweat beading his forehead, he raised it aloft and flourished the cleaver triumphantly. There was a collective sigh from the crowd.
    “You see?” he shouted, “the body can be overcome! You see? We can find a way to live! If you are good, there may be brown material! If you disobey, there will be the sharp edge! Ah…” he lowered his arms as a struggling Unity was dragged toward him.
    “The pathfinder,” he said, “the renegade…”
    He walked toward the captive.
    “What will it be?” he said. “The cleaver or the brown material?”
    “It’s called chocolate,” snapped Unity. “I do not eat it.”
    “We shall see,” Mr. White said. “Your associate seemed to prefer the ax!”
    He pointed to the body of Lu-Tze.
    To the empty patch of cobbles where Lu-Tze had been.
    A hand tapped him on the shoulder.
    “Why is it,” said a voice