Thief of Time

see…yes, four hundred and two…”
    “Seven hundred and ninety,” shouted Lobsang, pointing to a bobbin.
    “You what?”
    “Seven hundred and ninety!”
    “Don’t be daft. That’s still unwinding, lad. Four hundred and two is our man, right here.”
    “Seven hundred and ninety is about to start winding time again!”
    “It’s still bright blue.”
    “It’s going to unwind. I know it. Because…” the novice’s finger moved over the lines of bobbins, hesitated, and pointed to a bobbin on the other side of the board, “…it’s matching speeds with this one…”
    Lu-Tze peered.
    “It is written, ‘Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs!’” he said. “They’re forming a natural inversion.” He squinted at Lobsang. “You’re not the reincarnation of someone, are you? That happens a lot in these parts.”
    “I don’t think so. It’s just…obvious.”
    “A moment ago you didn’t know anything about these!”
    “Yes, yes, but when you see them…it’s obvious.”
    “Is it? Is it? All right. Then the board’s yours, wonder boy!” Lu-Tze stood back.
    “Mine? But I—”
    “Get on with it! That is an order .”
    For a moment there was a suggestion of blue light around Lobsang. Lu-Tze wondered how much time he’d folded around himself in that second. Time enough to think, certainly.
    Then the boy called out half a dozen pairs of numbers. Lu-Tze turned to the monks.
    “Jump to it, boys. Mr. Lobsang has the board! You boys just watch those bearings!”
    “But he’s a novice—” one of the monks began, and stopped and backed away when he saw Lu-Tze’s expression. “All right, Sweeper…all right…”
    A moment later there was the sound of jumpers slamming into place.
    Lobsang called out another set of numbers.
    While the monks dashed to and fro to the butter pits for grease, Lu-Tze looked up at the nearest column. It was still spinning fast, but he was sure he could see the carvings.
    Lobsang ran his eye over the board again, and stared up at the rumbling cylinders, and then back to the lines of shutters.
    There wasn’t anything written down about all this, Lu-Tze knew. You couldn’t teach it in a classroom, although they tried. A good spin driver learned it through the soles of his feet, for all the theory that they taught you these days. He’d learn to feel the flows, to see the rows of Procrastinators as wells or fountains of time. Old Shoblang had been so good that he’d been able to pull a couple of hours of wasted time off a classroom of bored pupils without them even noticing, and dump it into a busy workshop a thousand miles away as neat as you pleased.
    And then there was that trick he used to do with an apple to amaze the apprentices. He’d put it on a pillar next to them, and then flick time at it off one of the small spindles. In an instant it’d be a collection of small, spindly trees before crumbling to dust. That’s what’ll happen to you if you get things wrong, he’d said.
    Lu-Tze glanced down at the piles of gray dust under the disintegrating hat as he hurried past. Well, maybe it was the way he’d wanted to go—
    A scream of tormented stone made him look up.
    “Keep those bearings greased, you lazy devils,” he yelled, running on down the rows. “And watch those rails! Hands off the splines! We’re doing fine!”
    As he ran he kept his eyes on the columns. They weren’t turning randomly now. Now, they had purpose.
    “I think you’re winning, lad!” he shouted to the figure on the podium.
    “Yes, but I can’t balance it! There’s too much time wound up and nowhere to put it!”
    “How much?”
    “Almost forty years!”
    Lu-Tze glanced at the shutters. Forty years looked about right, but surely—
    “ How much?” he said.
    “Forty! I’m sorry! There’s nothing to take it up!”
    “No problem! Steal it! Shed load! We can always pull it back later! Dump it!”
    “Where to?”
    “Find a big patch of sea!” The sweeper pointed to a crude map of the world painted on the wall. “Do you know how to—can you see how to give it the right spin and direction?”
    Once again, there was the blueness in the air.
    “Yes! I think so!”
    “Yes, I imagine you do! In your own time, then!”
    Lu-Tze shook his head. Forty years? He was worried about forty years ? Forty years was nothing! Apprentice drivers had dumped fifty thousand years before now. That was the thing about the sea. It just stayed big and wet. It always had been big and wet,