Thief of Time

practically any kind of eccentricity. Genocide, for example. By comparison, a lack of tea drinking was easy.
    “Yes, indeed!” said Mr. White, turning to the other Auditors. “Is that not true?”
    “Yes, that is not true. Indeed!” said Mr. Green.
    “Oh?” said Dr. Hopkins. “I did not know there was any religion that forbade tea?”
    “Indeed!” said Mr. Green. Lady LeJean could almost feel his mind racing. “It is a…yes, it is a drink of the…correct…it is a drink of the…extremely bad, negatively regarded gods. It is a…correct…it is a commandment of our religion to…yes…to shun ginger biscuits also.” There was sweat on his forehead. For an Auditor, this was genius-level creativity. “Also,” he went on slowly, as if reading the words off some page invisible to everyone else, “our religion…correct!…our religion demands that the clock be started now! For…who may know when the hour may be?”
    Despite herself, Lady LeJean nearly applauded.
    “Who indeed,” said Dr. Hopkins.
    “I, I absolutely agree,” said Jeremy, who had been staring at Lady LeJean. “I don’t understand who you…why there’s all this fuss…I don’t understand why…oh, dear…I’m getting a headache…”
    Dr. Hopkins spilled his tea because of the speed with which he got up and reached into his coat pocket.
    “AhitsohappensIwaspassingtheapothecaryonmyway-here—” he began, all in one breath.
    “I feel it’s not the time to start the clock,” said Lady LeJean, edging herself along the desk. The hammer was still invitingly there.
    “I’m seeing those little flashes of light, Dr. Hopkins,” said Jeremy urgently, staring into the middle distance.
    “Not the flashes of light! Not the flashes of light!” said Dr.
    Hopkins. He grabbed a teaspoon off Igor’s tray, stared at it, threw it over his shoulder, tipped the tea out of a cup, opened the bottle of blue medicine by smashing the top off on the edge of the bench, and poured a cupful, spilling quite a lot of it in his hurry.
    The hammer was inches away from her ladyship’s hand. She didn’t dare look around, but she could sense it there. While the Auditors stared at the trembling Jeremy, she let her fingers walk across the bench. She wouldn’t even have to move. A brisk overarm throw should do it.
    She saw Dr. Hopkins try to put the cup to Jeremy’s lips. The boy put his hands over his face and elbowed the cup out of the way, spilling the medicine across the floor.
    Then Lady LeJean’s fingers were grasping the handle. She brought her hand around and hurled the hammer directly at the clock.
    Tick
    The war was going badly for the weaker side. Their positioning was wrong, their tactics ragged, their strategy hopeless. The Red army advanced across the whole front, dismembering the scurrying remnant of the collapsing Black army.
    There was room for only one ant hill on this lawn…
    Death found War down among the grass blades. He admired attention to detail. War was in full armor, too, but the human heads he normally had tied to his saddle had been replaced by ant heads, feelers and all.
    D O THEY NOTICE, DO YOU THINK? Death said.
    “I doubt it,” said War.
    N EVERTHELESS, IF THEY DID, I ’M SURE THEY WOULD APPRECIATE IT.
    “Ha! Only decent theater of war around these days,” said War. “That’s what I like about ants. The buggers don’t learn, what?”
    I T HAS BEEN RATHER PEACEFUL OF LATE, I AGREE, said Death.
    “Peaceful?” said War. “Ha! I may as well change m’name to ‘Police Action,’ or ‘Negotiated Settlement’! Remember the old days? Warriors used to froth at the mouth! Arms and legs bouncing in all directions! Great times, eh?” He leaned across and slapped Death on the back. “I’ll bag ’em and you’ll tag ’em, what?”
    T HIS LOOKS HOPEFUL , Death thought.
    T ALKING OF THE OLD DAYS, he said carefully. I ’M SURE YOU REMEMBER THE TRADITION OF RIDING OUT?
    War gave him a puzzled look.
    “Mind’s a blank on that one, old boy.”
    I SENT OUT THE CALL.
    “Can’t say it rings a bell…”
    A POCALYPSE? said Death. E ND OF THE WORLD?
    War continued to stare.
    “Definitely knocking, old chap, but no one’s home. And talking of home…” War looked around at the twitching remains of the recent slaughter. “Spot of lunch?”
    Around them the forest of grass grew shorter and smaller until it was, indeed, no more than grass, and became the lawn outside a house.
    It was an ancient longhouse. Where else would