Thief of Time

bony feet. There was also a scythe leaning against the back of the armchair. She raised the paper.
    G OOD AFTERNOON, said Death. H AVE YOU HAD LUNCH? I T WAS JAM ROLY-POLY.
    “Why do you do this, Grandfather? You know you don’t sleep.”
    I FIND IT RESTFUL. A RE YOU WELL?
    “I was until the rat arrived.”
    Y OUR CAREER PROGRESSES? Y OU KNOW I CARE FOR YOU.
    “Thank you,” said Susan shortly. “Now, why did—”
    W OULD A LITTLE SMALL TALK HURT?
    Susan sighed. She knew what was behind that, and it wasn’t a happy thought. It was a small, sad, and wobbly little thought, and it ran: each of them had no one else but the other. There. It was a thought that sobbed into its own handkerchief, but it was true.
    Oh, Death had his manservant, Albert, and of course there was the Death of Rats, if you could call that company…
    And as far as Susan was concerned…
    Well, she was partly immortal, and that was all there was to it. She could see things that were really there, * she could put time on and take it off like an overcoat. Rules that applied to everyone else, like gravity, applied to her only when she let them. And, however hard you tried, this sort of thing did tend to get in the way of relationships. It was hard to deal with people when a tiny part of you saw them as a temporary collection of atoms that would not be around in another few decades.
    And there she met the tiny part of Death which found it hard to deal with people when it thought of them as real.
    Not a day went past that she didn’t regret her curious ancestry. And then she’d wonder what it could possibly be like to walk the world unaware at every step of the rocks beneath your feet and the stars overhead, to have a mere five senses, to be almost blind and nearly deaf…
    T HE CHILDREN ARE WELL? I LIKED THEIR PAINTINGS OF ME.
    “Yes. How is Albert?”
    H E IS WELL.
    …and not really have any small talk, Susan added to herself. There wasn’t room for small talk in a big universe.
    T HE WORLD IS COMING TO AN END.
    Well, that was big talk. “When?”
    N EXT W EDNESDAY.
    “Why?”
    T HE A UDITORS ARE BACK , said Death.
    “Those evil little things?”
    Y ES.
    “I hate them.”
    I , OF COURSE, DO NOT HAVE ANY EMOTIONS, said Death, poker-faced as only a skull can be.
    “What are they up to this time?”
    I CANNOT SAY.
    “I thought you could remember the future!”
    Y ES. B UT SOMETHING HAS CHANGED. A FTER WEDNESDAY, THERE IS NO FUTURE.
    “There must be something, even if it’s only debris!”
    N O. A FTER ONE O’CLOCK NEXT W EDNESDAY THERE IS NOTHING. J UST ONE O’CLOCK NEXT W EDNESDAY, FOREVER AND EVER. N O ONE WILL LIVE. N O ONE WILL DIE. T HAT IS WHAT I NOW SEE. T HE FUTURE HAS CHANGED. D O YOU UNDERSTAND?
    “And what has this got to do with me?” Susan knew this would sound stupid to anyone else.
    I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THE END OF THE WORLD IS EVERYONE’S RESPONSIBILITY, WOULDN’T YOU?
    “ You know what I mean!”
    I BELIEVE THIS HAS TO DO WITH THE NATURE OF TIME, WHICH IS BOTH IMMORTAL AND HUMAN . T HERE HAVE BEEN CERTAIN…RIPPLES.
    “They’re going to do something to Time? I thought they weren’t allowed to do things like that.”
    N O. B UT HUMANS CAN. I T HAS BEEN DONE ONCE BEFORE.
    “No one would be that stu—”
    Susan stopped. Of course someone would be that stupid. Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying “End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH,” the paint wouldn’t even have time to dry.
    She thought some more. Death was watching her intently.
    Then she said: “Funnily enough, there is this book I’ve been reading to the class. I found it on my desk one day. It’s called Grim Fairy Tales …”
    A H, HAPPY TALES FOR LITTLE FOLK , said Death without a trace of irony.
    “…which is mostly about wicked people dying in horrible ways. It’s strange, really. The children seem quite happy with the idea. It doesn’t seem to worry them.”
    Death said nothing.
    “Except in the case of the Glass Clock of Bad Schüschein,” said Susan, watching his skull. “They found that quite upsetting, even though it’s got a kind of happy ending.”
    I T MAY BE BECAUSE THE STORY IS TRUE.
    Susan had known Death long enough not to argue.
    “I think I understand,” she said. “You made sure the book was there.”
    Y ES . O H, THE RUBBISH ABOUT THE HANDSOME PRINCE AND SO ON IS AN OBVIOUS ADDITION . T HE AUDITORS DID NOT