Thief of Time

these matters,” said the voice, “is that the person with the killer neckgrip asks the questions.”
    “Er, it’s a Procrastinor. Er, it stores time. Who—-”
    “Oh dear, there you go again. What is your name?”
    “Lobsang. Lobsang Ludd. Look, could you wind me up, please? It’s urgent.”
    “Certainly. Lobsang Ludd, you are thoughtless and impulsive and deserve to die a stupid and pointless death.”
    “What?”
    “And you are also rather slow on the uptake. You are referring to this handle?”
    “Yes. I’m running out of time. Now can I ask who you are?”
    “Miss Susan. Hold still.”
    He heard, behind him, the incredibly welcome sound of the Procrastinator’s clockwork being rewound.
    “Miss Susan?” he said.
    “That’s what most people I know call me. Now, I’m going to let you go. I will add that trying anything stupid will be counterproductive. Besides, I’m the only person in the world right now who might be inclined to twiddle your handle again.”
    The pressure was released. Lobsang turned slowly.
    Miss Susan was a slightly built young woman, dressed severely all in black. Her hair stood out around her head like an aura, white-blond with one black streak. But the most striking thing about her was…was everything, Lobsang realized, everything from her expression to the way she stood. Some people fade into the background. Miss Susan faded into the foreground. She stood out. Everything she stood in front of became nothing more than background.
    “Finished?” she said. “Seen everything?”
    “Sorry. Have you seen an old man? Dressed a bit like me? With one of these on his back?”
    “No. Now it’s my turn. Have you got rhythm?”
    “What?”
    Susan rolled her eyes. “All right. Do you have music?”
    “Not on me, no!”
    “And you certainly haven’t got a girl,” said Miss Susan. “I saw Old Man Trouble go past a few minutes ago. It’d be a good idea if you don’t bump into him, then.”
    “And is he likely to have taken my friend?”
    “I doubt it. And Old Man Trouble is more an it than a he. Anyway, there’s far worse than him around right now. Even the bogeymen have gone to ground.”
    “Look, time has stopped, right?” said Lobsang.
    “Yes.”
    “So how can you be here talking to me?”
    “I’m not what you might call a creature of time,” said Miss Susan. “I work in it, but I don’t have to live there. There are a few of us about.”
    “Like this Old Man Trouble you mentioned?”
    “Right. And the Hogfather, the Tooth Fairy, the Sandman, people like that.”
    “I thought they were mythical?”
    “So?” Susan glanced out of the mouth of the alley again.
    “And you’re not?”
    “I take it you didn’t stop the clock,” said Miss Susan, looking up and down the street.
    “No. I was…too late. Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone back to help Lu-Tze.”
    “I’m sorry? You were dashing to prevent the end of the world but you stopped to help some old man? You… hero !”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t say that I was a—” And then Lobsang stopped. She hadn’t said “you hero” in the tone of voice of “you star”; it had been the tone in which people say “you idiot.”
    “I see a lot of your sort,” Susan went on. “Heroes have a very strange grasp of elementary maths, you know. If you’d smashed the clock before it struck, everything would have been fine. Now the world has stopped, and we’ve been invaded, and we’re probably all going to die, just because you stopped to help someone. I mean, very worthy and all that, but very, very…human…”
    She used the word as if she meant it to mean “silly.”
    “You mean you need cool calculating bastards to save the world, do you?” said Lobsang.
    “The cool calculation does help, I must admit,” said Susan. “Now, shall we go and look at this clock?”
    “Why? The damage is done now. If we smash it, it’ll only make things worse. Besides, uh, the spinner started to run wild and I, er, I felt—”
    “Cautious,” said Susan. “Good. Caution is sensible. But there’s something I want to check.”
    Lobsang tried to pull himself together. This strange woman had the air of someone who knew exactly what she was doing—who knew exactly what everyone was doing—and, besides, what alternative did he have? Then he remembered the yogurt pot.
    “Does this mean anything?” he said. “I’m certain it was dropped in the street after time stopped.”
    She took the pot and examined it.
    “Oh,”