Thief of Time

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 extra momos in your thugpa come dinnertime, if you get my drift?”
    Handisides ran this up his mental flagpole and it did indeed send prayers to heaven. He began to smile.
    “ However ,” said Lu-Tze, stepping closer and lowering his voice, “I’ll probably be around again soon, this place looks as though it could do with a good sweeping, and if I don’t find you boys pin-sharp and prodding buttock inside a week, you and me will have a…talk.”
    The smile vanished.
    “Yes, Sweeper.”
    “You’ve got to test them all and see to those bearings…”
    “Yes, Sweeper.”
    “And someone clean up Mr. Shoblang.”
    “Yes, Sweeper.”
    “Fair play to you, then. Me and young Lobsang here will be going. You’ve done a lot for his education.”
    He took the unresisting Lobsang by the hand and led him out of the hall, past the long lines of turning, humming Procrastinators. A pall of blue smoke still hung under the high ceiling.
    “Truly it is written, ‘You could knock me down with a feather,’” he muttered, as they headed up the sloping passage. “You spotted that inversion before it happened. I’d have blown us into next week. At least .”
    “Sorry, Sweeper.”
    “Sorry? You don’t have to be sorry . I don’t know what you are , son. You’re too quick. You’re taking to this place like a duck to water. You don’t have to learn stuff that takes other people years to get the hang of. Old Shoblang, may he be reincarnated somewhere nice and warm, even he couldn’t balance the load down to a second. I mean, a second . Over a whole damn world !” He shuddered. “Here’s a tip. Don’t let it show. People can be funny about that sort of thing.”
    “Yes, Sweeper.”
    “And another thing,” said Lu-Tze, leading the way out into the light. “What was all that fuss just before the Procrastinators cut loose? You felt something?”
    “I don’t know. I just felt…everything went wrong for a moment.”
    “Ever happened before?”
    “No-oo. It was a bit like what happened in the Mandala Hall.”
    “Well, don’t talk about it to anyone else. Most of the high-ups these days probably don’t even know how the spinners work. No one cares about them anymore. No one notices something that works too well. Of course, in the old days you weren’t even allowed to become a monk until you’d spent six months in the hall, greasing, and cleaning, and