'A man came knocking,' she said. 'Three times he came, in my life. Last time was, oh, maybe ten days ago. Same man every time. He wanted a midwife-'

    'Ten days ago?' said Susan. 'But the boy's at least sixt-' She stopped.

    'Ah, you've got it,' said Mrs Ogg. 'I could see you was bright. Time didn't matter to him. He wanted the best midwife. And it was, like, he'd found out about me but got the date wrong, just like you or me could knock on the wrong door. Can you understand what I mean?'

    'More than you think,' said Susan.

    'The third time' - another gulp at the brandy - 'he was in a bit of a state,' said Mrs Ogg. 'That's how I knew he was just a man, despite everything that happened after. It was because he was panicking, to tell you the truth. Pregnant fathers often panic. He was going on about me coming right away and how there was no time. He had all the time in the world, he just wasn't thinking properly, 'cos husbands never do when the time comes. They panic 'cos it ain't their world any more.'

    'And what happened next?' said Susan.

    'He took me in his, well, it was like one of them old chariots, he took me to...' Mrs Ogg hesitated. 'I've seen a lot of strange things in my life, I'll have you know,' she said, as if preparing the ground for a revelation.

    'I can believe it.'

    'It was a castle made of glass.' Mrs Ogg gave Susan a look that dared her to disbelieve. Susan decided to hurry things up.

    'Mrs Ogg, one of my earliest memories is of helping to feed the Pale Horse. You know? The one outside? The horse of Death? His name is Binky. So please don't keep stopping. There is practically no limit to the things I find normal.'

    'There was a woman... well eventually there was a woman,' said the witch. 'Can you imagine someone exploding into a million pieces? Yes, I expect you can. Well, imagine it happening the other way. There's a mist and it's all flying together and then, whoosh, there's a woman. Then, whoosh, back into a mist again. And all the time, this noise...' Mrs Ogg ran her finger round the edge of the brandy glass, making it hum.

    'A woman kept... incarnating and then disappearing again? Why?'

    'Because she was frightened, of course! First time, see?' Mrs Ogg grinned. 'I person'ly never had any problems in that area, but I've been at a lot of births when it's all new to the girl and she'll be frightened as hell and when push comes to shove, if you take my meaning, old midwifery term, she'll be yellin' and swearin' at the father and I reckon that she'd give anything to be somewhere else. Well, this lady could be somewhere else. We'd have been in a real pickle if it wasn't for the man, as it turned out.'

    'The man who brought you?'

    'He was kind of foreign, you know? Like the Hub people. Bald as a coot. I remember thinking "You look like a young man, mister, but you look like you've been a young man for a long, long time if I'm any judge." Normally I wouldn't have any man there, but he sat and talked to her in his foreign lingo and sang her songs and little poems and soothed her and back she came, out of thin air, and I was ready and it was one, two, done. And then she was gone. Except that she was still there, I think. In the air.'

    'What did she look like?' said Susan.

    Mrs Ogg gave her a Look. 'You've got to remember the view I got where I was sitting,' she said. 'The kind of description I might give you ain't a thing anyone'd put on a poster, if you get my meaning. And no woman looks at her best at a time like that. She was young, she had dark hair...' Mrs Ogg refilled her brandy glass and this meant the pause went on for some time. 'And she was old, too, if you're after the truth of it. Not old like me. I mean old.'

    She stared at the fire. 'Old like darkness and stars,' she said, to the flames.

    'The boy was left outside the Thieves' Guild,' said Susan, to break the silence. 'I suppose they thought that with gifts like that he'd be all right.'

    'The boy? Hah. Tell me, miss... why are we talking about he?'

    Tick

    Lady LeJean was being strong.

    She'd never realized how much humans were controlled by their bodies. The thing nagged night and day. It was always too hot, too cold, too empty, too full, too tired...

    The key was discipline, she was sure. Auditors were immortal. If she couldn't tell her body what to do, she didn't deserve to have one. Bodies were a major human weakness.

    Senses, too. The Auditors had hundreds of senses, since every possible phenomenon had to be witnessed and recorded. She could find only five available now. Five ought to be easy to deal with. But they were wired directly into the rest of the body! They didn't just submit information, they made demands!

    She'd walked past a stall selling roasted meats and her mouth had started to drool! The sense of smell wanted the body to eat without consulting the brain! But that wasn't the worst of it! The brain itself did its own thinking!

    That was the hardest part. The bag of soggy tissue behind the eyes worked away independently of its owner. It took in information from the senses, and checked it all against memory, and presented options. Sometimes the hidden parts of it even fought for control of the mouth! Humans weren't individuals, they were, each one, a committee!

    Some of the other members of the committee were dark and red and entirely uncivilized. They had joined the brain before civilization; some of them had got aboard even before humanity. And the bit that did the joined-up thinking had to fight, in the darkness of the brain, to get the casting vote!

    After little more than a couple of weeks as a human, the entity that was Lady LeJean was having real trouble.

    Food, for example. Auditors did not eat. They recognized that feeble life forms had to consume one another to obtain energy and body-building material. The process was astonishingly inefficient, however, and her ladyship had tried assembling nutrients directly out of the air. This worked, but the process felt... What was the word? Oh, yes... creepy.

    Besides, part of the brain didn't believe it was getting fed and insisted that it was hungry. Its incessant nagging interfered with her thought processes and so, despite everything, she'd had to face up to the whole, well, the whole orifices business.

    The Auditors had known about these for a long time. The human body appeared to have up to eight of them. One didn't seem to work and the rest appeared to be multi-functional, although surprisingly there seemed to be only one thing that could be done by the ears.

    Yesterday she'd tried a piece of dry toast.

    It had been the single worst experience of her existence.

    It had been the single most intense experience of her existence.

    It had been something else, too. As far as she could understand the language, it had been enjoyable.

    It seemed that the human sense of taste was quite different from the sense as employed by an Auditor. That was precise, measured, analytical. But the human sense of taste was like being hit in the mouth by the whole world. It had been half an hour of watching fireworks in her head before she remembered to swallow.

    How did humans survive this?

    She'd been fascinated by the art galleries. It was clear that some humans could present reality in a way that made it even more real, that spoke to the viewer, that seared the mind... but what could possibly transcend the knowledge that the genius of an artist had to poke alien substances into his face? Could it be that humans had got used to it? And that was only the start. ..

    The sooner the clock was finished, the better. A species as crazy as this couldn't be allowed to survive. She was visiting the clockmaker and his ugly assistant every day now, giving them as much help as she dared, but they always seemed one vital step away from completion-

    Amazing! She could even lie to herself! Because another voice in her head, which was part of the dark committee, said, 'You're not helping, are you? You're stealing parts and twisting parts... and you go back every day because of the way he looks at you, don't you?'

    Parts of the internal committee that were so old they didn't have voices, only direct control of the body, tried to interfere at this point. She tried in vain to put them out of her mind.

    And now she had to face the other Auditors. They would be punctual.

    She pulled herself together. Water had taken to running out of her eyes lately for no reason at all. She did the best she could with her hair, and made her way to the large drawing room.

    Greyness was already filling the air. In this space, there was not room for too many Auditors, but that did not really matter. One could speak for all.

    Lady LeJean found the corners of her mouth turned up automatically as nine of them appeared. Nine was three threes, and the Auditors liked threes. Two would keep an eye on the other one. Each two would keep an eye on each other one. They don't trust themselves, said one of the voices in her head. Another voice cut in: It's we, we don't trust ourselves. And she thought: Oh, yes. We, not they. I must remember I'm a we.

    An Auditor said, Why is there no further progress?

    The corners of the mouth turned down again.

    'There have been minor problems of precision and alignment,' said Lady LeJean. She found that her hands were rubbing themselves together slowly, and wondered why. She hadn't told them to.

    Auditors had never needed body language, so they didn't understand it.

    One said, What is the nature of-?

    But another one cut in with, Why are you dwelling in this building? The voice was tinted with suspicion.

    'The body requires one to do things that cannot be done on the street,' said Lady LeJean, and, because she'd got to know something about Ankh-Morpork, she added, 'at least, on many streets. Also, I believe the servant of the clockmaker is suspicious. I have allowed the body to yield to gravity, since that is what it was designed for. It is as well to give the appearance of humanity.'

    One, and it was the same one, said, And what is the meaning of these?

    It had noticed the paints and the easel. Lady LeJean wished fervently that she'd remembered to put them away.

    The one said, You are making an image with pigments?

    'Yes. Very badly, I am afraid.'

    One said, For what reason?

    'I wished to see how humans do it.'

    One said, That is simple: the eye receives the input, the hand applies the pigment.

    'That's what I thought, but it appears to be much more complex than that-'

    The one who had raised the question of the painting drifted towards one of the chairs and said, And what is this?

    'It is a cat. It arrived. It does not appear to wish to depart.'

    The cat, a feral ginger tom, flicked a serrated ear and curled up in a tighter ball. Anything that could survive in Ankh-Morpork's alleys, with their abandoned swamp dragons, dog packs and furriers' agents, was not about to open even one eye for a bunch of floating nightdresses.

    The one who was now getting on Lady LeJean's nerves said: And the reason for its presence?

    'It appears to tolerate the company of hu- of apparent humans, asking nothing in return but food, water, shelter and comfort,' said Lady LeJean. 'This interests me. Our purpose is to learn, and thus I have, as you can see, begun.' She hoped it sounded better to them than it did to her.

    One said, When will the clock problems you spoke of be resolved?

    'Oh, soon. Very soon. Yes.'

    The one that was beginning to terrify Lady LeJean said, We wonder: is it possible that you are slowing the work in some way?

    Lady LeJean felt a prickling on her forehead. Why was it doing that?

    'No. Why should I slow the work? There would be no logic to it!'

    One said, Hmm.

    And an Auditor did not say 'Hmm' by accident. 'Hmm' had a very precise meaning.

    It went on: You are making moisture on your head.

    'Yes. It's a body thing.'

    One said, Yes. And that, too, had a very specific and ominous meaning.

    One said, We wonder if too long in a solid body weakens resolve. Also, we find it hard to see your thoughts.

    'Body again, I am afraid. The brain is a very imprecise instrument.' Lady LeJean got control of her hands at last.

    One said, Yes.

    Another said, When water fills a jug, it takes the shape of the jug. But the water is not the jug, nor is the jug the water.

    'Of course,' said Lady LeJean. And, inside, a thought that she hadn't known she was thinking, a thought that turned up out of the darkness behind the eyes, said: We are surely the most stupid creatures in the universe.

    One said, It is not good to act alone.

    She said, 'Of course.' And once again a thought emerged from the darkness: I'm in trouble now.

    One said, And therefore you will have companions. No blame attaches. One should never be alone. Together, resolve is strengthened.

    Motes began to twinkle in the air.

    Lady LeJean's body backed away automatically and, when she saw what was forming, she backed it away further. She had seen humans in all states of life and death, but seeing a body being spun out of raw matter was curiously disquieting when you were currently inhabiting a similar one. It was one of those times when the stomach did the thinking, and thought it wanted to throw up.

    Six figures took shape, blinked and opened their eyes. Three of the figures were male, three were female. They were dressed in human-sized equivalents of the Auditors' robes.

    The remaining Auditors drew back, but one said, They will accompany you to the clockmaker; and matters will be resolved today. They will not eat or breathe.

    Hah! thought one of the little voices that made up Lady LeJean's thinking.

    One of the figures whimpered.

    'The body will breathe,' said her ladyship. 'You will not persuade it that air is not required.'

    She was aware of the choking noises.

    'You are thinking, yes, we can exchange necessary materials with the outside world, and this is true,' she went on. 'But the body does not know that. It thinks it is dying. Let it breathe.'

    There was a series of gasps.

    'And you will feel better shortly,' said her ladyship, and was enthralled to hear the inner voice think: These are your jailers, and you are already stronger than them.

    One of the figures felt its face with a clumsy hand and, panting, said, 'Whom do you speak to with your mouth?'

    'You,' said Lady LeJean.

    'Us?'

    'This will take some explaining-'

    'No,' said the Auditor. 'Danger lies that way. We believe the body imposes a method of thought on the brain. No blame attaches. It is a... malfunction. We will accompany you to the clockmaker. We will do this now.'

    'Not in those clothes,' said Lady LeJean. 'You will frighten him. It may lead to irrational actions.'

    There was a moment of silence. The Auditors-made-flesh looked hopelessly at one another.

    'You have to talk with your mouth,' Lady LeJean prompted. 'The minds stay inside the head.'

    One said, 'What is wrong with these clothes? It is a simple shape found in many human cultures.'

    Lady LeJean walked to the window. 'See the people down there?' she said. 'You must dress in appropriate city fashions.'

    Reluctantly the Auditors did so, and, while they retained the greyness, they did give themselves clothes that would pass unnoticed in the street. Up to a point, anyway.

    'Only those of female appearance should wear dresses,' Lady LeJean pointed out.

    A hovering grey shape said, Warning. Danger. The one calling itself Lady LeJean may give unsafe advice. Warning.

    'Understood,' said one of the incarnate ones. 'We know the way. We will lead.'

    It walked into the door.

    The Auditors clustered around the door for a while, and then one of them glared at Lady LeJean, who smiled.

    'Doorknob,' she said.

    The Auditor turned back to the door, stared at the brass knob, and then looked the door up and down. It dissolved into dust.

    'Doorknob was simpler,' said Lady LeJean.

    Tick

    There were big mountains around the Hub. But the ones towering above the temple didn't all have names, because there were simply too many of them. Only gods have enough time to name all the pebbles on a beach, but gods don't have the patience.

    Copperhead was small enough to be big enough to have a name. Lobsang awoke and saw its crooked peak, towering above the lesser local mountains, outlined against the sunrise.

    Sometimes the gods have no taste at all. They allow sunrises and sunsets in ridiculous pink and blue hues that any professional artist would dismiss as the work of some enthusiastic amateur who'd never looked at a real sunset. This was one of those sunrises. It was the kind of sunrise a man looks at and says, 'No real sunrise could paint the sky Surgical Appliance Pink.'

    Nevertheless, it was beautiful.[15]

    Lobsang was half covered in a pile of dry bracken. There was no sign of the yeti.

    It was springtime here. There was still snow, but with the occasional patch of bare soil and a hint of green. He stared around, and saw leaves in bud.

    Lu-Tze was standing some way off, gazing up into a tree. He didn't turn his head as Lobsang approached.

    'Where's the yeti?'

    'He wouldn't go further than this. Can't ask a yeti to leave snow,' whispered Lu-Tze.

    'Oh,' whispered Lobsang. 'Er, why are we whispering?'

    'Look at the bird.'

    It was perched on a branch by a fork in the tree, next to what looked like a birdhouse, and nibbling at a piece of roughly round wood it held in one claw.

    'Must be an old nest they're repairing,' said Lu-Tze. 'Can't have got that advanced this early in the season.'

    'Looks like some kind of old box to me,' said Lobsang. He squinted to see better. 'Is it an old... clock?' he added.

    'Look at what the bird is nibbling,' suggested Lu-Tze.

    'Well, it looks like... a crude gearwheel? But why-'

    'Well spotted. That, lad, is a clock cuckoo. A young one, by the look of it, trying to build a nest that'll attract a mate. Not much chance of that... See? It's got the numerals all wrong and it's stuck the hands on crooked.'

    'A bird that builds clocks? I thought a cuckoo clock was a clock with a mechanical cuckoo that came out when-'

    'And where do you think people got such a strange idea from?'

    'But that's some kind of miracle!'

    'Why?' said Lu-Tze. 'They barely go for more than half an hour, they keep lousy time and the poor dumb males go frantic trying to keep them wound.'

    'But even to-'

    'Everything happens somewhere, I suppose,' said Lu-Tze. 'Not worth making too much of a fuss. Got any food left?'

    'No. We finished it last night,' said Lobsang. He added, hopefully, 'Er... I heard tell that really advanced monks can live on the, er, life force in the actual air itself...'

    'Only on the planet Sausage, I expect,' said Lu-Tze. 'No, we'll skirt Copperhead and find something in the valleys on the other side. Let's go, there's not much time.'

    But time enough to watch a bird, thought Lobsang as he let the world around him become blue and fade, and the thought was comforting.

    It was easier going without the snow on the ground, provided he avoided the strange resistance offered by bushes and long grass. Lu-Tze walked on ahead, looking oddly colourful and unreal against the faded landscape.

    They went past the entrance to dwarf mines, but saw no one above ground. Lobsang was glad of that. The statues he had seen in the villages yesterday weren't dead, he knew, but merely frozen at a different speed of time. Lu-Tze had forbidden him to go near anyone, but he needn't have bothered. Walking around the living statues was invasive, somehow. It made it worse when you realized that they were moving, but very, very slowly...

    The sun had barely moved from the horizon when they came down through warmer woods on the Rim side of the mountain. Here the landscape had a more domesticated air. It was woodland rather than forest. The game trail they d been following crossed a creek at a point where there were cart tracks, old but still not overgrown.

    Lobsang looked behind him after he'd walked across the ford, and watched the water very slowly reclaim the shape of his footprints in the stream.

    He'd been trained in time-slicing on the snowfields above the valley, like the rest of the novices. That was so they couldn't come to any harm, the monks had said, although no one actually explained what harm they might come to. Outside the monastery, this was the first time Lobsang had sliced in a living landscape.

    It was marvellous! Birds hung in the sky. Early morning bumblebees hovered over the opening flowers. The world was a crystal made of living things.

    Lobsang slowed near a group of deer cropping the grass, and watched as the nearer eye of one of them swivelled, with geological slowness, to watch him. He saw the skin move as the muscles underneath started to bunch for flight...

    'Time for a smoko,' said Lu-Tze.

    The world around Lobsang speeded up. The deer fled, along with the magic of the moment.

    'What's a smoko?' said Lobsang. He was annoyed. The quiet slow world had been fun.

    'You ever been to Fourecks?'

    'No. There's a barman at the Bunch of Grapes from there, though.'

    Lu-Tze lit one of his skinny cigarettes.

    'Don't mean much,' he said. 'The barman everywhere is from there. Strange country. Big time source right in the middle, very useful. Time and space all tangled up. Probably all that beer. Nice place, though. Now, you see that country down there?'

    On one side of the clearing the ground fell away steeply, showing treetops and, beyond, a small patchwork of fields tucked into a fold in the mountains. In the distance was a gorge, and Lobsang thought he could make out a bridge across it.

    'Doesn't look much like a country,' he said. 'Looks more like a shelf.'

    'That's witch country,' said Lu-Tze. 'And we're going to borrow a broomstick. Quickest way to Ankh-Morpork. Only way to travel.'

    'Isn't that, er, interfering with history? I mean, I was told that sort of thing is all right up in the valleys, but down here in the world...'

    'No, it's absolutely forbidden,' said Lu-Tze. ' 'cos it's Interfering With History. Got to be careful of your witch, of course. Some of them are pretty canny.' He caught Lobsang's expression. 'Look, that's why there's rules, understand? So that you think before you break 'em.'

    'But-'

    Lu-Tze sighed, and pinched out the end of his cigarette. 'We're being watched,' he said.

    Lobsang spun round. There were only trees, and insects buzzing in the early-morning air.

    'Up there,' said Lu-Tze.

    There was a raven perched on the broken crown of a pine tree, shattered in some winter storm. It looked at them looking at it.

    'Caw?' it said.

    'It's just a raven,' said Lobsang. 'There's lots of them in the valley.'

    'It was watching us when we stopped.'

    'There's ravens all over the mountains, Sweeper.'

    'And when we met the yeti,' Lu-Tze persisted.

    'That settles it, then. It's coincidence. One raven couldn't move that fast.'

    'Maybe it's a special raven,' said Lu-Tze. 'Anyway, it's not one of our mountain ravens. It's a lowland raven. Mountain ravens croak. They don't caw. Why's it so interested in us?'

    'It's a bit... weird, thinking you're being followed by a bird,' said Lobsang.

    'When you get to my age you notice things in the sky,' said Lu-Tze. He shrugged and gave a grin. 'You start worrying they might be vultures.'

    They faded into time, and vanished.

    The raven ruffled its feathers.

    'Croak?' it said. 'Damn.'

    Tick

    Lobsang felt around under the thatched eaves of the cottage, and his hand closed on the bristles of a broomstick that had been thrust among the reeds.

    'This is rather like stealing,' he said, as Lu-Tze helped him down.

    'No, it's not,' said the sweeper, taking the broomstick and holding it up so he could look along its length. 'And I'll tell you why. If we sort things out, we'll drop it off on our way back and she'll never know it's gone... and if we don't sort things out, well, she'll still never know it's gone. Honestly, they don't take much care of their sticks, witches. Look at the bristles on this one. I wouldn't use it to clean a pond! Oh, well... back into clock time, lad. I'd hate to fly one of these things while I was slicing.'

    He straddled the stick and gripped the handle. It rose a little way.

    'Good suspension, at least,' he said. 'You can have the comfy seat on the back. Hold tight to my own broom and make sure you wrap your robe around you. These things are pretty breezy.'

    Lobsang pulled himself aboard and the stick rose. As it drew level with the lower branches around the clearing, it brought Lu-Tze to eye level with a raven.

    It shifted uneasily and turned its head this way and that, trying to fix both eyes on him.

    'Are you going to caw or croak, I wonder,' said Lu-Tze, apparently to himself.

    'Croak,' said the raven.

    'So you're not the raven we saw on the other side of the mountain, then.'

    'Me? Gosh, no,' said the raven. 'That's croaking territory over there.'

    'Just checking.'

    The broom rose higher, and set off above the trees in a Hubwards direction.

    The raven ruffled its feathers and blinked.

    'Damn!' it said. It shuffled around the tree to where the Death of Rats was sitting.

    SQUEAK?

    'Look, if you want me to do this undercover work you've got to get me a book on ornithology, okay?' said Quoth. 'Let's go, or I'll never keep up.'

    Tick

    Death found Famine in a new restaurant in Genua. He had a booth all to himself and was eating Duck and Dirty Rice.

    'Oh,' said Famine. It's you.'

    YES. WE MUST RIDE. YOU MUST HAVE GOT MY MESSAGE.

    'Pull up a chair,' Famine hissed. 'They do a very good alligator sausage here.'

    I SAID, WE MUST RIDE.

    'Why?'

    Death sat down and explained. Famine listened., although he never stopped eating.

    'I see,' he said at last. 'Thank you, but I think I shall sit this one out.'

    SIT IT OUT? YOU'RE A HORSEMAN!

    'Yes, of course. But what is my role here?'

    I BEG YOUR PARDON?

    'No famine appears to be involved, does it? A shortage of food per se? As such?'

    WELL, NO. NOT AS SUCH, OBVIOUSLY, BUT-

    'So I would, as it were, be turning up just to wave. No, thank you.'

    YOU USED TO RIDE OUT EVERY TIME, said Death accusingly.

    Famine waved a bone airily. 'We had proper apocalypses in those days,' he said, and sucked at the bone. 'You could sink your teeth into them.'

    NEVERTHELESS, THIS IS THE END OF THE WORLD.

    Famine pushed his plate aside and opened the menu. 'There are other worlds,' he said. 'You're too sentimental, Death. I've always said so.'

    Death drew himself up. Humans had created Famine, too. Oh, there had always been droughts and locusts, but for a really good famine, for fertile land to be turned into a dustbowl by stupidity and avarice, you needed humans. Famine was arrogant.

    I AM SORRY, he said, TO HAVE TRESPASSED ON YOUR TIME.

    He went outside, into the crowded street, all alone.

    Tick

    The stick swooped down towards the plains, and levelled off a few hundred feet above the ground.

    'We're on our way now!' shouted Lu-Tze, pointing ahead. Lobsang looked down at a slim wooden tower hung with complicated boxes. There was another one in the far distance, a toothpick in the morning mist.

    'Semaphore towers!' Lu-Tze shouted. 'Ever seen them?'

    'Only in the city!' Lobsang shouted above the slipstream.

    'It's the Grand Trunk!' the sweeper shouted back. 'Runs like an arrow all the way to the city! All we have to do is follow it!'

    Lobsang clung on. There was no snow beneath them and it looked as though spring was well advanced. And therefore it was unfair that here, that much nearer the sun, the air was frigid and was being driven into his flesh by the wind of their travel.

    'It's very cold up here!'

    'Yes! Did I tell you about the double-knit combinations?'

    'Yes!'

    'I've got a spare pair in my sack. You can have them when we stop!'

    'Your own personal pair?'

    'Yes! Second-best but well darned!'

    'No, thank you!'

    'They've been washed!'

    'Lu-Tze?'

    'Yes?'

    'Why can't we slice when we're on this thing?'

    The tower was well past them. The next one was pencil-sized already. The black-and-white shutters on the boxes were twinkling in the sunlight.

    'Do you know what happens if you slice time on a magically powered vehicle travelling at more than seventy miles an hour?'

    'No!'

    'Me neither! And I don't want to find out!'

    Tick

    Igor opened the door before the second knock. An Igor might be filling coffins with earth in the cellar, or up on the roof adjusting the lightning conductor, but a caller never had to knock twice.

    'Ladythip,' he muttered, nodding his head. He looked blankly at the six figures behind her.

    'We have called to inspect progress,' said Lady LeJean.

    'And thethe ladieth and gentlemen, ladythip?'

    'My associates,' said her ladyship, matching Igor's blank stare.

    'If you will be tho kind ath to thtep inthide, I will thee if the marthter ith in,' said Igor, observing the convention that a true butler never knows the whereabouts of anyone in the house until they decide they want it to be known.

    He backed through the door into the workshop and then lurched into the kitchen, where Jeremy was calmly pouring a spoonful of medicine down the sink.

    'That woman ith here,' he said, 'and thee hath brought lawyerth.'

    Jeremy held out a hand, palm downwards, and examined it critically.

    'You see, Igor?' he said. 'Here we are, almost at the completion of our great work, and I remain absolutely calm. You could build a house on my hand, it is so steady.'

    'Lawyerth, thur,' said Igor, giving the word some extra spin.

    'And?'

    'Well, we have had a lot of money,' said Igor, with the conviction of a man who has informally secreted a small but sensible amount of gold in his own bag.

    'And we have finished the clock,' said Jeremy, still watching his hand.

    'We've been nearly finithed for dayth,' said Igor darkly. 'If it wathn't for her, I reckon we could've caught that thunderthtorm two dayth ago.'

    'When's the next one?'

    Igor screwed up his face and banged his temple a couple of times with the palm of his hand.

    'Unthettled conditionth with a low approaching from the Rim,' he said. 'Can't promith anything with the thloppy weather you get here. Hah, back home the thunderthtormth come running ath thoon ath they thee you put up the iron pole. Tho what do you want me to do about the lawyerth?'

    'Show them in, of course. We have nothing to hide.'

    'Are you thure, thur?' said Igor, whose carpet bag could not in fact be lifted with one hand.

    'Please do it, Igor.'

    Jeremy smoothed down his hair while the grumbling Igor disappeared into the shop and returned with the guests.

    'Lady LeJean, thur. And thome other... people,' said Igor.

    'It's good to see you, your ladyship,' said Jeremy, smiling glassily. He vaguely remembered something he had read. 'Won't you introduce me to your friends?'

    Lady LeJean gave him a nervous look. Oh, yes... humans always needed to know names. And he was smiling again. It made it so hard to think.

    'Mr Jeremy, these are my... associates,' she said. 'Mr Black. Mr Green. Miss Brown. Miss White. Miss... Yellow. And Mr Blue.'

    Jeremy held out his hand. 'I am pleased to meet you,' he said.

    Six pairs of eyes looked uncomprehendingly at the hand.

    'The custom here is to shake hands,' said her ladyship.

    In unison, the Auditors extended a hand and wiggled it slowly in the air.

    'The hand of the other person,' said her ladyship. She gave Jeremy a thin-lipped smile. 'They are foreigners,' she said.

    And she recognized the panic in their eyes, even if they didn't. We can count the number and types of atom in this room, they were thinking. How can there be anything in here we cannot understand?

    Jeremy managed to catch one wavering hand in his. ' And you are Mr-?'

    The Auditor turned worried eyes on Lady LeJean.

    'Mr Black,' she said.

    'I understood that we were Mr Black,' said another male-shaped Auditor.

    'No, you are Mr Green.'

    'Nevertheless, we would prefer Mr Black. We are the senior, and black is a more significant shade. We do not wish to be Mr Green.'

    'The translation of your names is not, I think, important,' said Lady LeJean. She gave Jeremy another smile. 'They are my accountants,' she added, some reading on her part having suggested that this might excuse most oddities.

    'You see, Igor?' said Jeremy. 'They are simply accountants.'

    Igor grimaced. Where his baggage was concerned, accountants were probably worse news than lawyers.

    'Grey would be acceptable,' said Mr Green.

    'Nevertheless, you are Mr Green. We are Mr Black. It is a matter of status.'

    'If that is the case,' said Miss White, 'white is higher status than black. Black is absence of colour.'

    'The point is valid,' said Mr Black. 'Therefore we are now Mr White. You are Miss Red.'

    'You previously indicated that you were Mr Black.'

    'New information indicates a change of position. This does not indicate incorrectness of said previous position.'

    It's happening already, thought Lady LeJean. It's in the darkness where your eyes can't see. The universe becomes two halves, and you live in the half behind the eyes. Once you have a body, you have a 'me'.

    I have seen galaxies die. I have watched atoms dance. But until I had the dark behind the eyes, I didn't know the death from the dance. And we were wrong. When you pour water into a jug, it becomes jug-shaped and it is not the same water any more. An hour ago they never dreamed of having names, and now they are arguing about them...

    And they can't hear what I think!

    She wanted more time. The habits of a billion years don't yield entirely to a mouthful of bread, and she could see that a crazy life form like humanity should not be allowed to exist. Yes, indeed. Certainly. Of course.

    But she wanted more time.

    They should be studied. Yes, studied.

    There should be... reports. Yes. Reports. Full reports. Long, long, full reports.

    Caution. That was it. That was the word! Auditors loved that word. Always put off until tomorrow something that, tomorrow, you could put off until, let's say, next year.

    It has to be said that Lady LeJean was not herself at this point. She didn't quite have a herself to be. The other six Auditors... in time, yes, they'd think the same way. But there wasn't time. If only she could persuade them to eat something. That would... yes, that would bring them to their senses. There seemed to be no food around, though.

    She could see a very large hammer on the bench.

    'How is progress, Mr Jeremy?' she said, walking over to the clock. Igor moved very fast, and stood almost protectively next to the glass pillar.

    Jeremy hurried forward. 'We have carefully aligned all the systems-'

    'Again,' Igor growled.

    'Yes, again-'

    'Theveral timeth, in fact,' Igor added.

    'And now we simply await the right weather conditions.'

    'But I thought you stored lightning?'

    Her ladyship indicated the greenish glass cylinders bubbling and hissing along the wall of the workshop. Just by the bench with, yes, the hammer on it. And no one could read her thoughts! The power!

    'There will easily be enough to keep the mechanism working, but to start the clock will require what Igor call's a jump,' said Jeremy.

    Igor held up two crocodile clips the size of his head.

    'th right,' he said. 'But you hardly ever get the right kind of thunderthtormth down here. Thould've built thith in Uberwald, I keep thaying.'

    'What is the nature of this delay?' said - possibly - Mr White.

    'We need a thunderstorm, sir. For the lightning,' said Jeremy. Lady LeJean stepped back, a little closer to the bench.

    'Well? Arrange one,' said Mr White.

    'Hah, well, if we were in Uberwald, of courthe-'

    'It is merely a matter of pressures and potentials,' said Mr White. 'Can you not simply create one?'

    Igor gave him a look of disbelief mixed with respect.

    'You're not from Uberwald, are you?' he said. Then he gasped, and banged the side of his head.

    'Hey, I felt that one,' he said. 'Whoopth! How did you do that? Prethure dropping like a thtone!'

    Sparks glittered along his black fingernails. He beamed.

    'I'll jutht go and raithe the lightning rod,' he said, hurrying to a pulley system on the wall.

    Lady LeJean turned on the others. This time she wished they could read her thoughts. She didn't know enough pronounceable human swearwords.

    'That is against the rules!' she hissed.

    'Mere expediency,' said Mr White. If you had not been... lax, this would have been concluded by now!'

    'I counselled further study!'

    'Unnecessary!'

    Is there a problem?' said Jeremy, in the diffident voice he used for conversations not involving clocks.

    'The clock should not be started yet!' said Lady LeJean, not taking her eyes off the other Auditors.

    'But you asked me... We've been... It's all set up!'

    'There may be... problems! I think we should see another week of testing!'

    But there weren't problems, she knew. Jeremy had built the thing as if he'd built a dozen like it before. It had been all Lady LeJean could do to spin things out this long, especially with the Igor watching her like a hawk.

    'What is your "name", young person?' said Mr White to Jeremy.

    The clockmaker backed away. 'Jeremy,' he said, 'and I... I don't understand, Mr, er, White. A clock tells the time. A clock isn't dangerous. How can a clock be a problem? It's a perfect clock!'

    'Then start it!'

    'But her ladyship-'

    The door knocker thundered.

    'Igor?' said Jeremy.

    'Yeth, thur?' said Igor, from the hallway.

    'How did the servant person get there?' said Mr White, still watching her ladyship.

    'It's a, a sort of trick they, they have,' said Jeremy. 'I'm, I'm sure it's only-'

    'It'th Dr Hopkinth, thur,' said Igor, entering from the hall. 'I told him you were buthy, but-'

    -but Dr Hopkins, although apparently as mild-mannered as milk, was also a Guild official and had survived as such for several years. Ducking under Igor's arm was no problem at all for a man who could handle a meeting of clockmakers, no two of whom exactly ticked in time with the rest of humanity.

    'I just happened to have business this way,' he began, smiling brightly, 'and it was no trouble to drop in at the apothecary to pick up- Oh, you have company?'

    Igor grimaced, but there was the Code to think of.

    'Thall I make thome tea, thur?' he said, as all the Auditors glared at the doctor.

    'What is this tea?' Mr White demanded.

    'It is protocol!' snapped Lady LeJean.

    Mr White hesitated. Protocol was important.

    'Er, er, er, yes,' said Jeremy. 'Tea, Igor, please. Please.'

    'My word, I see you have finished your clock!' said Dr Hopkins, apparently oblivious of an atmosphere that could have floated iron. 'What a magnificent piece of work!'

    The Auditors stared at one another as the doctor ambled past them and looked up at the glass face.

    'Well done indeed, Jeremy!' he said, removing his glasses and polishing them enthusiastically. 'And what is this pretty blue glow?'

    'It's, it's the crystal ring,' said Jeremy. 'It, it-'

    'It spins light,' said Lady LeJean. 'And then it makes a hole in the universe.'

    'Really?' said Dr Hopkins, putting his glasses back on. 'What an original idea! Does a cuckoo come out?'

    Tick

    Of the very worst words that can be heard by anyone high in the air, the pair known as 'Oh-oh' possibly combine the maximum of bowel-knotting terror with the minimum wastage of breath.

    When Lu-Tze uttered them, Lobsang didn't need a translation. He'd been watching the clouds for some time. They were getting blacker, and thicker, and darker.

    'The handle's tingling!' shouted Lu-Tze.

    'That's because there's a storm right above us!' screamed Lobsang.

    'The sky was as clear as a bell a few minutes ago!'

    Ankh-Morpork was much closer now. Lobsang could make out some of the taller buildings, and see the river snaking across the plain. But the storm was coming up all around the city.

    'I'm going to have to land this thing while I can!' Lu-Tze said. 'Hold on...'

    The stick dropped until it was a few feet above the cabbage fields. The plants were a rushing green blur inches below Lobsang's sandals.

    Lobsang heard another word that, while not the worst you can hear while airborne, is not at all good when it's said by the person steering.

    'Er...'

    'Do you know how to stop this?' yelled Lobsang.

    'Not in so many words,' shouted Lu-Tze. 'Hold on, I'm going to try something...'

    The stick tilted up but kept moving in the same direction. The bristles dipped into the cabbages.

    It took the width of a field to slow down, at the end of a furrow with the smell that only squashed cabbage leaves can yield.

    'How fine can you slice time?' the sweeper said, scrambling over the battered plants.

    'I'm pretty good-' Lobsang began.

    'Get better quick!'

    Lu-Tze faded to blue as he ran towards the city. Lobsang caught him up within a hundred yards but the sweeper was still fading, still slicing time thinner and thinner. The apprentice gritted his teeth and followed, straining every muscle.

    The old man might be a fraud when it came to fighting, but there was no kidding here. The world went from blue to indigo to an inky, unnatural darkness, like the shadow of an eclipse.

    This was deep time. You couldn't stay there long, he knew. Even if you could tolerate the ghastly chill, there were parts of the body that just weren't designed for this. Go too far down, too, and you'd die if you came back too quickly...

    He hadn't seen it, of course, no apprentice had, but there were some quite graphic drawings in the classrooms. A man's life could become very, very painful if his blood began to move through time faster than his bones. It would also be very short.

    'I can't... keep this up...' he panted, running after Lu-Tze in the violet gloom.

    'You can,' gasped the sweeper. 'You're fast, right?'

    'I'm not... trained... for this!'

    The city was getting closer.

    'No one's trained for this!' growled Lu-Tze. 'You do it, and you find out that you're good at it!'

    'What happens if you find out you're no good?' said Lobsang. The going felt easier now. He no longer had the feeling that his skin was trying to drag itself off him.

    'Dead men don't find things out,' said Lu-Tze. He turned his head to his apprentice and his evil grin was a yellow-toothed curve in the shadows. 'Getting the hang?' he added.

    'I'm... I'm on top of it...'

    'Right! Then now that we've warmed up...'

    To Lobsang's horror, the sweeper faded further into the dark.

    He called up reserves he knew he didn't have. He screamed at his liver to stay with him, thought that he felt his brain creak, and plunged on.

    The shape of Lu-Tze lightened as Lobsang drew level with him in time.

    'Still here? One last effort, lad!'

    'I can't!'

    'You bloody well can!'

    Lobsang gulped freezing air and fell onwards-

    -where the light was suddenly a calm, pale blue and Lu-Tze was trotting gently between the frozen carts and unmoving people around the city's gate.

    'See? Nothing to it,' said the sweeper. 'Just maintain, that's all. Nice and steady.'

    It was like balancing on a wire. It was fine if you didn't think about it.

    'But all the scrolls say you go to blue and violet and into the black and then you hit the Wall,' said Lobsang.

    'Ah, well, scrolls,' said Lu-Tze, and left it there, as if the tone of voice said it all. 'This is Zimmerman's Valley, lad. It helps if you know it's here. The abbot said it's something to do with... what was it?... Oh, yeah, boundary conditions. Something like... the foam on the tide. We're right on the edge, boy!'

    'But I can breathe easily!'

    'Yeah. Shouldn't happen. Keep moving about, though, otherwise you'll exhaust all the good air around your body field. Good old Zimmerman, eh? One of the best, he was. And he reckoned there was another dip even closer to the Wall, too.'

    'Did he ever find it?'

    'Don't think so.'

    'Why?'

    'The way he exploded gave me a hint. Don't worry! You can maintain the slice easily here. You don't have to think about it. You've got other things to think about! Keep an eye on those clouds!'

    Lobsang looked up. Even in this blue-on-blue landscape, the clouds over the city looked ominous.

    'It's what happened back in Uberwald,' said Lu-Tze. 'The clock needs a lot of power. The storm blew up out of nowhere.'

    'But the city's huge! How can we find a clock here?'

    'First, we're going to head for the centre,' said Lu-Tze.

    'Why?'

    'Because with luck we won't have to run so far when the lightning strikes, of course.'

    'Sweeper, no one can outrun lightning!'

    Lu-Tze spun round and grabbed Lobsang by the robe, dragging him closer.

    'Then tell me where to run, speedy boy!' he shouted. 'There's more to you than meets the third eye, lad! No apprentice should be able to find Zimmerman's Valley! It takes hundreds of years of training! And no one should be able to make the spinners sit up and dance to his tune the very first time he sees them! Think I'm daft, do you? Orphan boy, strange power... what the hell are you? The Mandala knew you! Well, I'm just a mortal human, and what I know is, I'll be damned if I'll see the world shattered a second time! So help me! Whatever it is you've got, I need it now! Use it!'

    He let go, and stood back. A vein in his bald head was throbbing.

    'But I don't know what I can do to-'

    'Find out what you can do!'

    Tick

    Protocol. Rules. Precedent. Ways of doing things. That's how we've always worked, thought Lady LeJean. This and this must follow that. It has always been our strength. I wonder if it can be a weakness?

    If looks could have killed, Dr Hopkins would have been a smear on the wall. The Auditors watched his every move like cats watching a new species of mouse.

    Lady LeJean had been incarnate much longer than the others. Time can change a body, especially when you've never had one before. She wouldn't have stared and fumed. She would have clubbed the doctor to the ground. What was one more human?

    She realized, with some amazement, that the thought there was a human thought.

    But the other six were still wet behind the ears. They hadn't yet realized the dimensions of duplicity that you needed to survive as a human being. They clearly found it hard to think inside the little dark world behind the eyes, too. Auditors reached decisions in concert with thousands, millions of other Auditors.

    Sooner or later they'd learn to be their own thinkers, though. It might take a while, because they'd try to learn from one another first.

    At the moment they were watching Igor's tea tray with great suspicion.

    'Drinking tea is protocol,' said Lady LeJean. 'I must insist.'

    'Is this correct?' Mr White barked at Dr Hopkins.

    'Oh, yes,' said the doctor. 'With a ginger biscuit, usually,' he added hopefully.

    'A ginger biscuit,' repeated Mr White. ' A biscuit of red-brown colouring?'

    'Yeth, thur,' said Igor. He nodded to the plate on his tray.

    'I would like to try a ginger biscuit,' volunteered Miss Red.

    Oh yes, thought Lady LeJean, please try the ginger biscuits.

    'We do not eat or drink!' snapped Mr White. He gave Lady LeJean a look of deep suspicion. 'It could cause incorrect ways of thinking.'

    'But it is the custom,' said Lady LeJean. 'To ignore protocol is to draw attention.'

    Mr White hesitated. But he was a quick adaptor.

    'It is against our religion!' he said. 'Correct!'

    It was an amazing leap. It was inventive. And he'd come up with it all alone. Lady LeJean was impressed. The Auditors had tried to understand religion, because so much that made no sense whatsoever was done in its name. But it could also excuse 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 desperately.

    'Oh?' said Dr Hopkins. 'I did not know there was any religion that forbade tea.'

    'Indeed!' said Mr White. 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 having a headache...'

    Dr Hopkins spilled his tea because of the speed with which he got up and reached into his coat pocket.

    'AhitsohappensIwaspassingtheapothecaryonmywayhere-' 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 round, 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 round 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 battalions.

    There was room for only one anthill on this lawn...

    Death found War down among the grass blades. He admired attention to detail. War was in full armour, too, but the human heads he normally had tied to his saddle had been replaced by ant heads, feelers and all.

    DO THEY NOTICE YOU, DO YOU THINK? he said.

    'I doubt it,' said War.

    NEVERTHELESS, IF THEY DID, I'M SURE THEY WOULD APPRECIATE IT.

    'Ha! Only decent theatre of war around these days,' said War. 'That's what I like about ants. The buggers don't learn, what?'

    IT 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 tag' em, what?'

    This looked hopeful, Death thought.

    TALKING 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...'

    APOCALYPSE? said Death. END 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 long-house. Where else would War live? But Death saw ivy growing over the roof. He remembered when War would never have allowed anything like that, and a little worm of worry began to gnaw.

    War hung up his helmet as he entered, and once he would have kept it on. And the benches around the fire pit would have been crowded with warriors, and the air would have been thick with beer and sweat.

    'Brought an old friend back, dear,' he said.

    Mrs War was preparing something on the modern black iron kitchen range which, Death saw, had been installed in the fire pit, with shiny pipes extending up to the hole in the roof. She gave Death the kind of nod a wife gives a man whom her husband has, despite previous warnings, unexpectedly brought back from the pub.

    'We're having rabbit,' she said, and added in the voice of one who has been put upon and will extract payment later, 'I'm sure I can make it stretch to three.'

    War's big red face wrinkled. 'Do I like rabbit?'

    'Yes, dear.'

    'I thought I liked beef.'

    'No, dear. Beef gives you wind.'

    'Oh.' War sighed. 'Any chance of onions?'

    'You don't like onions, dear.'

    'I don't?'

    'Because of your stomach, dear.'

    'Oh.'

    War smiled awkwardly at Death. 'It's rabbit,' he said. 'Erm... dear, do I ride out for Apocalypses?'

    Mrs War took the lid off a saucepan and prodded viciously at something inside.

    'No, dear,' she said firmly. 'You always come down with a cold.'

    'I thought I rather, er, sort of liked that kind of thing... ?'

    'No, dear. You don't.'

    Despite himself, Death was fascinated. He had never come across the idea of keeping your memory inside someone else's head.

    'Perhaps I would like a beer?' War ventured.

    'You don't like beer, dear.'

    'I don't?'

    'No, it brings on your trouble.'

    'Ah. Uh, how do I feel about brandy?'

    'You don't like brandy, dear. You like your special oat drink with the vitamins.'

    'Oh, yes,' said War mournfully. 'I'd forgotten I liked that.' He looked sheepishly at Death. 'It's quite nice,' he said.

    COULD I HAVE A WORD WITH YOU, said Death, IN PRIVATE?

    War looked puzzled. 'Do I like wo-'

    IN PRIVATE, PLEASE, Death thundered.

    Mrs War turned and gave Death a disdainful look.

    'I understand, I quite understand,' she said haughtily. 'But don't you dare say anything to bring on his acid, that's all I shall say.'

    Mrs War had been a Valkyrie once, Death remembered. It was another reason to be extremely careful on the battlefield.

    'You've never been tempted by the prospect of marriage, old man?' said War, when she'd gone.

    NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. IN NO WAY.

    'Why not?'

    Death was nonplussed. It was like asking a brick wall what it thought of dentistry. As a question, it made no sense.

    I HAVE BEEN TO SEE THE OTHER TWO, he said, ignoring it. FAMINE DOESN'T CARE AND PESTILENCE IS FRIGHTENED.

    'The two of us, against the Auditors?' said War.

    RIGHT IS ON OUR SIDE.

    'Speaking as War,' said War, 'I'd hate to tell you what happens to very small armies that have Right on their side.'

    I HAVE SEEN YOU FIGHT.

    'My old right arm isn't what it was...' War murmured.

    YOU ARE IMMORTAL. YOU ARE NOT ILL, said Death, but he could see the worried, slightly hunted look in Wars eyes and knew that there was only one way this was going to go.

    To be human was to change, Death realized. The Horsemen... were horsemen. Men had wished upon them a certain shape, a certain form. And, just like the gods, and the Tooth Fairy, and the Hogfather, their shape had changed them. They would never be human, but they had caught aspects of humanity as though they were some kind of disease.

    Because the point was that nothing, nothing, had one aspect and one aspect alone. Men would envisage a being called Famine, but once they gave him arms and legs and eyes, that meant he had to have a brain. That meant he'd think. And a brain can't think about plagues of locusts all the time.

    Emergent behaviour again. Complications always crept in. Everything changed.

    THANK GOODNESS, thought Death, THAT I AM COMPLETELY UNCHANGED AND EXACTLY THE SAME AS I EVER WAS.

    And then there was one.

    Tick

    The hammer stopped, halfway across the room. Mr White walked over and picked it out of the air.

    'Really, your ladyship,' he said. 'You think we don't watch you? You, the Igor, make the clock ready!'

    Igor looked from him to Lady LeJean and back. 'I only take orderth from Marthter Jeremy, thank you,' he said.

    'The world will end if you start that clock!' said Lady LeJean.

    'What a foolish idea,' said Mr White. 'We laugh at it.'

    'Hahaha,' said the other Auditors obediently.

    'I don't need medicine!' Jeremy shouted, pushing Dr Hopkins out of the way. 'And I don't need people to tell me what to do. Shut up!'

    In the silence, thunder grumbled in the clouds.

    'Thank you,' said Jeremy, more calmly. 'Now, I hope I am a rational man, and I shall approach this rationally. A clock is a measuring device. I have built the perfect clock, my lady. I mean ladies. And gentlemen. It will revolutionize timekeeping.'

    He reached up and moved the hands of the clock to almost one o'clock. Then he reached down, gripped the pendulum, and set it swinging.

    The world continued to exist.

    'You see? The universe doesn't stop even for my clock,' Jeremy went on. He folded his hands and sat down. 'Watch,' he said calmly.

    The clock ticked gently. Then something rattled in the machinery around it, and the big green glass tubes of acid began to sizzle.

    'Well, nothing seems to have happened,' said Dr Hopkins. 'That's a blessing.'

    Sparks crackled around the lightning rod positioned above the clock.

    'This is just making a path for the lightning,' said Jeremy happily. 'We send a little lightning up, and a lot more comes back-'

    Things were moving inside the clock. There was a sound best represented as fizzle, and greenish-blue light filled the case.

    'Ah, the cascade has initialized,' said Jeremy. 'As a little exercise, the, ah, more traditional pendulum clock has been slaved to the Big Clock, you'll see, so that every second it will be readjusted to the correct time.' He smiled, and one cheek twitched. 'Some day all clocks will be like this,' he said, and added, 'While I normally hate such an imprecise term as "any second now", nevertheless I-'

    Tick

    There was a fight going on in the square. In the strange colours involved in the time-slicing state known as Zimmerman's Valley, it was picked out in shades of light blue.

    By the look of it, a couple of watchmen were trying to take on a gang. One man was airborne, and hung there without support. Another had fired a crossbow directly at one of the watchmen; the arrow was nailed unmoving in the air.

    Lobsang examined it curiously.

    'You're going to touch it, aren't you?' said a voice behind Lobsang. 'You're just going to reach out and touch it, despite everything I've told you. Pay attention to the damn sky!'

    Lu-Tze was smoking nervously. When it got a few inches away from his body, the smoke went rigid in the air.

    'Are you sure you can't feel where it is?' he snapped.

    'It's all round us, Sweeper. We're so close, it... it's like trying to see the wood when you're standing under the trees!'

    'Well, this is the Street of Cunning Artificers and that's the Guild of Clockmakers over there,' said Lu-Tze. 'I don't dare go inside if it's this close, not until we're certain.'

    'What about the University?'

    'Wizards aren't mad enough to try it!'

    'You're going to try and race the lightning?'

    'It's do-able, if we start from here in the Valley. Lightning ain't as quick as people think.'

    'Are we waiting to see a little pointy bit of lightning coming out of a cloud?'

    'Hah! Kids today, where do they get their education? The first stroke is from the ground to the air, lad. That makes a nice hole in the air for the main lightning to come down. Look for the glow. We've got to be giving the road plenty of sandal by the time it reaches the clouds. You holding up okay?'

    'I could go on like this all day,' said Lobsang.

    'Don't try it.' Lu-Tze scanned the sky again. 'Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it's just a storm. Sooner or later you get-'

    He stopped. One look at Lobsang's face was enough.

    'O-kay,' said the sweeper slowly. ' Just give me a direction. Point if you can't speak.'

    Lobsang dropped to his knees, hands rising to his head. 'I don't know... don't know...'

    Silvery light rose over the city, a few streets away. Lu-Tze grabbed the boy's elbow.

    'Come on, lad. On your feet. Faster than lightning, eh? Okay?'

    'Yeah... yeah, okay...'

    'You can do it, right?'

    Lobsang blinked. He could see the glass house again, stretching away as a pale outline overlaid the city.

    'Clock,' he said thickly.

    'Run, boy, run!' shouted Lu-Tze. 'And don't stop for anything.'

    Lobsang plunged forward, and found it hard. Time moved aside for him, sluggishly at first, as his legs pumped. With every step he pushed himself faster and faster, the landscape changing colours again as the world slowed even further.

    There was another stitch in time, the sweeper had said. Another valley, even closer to the null point. Insofar as he could think at all, Lobsang hoped he would reach it soon. His body felt as though it would fly apart; he could feel his bones creaking.

    The glow ahead was halfway to the iron-heavy clouds now, but he'd reached a crossroads and he could see it was rising from a house halfway down the street.

    He turned to look for the sweeper, and saw the man yards behind him, mouth open, a statue falling forward.

    Lobsang turned, concentrated, let time speed up.

    He reached Lu-Tze and caught him before he hit the ground. There was blood coming from the old man's ears.

    'I can't do it, lad,' the sweeper mumbled. 'Get on! Get on!'

    'I can do it! It's like running downhill!'

    'Not for me it ain't!'

    'I can't just leave you here like this!'

    'Save us from heroes! Get that bloody clock!'

    Lobsang hesitated. The downstroke was already emerging from the clouds, a drifting, glowing spike.

    He ran. The lightning was falling towards a shop, a few buildings away. He could see a big clock hanging over its window.

    He pushed against the flow of time ever further, and it yielded. But the lightning had reached the iron pole atop the building.

    The window was closer than the door. He lowered his head and jumped through it, the glass shattering around him and then freezing in mid-air, clocks pinwheeling off the display and stopping as if caught in invisible amber.

    There was another door ahead of him. He grabbed the knob and pulled, feeling the terrible resistance of a slab of wood urged to move at an appreciable fraction of the speed of light.

    It was barely open a few inches when he saw, beyond, the slow ooze of lightning run down the rod and into the heart of the big clock.

    The clock struck one.

    Time stopped.

    Ti-

    Mr Soak the dairyman was washing bottles at the sink when the air dimmed and the water solidified.

    He stared at it for a moment and then, with the manner of a man trying an experiment, held the bottle over the stone floor and let it go.

    It remained hanging in the air.

    'Dammit,' he said. 'Another idiot with a clock, eh?'

    What he did then was not usual dairy practice. He walked into the centre of the room and made a few passes in the air with his hands.

    The air brightened. The water splashed. The bottle smashed although, when Ronnie turned round and waved a hand at it, the glass slivers ran together again.

    Then Ronnie Soak sighed and went into the cream-settling room. Large wide bowls stretched away into the distance and, if Ronnie had ever allowed another to notice this, the distance contained far more distance than is ever found in a normal building.

    'Show me,' he said.

    The surface of the nearest bowl of milk became a mirror, and then began to show pictures...

    Ronnie went back into the dairy, took his peaked cap off its hook by the door, and crossed the courtyard to the stable. The sky overhead was a sullen, unmoving grey as he emerged, leading his horse. The horse was black, glistening with condition, and there was this about it that was odd: it shone as though it was illuminated by a red light. Redness spangled off its shoulders and flanks, even under the greyness.

    And even when it was harnessed to the cart it didn't look like any kind of horse that should be hitched to any kind of wagon, but people never noticed this and, again, Ronnie took care to make sure that they didn't.

    The cart gleamed with white paint, picked out here and there with a fresh green.

    The wording on the side declared, proudly:

    RONALD SOAK, HYGIENIC DAIRYMAN. ESTABLISHED

    Perhaps it was odd that people never asked, 'Established when, exactly?' If they ever had, the answer would have had to be quite complicated.

    Ronnie opened the gates to the yard and, milk crates rattling, set out into the timeless moment. lt was terrible, he thought, the way things conspired against the small businessman.

    Lobsang Ludd awoke to a little clicking, spinning sound.

    He was in darkness, but it yielded reluctantly to his hand. It felt like velvet, and it was. He'd rolled under one of the display cabinets.

    There was a vibration in the small of his back. He reached around gingerly, and realized that the portable Procrastinator was revolving in its cage.

    So...

    How did it go, now? He was living on borrowed time. He'd got maybe an hour, perhaps a lot less. But he could slice it, so...

    No. Something told him that trying that would be a really terminal idea with time stored in a device made by Qu. The mere thought made him feel that his skin was inches from a universe full of razorblades.

    So... one hour, perhaps a lot less. But you could rewind a spinner, right?

    No. The handle was at the back. You could rewind someone else's spinner. Thank you, Qu, and your experimental models.

    Could you take it off, then? No. The harness was part of it. Without it, different parts of your body would be travelling at different speeds. The effect would probably be rather like freezing a human body solid, and then pushing it down a flight of stone stairs.

    Open the box with the crowbar that you will find inside...

    There was a green-blue glow through the crack in the door. He took a step towards it, and heard the spinner suddenly pick up speed. That meant it was shedding more time, and that was bad when you had an hour, perhaps a lot less.

    He took a step away from the door and the Procrastinator settled back into its routine clicking.

    So...

    Lu-Tze was out in the street and he had a spinner and that should have cut in automatically too. In this timeless world, he was going to be the only person who could turn a handle.

    The glass that he had broken in his leap through the window had opened around the hole like a great sparkling flower. He reached out to touch a piece. It moved as though alive, cut his finger, and then dropped towards the ground, stopping only when it fell out of the field around his body.

    Don't touch people, Lu-Tze had said. Don't touch arrows. Don't touch things that were moving, that was the rule. But the glass-

    -but the glass, in normal time, had been flying through the air. It'd still have that energy, wouldn't it?

    He eased himself carefully around the glass, and opened the front door of the shop.

    The wood moved very slowly, fighting against the enormous speed.

    Lu-Tze was not in the street. But there was something new, hovering in the air just a few inches above the ground right where the old man had been. It had not been there before.

    Someone with their own portable time had been here, and dropped this and moved on before it reached the ground.

    It was a small glass jar, coloured blue by temporal effects. Now, how much energy could it have? Lobsang cupped his hand and gingerly brought it underneath and up, and there was a tingle and a sudden feeling of weight as the spinners field claimed it.

    Now its true colours came back. The jar was a milky pink or, rather, clear glass that looked pink because of the contents. The paper lid was covered with badly printed pictures of unbelievably flawless strawberries, surrounding some ornate lettering which read:

    Ronald Soak, Hygienic Dairyman

    STRAWBERRY YOGHURT

    'Fresh As The Morning Dew'

    Soak? He knew the name! The man had delivered milk to the Guild! Good fresh milk, too, not the watery, green-tinted stuff the other dairies supplied. Very reliable, everyone said. But, reliable or not, he was just a milkman. All right, just a very good milkman, and if time had stopped, then why-

    Lobsang looked around desperately. The people and carts that thronged the street were still there. No one had moved. No one could move.

    But something was running along the gutter. It looked like a rat in a black robe, running along on its hind legs. It looked up at Lobsang, and he saw that it had a skull rather than a head. As skulls went, it was quite a cheerful one.

    The word SQUEAK manifested itself inside his brain without bothering to go via his ears. Then the rat hopped onto the pavement and scampered down an alley.

    Lobsang followed it.

    A moment later someone behind him grabbed him by the neck. He went to break the lock, and realized how much he'd relied on slicing when he was fought. Besides, the person behind him had a very strong grip indeed.

    'I just want to make sure you don't do anything silly,' it said. It was a female voice. 'What is this thing on your back?'

    'Who are-?'

    'The protocol in these matters,' said the voice, 'is that the person with the killer neck-grip asks the questions.'

    'Er, it's a Procrastinator. 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 Procrastinators 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 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 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 yoghurt 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,' she said casually. 'Ronnie's been around, has he?'

    'Ronnie?'

    'Oh, we all know Ronnie.'

    'What's that supposed to mean?'

    'Let's just say if he found your friend then your friend is going to be okay. Probably okay. More okay than he would be if just about anything else found him, at least. Look, this is not a time when you should be worrying about one person. Cold calculation, right?'

    She stepped out into the street. Lobsang followed. Susan walked as if she owned the street. She scanned every alley and doorway, but not like a potential victim apprehensive of attackers. It seemed to Lobsang that she was disappointed to find nothing dangerous in the shadows.

    She reached the shop, stepped inside, and paused for a moment to regard the floating flower of broken glass. Her expression suggested that she considered it to be a perfectly normal kind of thing to find, and had seen far more interesting things. Then she walked on and stopped at the inner door. There was still a glow from the crack, but it was dimmer now.

    'Settling down,' she said. 'Shouldn't be too bad... but there's two people in here.'

    'Who?'

    'Wait, I'll open the door. And be careful.'

    The door moved very slowly. Lobsang stepped into the workshop after the girl. The spinner began to speed up.

    The clock glowed in the middle of the floor, painful to look at.

    But he stared nevertheless. 'It's... it's just as I imagined it,' he said. 'It's the way to-'

    'Don't go near it,' said Susan. 'It's uncertain death, believe me. Do pay attention.'

    Lobsang blinked. The last couple of thoughts didn't seem to have belonged to him.

    'What did you say?'

    'I said it's uncertain death.'

    'Is that worse than certain death?'

    'Much. Watch.' Susan picked up a hammer that was lying on the floor and poked it gently towards the clock. It vibrated in her hand when she brought it closer, and she swore under her breath as it was dragged from her fingers and vanished. Just before it did there was a brief, contracting ring around the clock that might have been something like a hammer would be if you rolled it very flat and bent it into a circle.

    'Have you any idea why that happened?' she said.

    'No.'

    'Nor have I. Now imagine that you were the hammer. Uncertain death, see?'

    Lobsang looked at the two frozen people. One was medium-sized and had all the right number of appendages to qualify as a member of the human race, and so therefore probably had to be given the benefit of the doubt. It was staring at the clock. So was the other figure, which was that of a middle-aged, sheep-faced man still holding a cup of tea and, as far as Lobsang could make out, a biscuit.

    'The one who wouldn't win a beauty contest even if he was the only entrant is an Igor,' said Susan. 'The other one is Dr Hopkins of the Clockmakers' Guild here.'

    'So we know who built the clock, at least,' said Lobsang.

    'I don't think so. Mr Hopkins's workshop is several streets away. And he makes novelty watches for a rather strange kind of discerning customer. It's his speciality.'

    'Then the... Igor must've built it?'

    'Good grief, no! Igors are professional servants. They never work for themselves.'

    'You seem to know a lot,' said Lobsang, as Susan circled the clock like a wrestler trying to spy out a hold.

    'Yes,' she said, without turning her head. 'I do. The first clock broke. This one's holding. Whoever designed it was a genius.'

    'An evil genius?'

    'It's hard to say. I can't see any signs.'

    'What kind of signs?'

    'Well, "Hahaha!!!!!" painted on the side would be a definite clue, don't you think?' she said, rolling her eyes.

    'I'm in your way, am I?' said Lobsang.

    'No, not at all,' said Susan, turning her attention to the workbench. 'Well, there's nothing here. I suppose he could have set a timer. A sort of alarm clock-'

    She stopped. She picked up a length of rubber hosepipe that was coiled on a hook by the glass jars and looked hard at it. Then she tossed it into a corner and stared at it as if she had never seen anything like it before.

    'Don't say a word,' she said quietly. 'They have some very acute senses. Just ease back among those big glass vats behind you and try to look inconspicuous. And do it NOW.'

    The last word had odd harmonics to it and Lobsang felt his legs begin to move almost without his conscious control.

    The door moved a little and a man came in.

    What was strange about the face, Lobsang thought afterwards, was how unmemorable it was. He'd never seen a face so lacking in anything to mention. It had a nose and mouth and eyes, and they were all quite flawless, but somehow they didn't make up a face. They were just parts that made no proper whole. If they became anything at all it was the face of a statue, good looking but without anything looking out of it.

    Slowly, like someone who had to think about his muscles, the man turned to look at Lobsang.

    Lobsang felt himself bunch up to slice time. The spinner groaned a warning on his back.

    'That's about enough, I think,' said Susan, stepping forward. The man was spun around. An elbow was jabbed into his stomach and then the palm of her hand caught him so hard under his chin that he was lifted off the floor and slammed against the wall.

    As he fell, Susan hit him on the head with a wrench.

    'We might as well be going,' she said, as if she'd just shuffled some paper that had been untidy. 'Nothing more for us here.'

    'You killed him!'

    'Certainly. He's not a human being. I have... a sense about these things. It's sort of inherited. Besides, go and pick up the hose. Go on.'

    Since she was still holding the wrench, Lobsang did so. Or tried to do so. The coil she'd flung into the corner was knotted and tangled like rubber spaghetti.

    'Malignancy, my grandfather calls it,' said Susan. 'The local hostility of things towards non-things always increases when there's an Auditor about. They can't help it. The hosepipe test is very reliable in the field, according to a rat I know.'

    Rat, thought Lobsang, but he said: 'What's an Auditor?'

    'And they have no sense of colour. They don't understand it. Look how he's dressed. Grey suit, grey shirt, grey shoes, grey cravat, grey everything.'

    'Er... er... perhaps it was just someone trying to be very cool?'

    'You think so? No loss there, then,' said Susan. 'Anyway, you're wrong. Watch.'

    The body was disintegrating. It was a fast and quite un-gory process, a sort of dry evaporation. It simply became floating dust, which expanded away and vanished. But the last few handfuls formed, just for a few seconds, a familiar shape. That too vanished, with the merest whisper of a scream.

    'That was a dhlang!' he said. 'An evil spirit! The peasants down in the valleys hang up charms against them! But I thought they were just a superstition!'

    'No, they're a substition,' said Susan. 'I mean they're real, but hardly anyone really believes in them. Mostly everyone believes in things that aren't real. Something very strange is going on. These things are all over the place, and they've got bodies. That's not right. We've got to find the person who built the clock-'

    'And, er, what are you, Miss Susan?'

    'Me? I'm... a schoolteacher.'

    She followed his gaze to the wrench that she still held in her hand, and shrugged.

    'It can get pretty rough at break time, can it?' said Lobsang.

    There was an overpowering smell of milk.

    Lu-Tze sat bolt upright.

    It was a large room, and he had been placed on a table in the middle of it. By the feel of the surface, it was sheeted with metal. There were churns stacked along the wall, and big metal bowls ranged beside a sink the size of a bath.

    Under the milk smell were many others - disinfectant, well-scrubbed wood and a distant odour of horses.

    Footsteps approached. Lu-Tze lay back hurriedly and shut his eyes.

    He heard someone enter the room. They were whistling under their breath, and they had to be a man, because no woman in Lu-Tze's long experience had ever whistled in that warbling, hissing way. The whistling approached the slab, stayed still for a moment, then turned away and headed for the sink. It was replaced by the sound of a pump handle being operated.

    Lu-Tze half opened one eye.

    The man standing at the sink was quite short, so that the standard-issue blue-and-white striped apron he wore almost reached the floor. He appeared to be washing bottles.

    Lu-Tze swung his legs off the slab, moving with a stealthiness that made the average ninja sound like a brass band, and let his sandals gently touch the floor.

    'Feeling better?' said the man, without turning his head.

    'Oh, er, yes. Fine,' said Lu-Tze.

    'I thought, here's a little bald monk sort of a fellow,' said the man, holding a bottle up to the light to inspect it. 'With a wind-up thing on his back, and down on his luck. Fancy a cup of tea? Kettle's on. I've got yak butter.'

    'Yak? Am I still in Ankh-Morpork?' Lu-Tze looked down at a rack of ladles beside him. The man still hadn't looked round.

    'Hmm. Interestin' question,' said the bottle-washer. 'You could say you're sort of in Ankh-Morpork. No to yak milk? I can get cow's milk, or goat, sheep, camel, llama, horse, cat, dog, dolphin, whale or alligator if you prefer.'

    'What? Alligators don't give milk!' said Lu-Tze, grasping the biggest ladle. It made no noise as it came off its hook.

    'I didn't say it was easy.'

    The sweeper got a good grip. 'What is this place, friend?' he said.

    'You are in... the dairy.'

    The man at the sink said the last word as if it was as portentous as 'castle of dread', placed another bottle on the draining board, and, still with his back to Lu-Tze, held up a hand. All the fingers were folded except for the middle digit, which was extended.

    'You know what this is, monk?' he said.

    'It's not a friendly gesture, friend.' The ladle felt good and heavy. Lu-Tze had used much worse weapons than this.

    'Oh, a superficial interpretation. You are an old man, monk. I can see the centuries on you. Tell me what this is, and know what I am.'

    The coldness in the dairy got a little colder.

    'It's your middle finger,' said Lu-Tze.

    'Pah!' said the man.

    'Pah?'

    'Yes, pah! You have a brain. Use it.'

    'Look, it was good of you to-'

    'You know the secret wisdoms that everyone seeks, monk.' The bottle-washer paused. 'No, I even suspect that you know the explicit wisdoms, the ones hidden in plain view, which practically no one looks for. Who am I?'

    Lu-Tze stared at the solitary finger. The walls of the dairy faded. The cold grew deeper.

    His mind raced, and the librarian of memory took over.

    This wasn't a normal place, that wasn't a normal man: A finger. One finger. One of the five digits on a- One of five. One of Five. Faint echoes of an ancient legend signalled his attention.

    One from five is four.

    And one left over.

    Lu-Tze very carefully hung the ladle back on its hook.

    'One from Five,' he said. 'The Fifth of Four.'

    'There we are. I could see you were educated.'

    'You were... you were the one who left before they became famous?'

    'Yes.'

    'But... this is a dairy, and you're washing bottles!'

    'Well? I had to do something with my time.'

    'But... you were the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse!' said Lu-Tze.

    'And I bet you can't remember my name.'

    Lu-Tze hesitated. 'No,' he said. 'I don't think I ever heard it.'

    The Fifth Horseman turned round. His eyes were black. Completely black. Shiny, and black, and without any whites at all.

    'My name,' said the Fifth Horseman, 'is...'

    'Yes?'

    'My name is Ronnie.'

    Timelessness grew like ice. Waves froze on the sea. Birds were pinned to the air. The world went still.

    But not quiet. There was a sound like a finger running around the rim of a very large glass.

    'Come on,' said Susan.

    'Can't you hear it?' said Lobsang, stopping.

    'But it's no use to us-'

    She pushed Lobsang back into the shadows. The robed grey shape of an Auditor appeared in the air halfway down the street, and began to spin. The air around it filled with dust, which became a whirling cylinder, which became, slightly unsteady on its feet, something that looked human.

    It rocked backwards and forwards for a moment. It raised its hands slowly and looked at them, turning them this way and that. Then it marched away, purposefully. Further along the street it was joined by another one, emerging from an alley.

    'This really isn't like them,' said Susan, as the pair turned a corner. 'They're up to something. Let's follow them.'

    'What about Lu-Tze?'

    'What about him? How old did you say he was?'

    'He says he's eight hundred years old.'

    'Hard to kill, then. Ronnie's safe enough if you're alert and don't argue. Come on.'

    She set off along the streets.

    The Auditors were joined by others, weaving between the silent carts and motionless people and along the street towards, as it turned out, Sator Square, one of the biggest open spaces in the city. It was market day. Silent, motionless figures thronged the stalls. But, amongst them, there were scurrying grey shapes.

    'There's hundreds of them,' said Susan. 'All human-shaped, and it looks like they're having a meeting.'

    Mr White was losing patience. Until now he had never been aware that he had any, because if anything he had been all patience. But now he could feel it evaporating. It was a strange, hot sensation in his head. And how could a thought be hot?

    The mass of incarnated Auditors watched him nervously.

    'I am Mr White!' he said, to the luckless new Auditor that had been brought before him, and shuddered with the astonishment of using that singular word and surviving. 'You cannot be Mr White also. It would be a matter of confusion.'

    'But we are running out of colours,' said Mr Violet, intervening.

    'That cannot be the case,' said Mr White. 'There is an infinite number of colours.'

    'But there are not that many names,' said Miss Taupe.

    'That is not possible. A colour must have a name.'

    'We can find only one hundred and three names for green before the colour becomes noticeably either blue or yellow,' said Miss Crimson.

    'But the shades are endless!'

    'Nevertheless, the names are not.'

    'This is a problem that must be solved. Add it to the list, Miss Brown. We must name every possible shade.'

    One of the female Auditors looked startled. 'I cannot remember all the things,' she said. 'Nor do I understand why you are giving orders.'

    'Apart from the renegade, I have the greatest seniority as an incarnate.'

    'Only by a matter of seconds,' said Miss Brown.

    'That is immaterial. Seniority is seniority. This is a fact.'

    It was a fact. Auditors respected facts. And it was also a fact, Mr White knew, that there were now more than seven hundred Auditors walking rather awkwardly around the city.

    Mr White had put a stop to the relentless increase in incarnations as more and more of his fellows rushed into the trouble spot. It was too dangerous. The renegade had demonstrated, he pointed out, that the human shape forced the mind to think in a certain troublesome way. The utmost caution was necessary. This was a fact. Only those with a proven ability to survive the process should be allowed to incarnate and complete the work. This was a fact.

    Auditors respected facts. At least until now. Miss Brown took a step back.

    'Nevertheless,' she said, 'being here is dangerous. It is my view that we should discarnate.'

    Mr White found his body replying by itself. It let out a breath of air.

    'And leave things unknown?' he said. 'Things that are unknown are dangerous. We are learning much.'

    'What we are learning makes no sense,' said Miss Brown.

    'The more we learn, the more sense it will make. There is nothing we cannot understand,' said Mr White.

    'I do not understand why it is that I now perceive a desire to bring my hand in sharp contact with your face,' said Miss Brown.

    'Exactly my point,' said Mr White. 'You do not understand it, and therefore it is dangerous. Perform the act, and we will know more.'

    She hit him.

    He raised his hand to his cheek.

    'Unbidden thoughts of avoidance of repetition are engendered,' he said. 'Also heat. Remarkably, the body does indeed appear to do some thinking on its own behalf.'

    'For my part,' said Miss Brown, 'the unbidden thoughts are of satisfaction coupled with apprehension.'

    'Already we learn more about humans,' said Mr White.

    'To what end?' said Miss Brown, whose sensations of apprehension were increasing at the sight of the contorted expression on Mr White's face. 'For our purposes, they are no longer a factor. Time has ended. They are fossils. The skin under one of your eyes is twitching.'

    'You are guilty of inappropriate thought,' said Mr White. 'They exist. Therefore we must study them in every detail. I wish to try a further experiment. My eye is functioning perfectly.'

    He took an axe from a market stall. Miss Brown took another step back.

    'Unbidden thoughts of apprehension increase markedly,' she said.

    'Yet this is a mere lump of metal on a piece of wood,' said Mr White, hefting the axe. 'We, who have seen the hearts of stars. We, who have watched worlds burn. We, who have seen space tormented. What is there about this axe that could cause concern to us?'

    He swung. It was a clumsy blow and the human neck is a lot tougher than people believe, but Miss Brown's neck exploded into coloured motes and she collapsed.

    Mr White looked around at the nearest Auditors, who all stepped back.

    'Is there anyone else who wishes to try the experiment?' he said.

    There was a chorus of hasty refusals.

    'Good,' said Mr White. 'Already we are learning a great deal!'

    'He chopped her head off!'

    'Don't shout! And keep your head down!' Susan hissed.

    'But he-'

    'I think she knows! Anyway, it's an it. And so's it.'

    'What's going on?'

    Susan drew back into the shadows. 'I'm not... entirely sure,' she said, 'but I think they've tried to make themselves human bodies. Pretty good copies, too. And now... they're acting human.'

    'Do you call that acting human?'

    Susan gave Lobsang a sad look. 'You don't get out much, do you? My grandfather says that if an intelligent creature takes a human shape, it starts to think human. Form defines function.'

    'That was the action of an intelligent creature?' said Lobsang, still shocked.

    'Not only doesn't get out much, also doesn't read history,' said Susan glumly. 'Do you know about the curse of the werewolves?'

    'Isn't being a werewolf curse enough?'

    'They don't think so. But if they stay wolf-shaped for too long, they stay a wolf,' said Susan. 'A wolf is a very strong... form, you see? Even though the mind is human, the wolf creeps in through the nose and the ears and the paws. Know about witches?'

    'We, er, stole the broomstick of one of them to get here,' said Lobsang.

    'Really? Bit of luck for you that the world's ended, then,' said Susan. 'Anyway, some of the best witches have this trick they call Borrowing. They can get into the mind of an animal. Very useful. But the trick is to know when to pull out. Be a duck for too long and a duck you'll stay. A bright duck, maybe, with some odd memories, but still a duck.'

    'The poet Hoha once dreamed he was a butterfly, and then he awoke and said, "Am I a man who dreamed he was a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming he is a man?"' said Lobsang, trying to join in.

    'Really?' said Susan briskly. 'And which was he?'

    'What? Well... who knows?'

    'How did he write his poems?' said Susan.

    'With a brush, of course.'

    'He didn't flap around making information-rich patterns in the air or laying eggs on cabbage leaves?'

    'No one ever mentioned it.'

    'Then he was probably a man,' said Susan. 'Interesting, but it doesn't move us on a lot. Except you could say that the Auditors are dreaming that they're human, and the dream is real. And they've got no imagination. Just like my grandfather, really. They can create a perfect copy of anything, but they can't make anything that's new. So what I think is happening is that they're finding out what being human really means.'

    'Which is?'

    'That you're not as much in control as you think.' She took another careful look at the crowd in the square. 'Do you know anything about the person who built the clock?'

    'Me? No. Well, not really...'

    'Then how did you find the place?'

    'Lu-Tze thought this was where the clock was being built.'

    'Really? Not a bad guess. You even got the right house.'

    'I, er, it was me that found the house. It, er, I knew that was where I should be. Does that sound silly?'

    'Oh, yes. With twinkly bells and bluebirds on it. But it might be true. I always know where I should be, too. And where should you be now?'

    'Just a minute,' said Lobsang. 'Who are you? Time has stopped, the world is given over to... fairy tales and monsters, and there's a schoolteacher walking around?'

    'Best kind of person to have,' said Susan. 'We don't like silliness. Anyway, I told you. I've inherited certain talents.'

    'Like living outside time?'

    'That's one of them.'

    'It's a weird talent for a schoolteacher!'

    'Good for marking, though,' said Susan calmly.

    'Are you actually human?'

    'Hah! As human as you are. I won't say I haven't got a few skeletons in the family closet, though.'

    There was something about the way she said it...

    'That wasn't just a figure of speech, was it?' said Lobsang flatly.

    'No, not really,' said Susan. 'That thing on your back. What happens when it stops spinning?'

    'I'll run out of time, of course.'

    'Ah. So the fact that it slowed down and stopped back there when that Auditor practised its axemanship isn't a factor, then?'

    'It's not turning?' Panicking, Lobsang tried to reach round to the small of his back, spinning himself in the effort.

    'It looks as though you have a hidden talent,' said Susan, leaning against the wall and grinning.

    'Please! Wind me up again!'

    'All right. You are a-'

    'That wasn't very funny the first time!'

    'That's all right, I don't have much of a sense of humour.'

    She grabbed his arms as he wrestled with the straps of the spinner.

    'You don't need it, understand?' she said. 'It's just a dead weight! Trust me! Don't give in! You're making your own time. Don't wonder how.'

    He stared at her in terror. 'What's happening?'

    'It's okay, it's okay,' said Susan, as patiently as she could. 'This sort of thing always comes as a shock. When it happened to me there wasn't anyone around, so consider yourself lucky.'

    'What happened to you?'

    'I found out who my grandfather was. And don't ask. Now, concentrate. Where ought you to be?'

    'Uh, uh...' Lobsang looked around. 'Uh... over that way, I think.'

    'I wouldn't dream of asking you how you know,' said Susan. 'And it's away from that mob.'

    She smiled. 'Look on the bright side,' she added. 'We're young, we've got all the time in the world...' She swung the wrench onto her shoulder. 'Let's go clubbing.'

    If there had been such a thing as time, it would have been a few minutes after Susan and Lobsang left that a small robed figure, about six inches high, strutted into the workshop. It was followed by a raven, which perched on the door and regarded the glowing clock with considerable suspicion.

    'Looks dangerous to me,' it said.

    SQUEAK? said the Death of Rats, advancing on the clock.

    'No, don't you go trying to be a hero,' said Quoth.

    The rat walked up to the base of the clock, stared up at it with a the-bigger-they-are-the-harder-they-fall expression, and then whacked it with its scythe.

    Or, at least, tried to. There was a flash as the blade made contact. For a moment the Death of Rats was a ring-shaped, black-and-white blur around the clock, and then it vanished.

    'Told yer,' said the raven, preening its feathers. 'I bet you feel like Mister Silly now, right?'

    * * *

    '... and then I thought, what's a job that really needs someone with my talents?' said Ronnie. 'To me, time is just another direction. And then I thought, everyone wants fresh milk, yes? And everyone wants it delivered early in the morning.'

    'Got to be better than the window-cleaning,' said Lu-Tze.

    'I only went into that after they invented windows,' said Ronnie. 'It was the jobbing gardening before that. More rancid yak butter in that?'

    'Please,' said Lu-Tze, holding out his cup.

    Lu-Tze was eight hundred years old, and that was why he was having a rest. A hero would have leapt up and rushed out into the silent city and then-

    And there you had it. Then a hero would have had to wonder what to do next. Eight hundred years had taught Lu-Tze that what happens stays happened. It might stay happened in a different set of dimensions, if you wanted to get technical, but you couldn't make it un-happen. The clock had struck, and time had stopped. Later, a solution would present itself. In the meantime, a cup of tea and conversation with his serendipitous rescuer might speed that time. After all, Ronnie was not your average milkman..

    Lu-Tze had long considered that everything happens for a reason, except possibly football.

    'It's the real stuff you got there, Ronnie,' he said, taking a sip. 'The butter we're getting these days, you wouldn't grease a cart with it.'

    'It's the breed,' said Ronnie. 'I go and get this from the highland herds six hundred years ago.'

    'Cheers,' said Lu-Tze, raising his cup. 'Funny, though. I mean, if you said to people there were originally five Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and then one of them left and is a milkman, well, they'd be a bit surprised. They'd wonder about why you...'

    For a moment Ronnie's eyes blazed silver.

    'Creative differences,' he growled. 'The whole ego thing. Some people might say... No, I don't like to talk about it. I wish them all the luck in the world, of course.'

    'Of course,' said Lu-Tze, keeping his expression opaque.

    'And I've watched their careers with great interest.'

    'I'm sure.'

    'Do you know I even got written out of the official history?' said Ronnie. He held up a hand and a book appeared in it. It looked brand new.

    'This was before,' he said sourly. 'Book of Om. Ever meet him? Tall man, beard, tendency to giggle at nothing?'

    'Before my time, Ronnie.'

    Ronnie handed the book over. 'First edition. Try Chapter 2, verse 7,' he said.

    And Lu-Tze read: ' "And the Angel clothèd all in white opened the Iron Book, and a fifth rider appeared in a chariot of burning ice, and there was a snapping of laws and a breaking of bonds and the multitude cried 'Oh God, we're in trouble now!' " '

    'That was me,' said Ronnie proudly.

    Lu-Tze's eyes strayed to verse 8: ' "And I saw, sort of like rabbits, in many colours but basically a plaid pattern, kind of spinning around, and there was a sound as of like big syrupy things."'

    'That verse got cut for the next edition,' said Ronnie. 'Very open to visions of all sorts, old Tobrun. The fathers of Omnianism could pick and mix what they wanted. Of course, in those days everything was new. Death was Death, of course, but the rest were really just Localized Crop Failure, Scuffles and Spots.'

    'And you-?' Lu-Tze ventured.

    'The public wasn't interested in me any more,' said Ronnie. 'Or so I was told. Back in those days we were only playing to very small crowds. One plague of locusts, some tribe's waterhole drying up, a volcano exploding... We were glad of any gig going. There wasn't room for five.' He sniffed. 'So I was told.'

    Lu-Tze put down his cup. 'Well, Ronnie, it's been very nice talking to you, but time's... time's not rushing, you see.'

    'Yeah. Heard about that. The streets are full of the Law.' Ronnie's eyes blazed again.

    'Law?'

    'Dhlang. The Auditors. They've had the glass clock built again.'

    'You know that?'

    'Look, I might not be one of the Fearsome Four, but I do keep my eyes and ears open,' said Ronnie.

    'But that's the end of the world!'

    'No, it's not,' said Ronnie calmly. 'Everything's still here.'

    'But it's not going anywhere!'

    'Oh, well, that's not my problem, is it?' said Ronnie. 'I do milk and dairy products.'

    Lu-Tze looked around the sparkling dairy, at the glistening bottles, at the gleaming churns. What a job for a timeless person. The milk would always be fresh.

    He looked back at the bottles, and an unbidden thought rose in his mind.

    The Horsemen were people-shaped, and people are vain. Knowing how to use other people's vanity was a martial art all in itself, and Lu-Tze had been doing it for a long time.

    'I bet I can work out who you were,' he said. 'I bet I can work out your real name.'

    'Hah. Not a chance, monk,' said Ronnie.

    'Not a monk, just a sweeper,' said Lu-Tze calmly. 'Just a sweeper. You called them the Law, Ronnie. There's got to be a law, right? They make the rules, Ronnie. And you've got to have rules, isn't that true?'

    'I do milk and milk products,' said Ronnie, but a muscle twitched under his eye. 'Also eggs by arrangement. It's a good steady business. I'm thinking of taking on more staff for the shop.'

    'Why?' said Lu-Tze. 'There won't be anything for them to do.'

    'And expand the cheese side,' said Ronnie, not looking at the sweeper. 'Big market for cheese. And I thought maybe I could get a c-mail address, people could send in orders, it could be a big market.'

    'All the rules have won, Ronnie. Nothing moves any more. Nothing is unexpected because nothing happens.'

    Ronnie sat staring at nothing.

    'I can see you've found your niche, then, Ronnie,' said Lu-Tze soothingly. 'And you keep this place like a new pin, there's no doubt about it. I expect the rest of the lads'd be really pleased to know that you're, you know, getting on all right. Just one thing, uh... Why did you rescue me?'

    'What? Well, it was my charitable duty-'

    'You're the Fifth Horseman, Mr Soak. Charitable duty?' Except, Lu-Tze thought, you've been human-shaped a long time. You want me to find out... You want me to. Thousands of years of a life like this. It's curled you in on yourself. You'll fight me all the way, but you want me to drag your name out of you.

    Ronnie's eyes glowed. 'I look after my own, Sweeper.'

    'I'm one of yours, am I?'

    'You have... certain worthwhile points.'

    They stared at one another.

    'I'll take you back to where I found you,' said Ronnie Soak. 'That's all. I don't do that other stuff any more.'

    The Auditor lay on its back, mouth open. Occasionally it made a weak little noise, like the whimper of a gnat.

    'Try again, Mr-'

    'Dark Avocado, Mr White.'

    'Is that a real colour?'

    'Yes, Mr White!' said Mr Dark Avocado, who wasn't entirely sure that it was.

    'Try again, then, Mr Dark Avocado.'

    Mr Dark Avocado, with great reluctance, reached down towards the supine figure's mouth. His fingers were a few inches away when, apparently of its own volition, the figure's left hand moved in a blur and gripped them. There was a crackle of bone.

    'I feel extreme pain, Mr White.'

    'What is in its mouth, Mr Dark Avocado?'

    'It appears to be cooked fermented grain product, Mr White. The extreme pain is continuing.'

    'A foodstuff?'

    'Yes, Mr White. The sensations of pain are really quite noticeable at this point.'

    'Did I not give an order that there should be no eating or drinking or unnecessary experimentation with sensory apparatus?'

    'Indeed you did, Mr White. The sensation known as extreme pain, which I mentioned previously, is now really quite acute. What shall I do now?'

    The concept of 'orders' was yet another new and intensely unfamiliar one for any Auditor. They were used to decisions by committee, reached only when the possibilities of doing nothing whatsoever about the matter in question had been exhausted. Decisions made by everyone were decisions made by no one, which therefore precluded any possibility of blame.

    But the bodies understood orders. This was clearly something that made humans human, and so the Auditors went along with it in a spirit of investigation. There was no choice, in any case. All kinds of sensations arose when they were given instructions by a man holding an edged weapon. It was surprising how smoothly the impulse to consult and discuss metamorphosed into a pressing desire to do what the weapon said.

    'Can you not persuade him to let go of your hand?'

    'He appears to be unconscious, Mr White. His eyes are bloodshot. He is making a little sighing noise. Yet the body seems determined that the bread should not be removed. Could I raise again the issue of the unbearable pain?'

    Mr White signalled to two other Auditors. With considerable effort, they pried Mr Dark Avocado's fingers loose.

    'This is something we will have to learn more about,' said Mr White. 'The renegade spoke of it. Mr Dark Avocado?'

    'Yes, Mr White?'

    'Do the sensations of pain persist?'

    'My hand feels both hot and cold, Mr White.'

    'How strange,' said Mr White. 'I see that we will need to investigate pain in greater depth.' Mr Dark Avocado found that a little voice in the back of his head screamed at the thought of this, while Mr White went on: 'What other foodstuffs are there?'

    'We know the names of three thousand, seven hundred and nineteen foods,' said Mr Indigo-Violet, stepping forward. He had become the expert on such matters, and this was another new thing for the Auditors. They had never had experts before. What one knew, all knew. Knowing something that others did not know marked one as, in a small way, an individual. Individuals could die. But it also gave you power and value, which meant that you might not die quite so easily. It was a lot to deal with, and like some of the other Auditors he was already assembling a number of facial tics and twitches as his mind tried to cope.

    'Name one,' said Mr White.

    'Cheese,' said Mr Indigo-Violet smartly. 'It is rotted bovine lactation.'

    'We will find some cheese,' said Mr White.

    Three Auditors went past.

    Susan peered out of a doorway. 'Are you sure we're going the right way?' she said. 'We're leaving the city centre.'

    'This is the way I should be going,' said Lobsang.

    'All right, but I don't like these narrow streets. I don't like hiding. I'm not a hiding kind of person.'

    'Yes, I've noticed.'

    'What's that place ahead?'

    'That's the back of the Royal Art Museum. Broad Way's on the other side,' said Lobsang. 'And that's the way we need to go.'

    'You know your way around for a man from the mountains.'

    'I grew up here. I know five different ways to break into the museum, too. I used to be a thief.'

    'I used to be able to walk through the walls,' said Susan. 'Can't seem to do it with time stopped. I think the power gets cancelled out somehow.'

    'You could really walk through a solid wall?'

    'Yes. It's a family tradition,' Susan snapped. 'Come on, let's go through the museum. At least no one moves about much in there at the best of times.'

    Ankh-Morpork had not had a king for many centuries, but palaces tend to survive. A city might not need a king, but it can always use big rooms and some handy large walls, long after the monarchy is but a memory and the building is renamed the Glorious Memorial to the People's Industry.

    Besides, although the last king of the city was no oil painting himself - especially when he'd been beheaded, after which no one looks their best, not even a short king - it was generally agreed that he had amassed some pretty good works of art. Even the common people of the city had a keen eye for works like Caravati's Three Large Pink Women and One Piece of Gauze or Mauvaise's Man with Big Figleaf and, besides, a city with a history the length of Ankh-Morpork's accumulated all kinds of artistic debris, and in order to prevent congestion in the streets it needed some sort of civic attic in which to store it. And thus, at little more cost than a few miles of plush red rope and a few old men in uniform to give directions to Three Large Pink Women and One Piece of Gauze, the Royal Art Museum was born.

    Lobsang and Susan hurried through the silent halls. As with Fidgett's, it was hard to know if time had stopped here. Its passage was barely perceptible in any case. The monks at Oi Dong considered it a valuable resource.

    Susan stopped and turned to look up at a huge, gilt-framed picture that occupied one whole wall of a lengthy corridor, and said, quietly: 'Oh...'

    'What is it?'

    'The Battle of Ar-Gash, by Blitzt,' said Susan.

    Lobsang looked at the flaking, uncleaned paint and the yellow-brown varnish. The colours had faded to a dozen shades of mud, but something violent and evil shone through.

    'Is that meant to be Hell?' he said.

    'No, it was an ancient city in Klatch, thousands of years ago,' said Susan. 'But Grandfather did say that men made it Hell. Blitzt went mad when he painted it.'

    'Er, he did good storm clouds, though,' said Lobsang, swallowing. 'Wonderful, er, light...'

    'Look at what's coming out of the clouds,' said Susan.

    Lobsang squinted into the crusted cumulus and fossilized lightning.

    'Oh, yes. The Four Horsemen. You often get them in-'

    'Count again,' said Susan.

    Lobsang stared. 'There's two-'

    'Don't be silly, there's fi-' she began, and then followed his gaze. He hadn't been interested in the art.

    A couple of Auditors were hurrying away from them, towards the Porcelain Room.

    'They're running away from us!' said Lobsang.

    Susan grabbed his hand. 'Not exactly,' she said. 'They always consult! There have to be three of them to do that! And they'll be back, so come on!'

    She grabbed his hand and towed him into the next gallery.

    There were grey figures at the far end. The pair ran on, past dust-encrusted tapestries, and into another huge, ancient room.

    'Ye gods, there's a picture of three huge pink women with only-' Lobsang began, as he was dragged past.

    'Pay attention, will you? The way to the main door was back there! This place is full of Auditors!'

    'But it's just an old art gallery! There's nothing for them here, is there?'

    They slid to a stop on the marble slabs. A wide staircase led up to the next floor.

    'We'll be trapped up there,' said Lobsang.

    'There're balconies all round,' said Susan. 'Come on!' She dragged him up the stairs and through an archway. And stopped.

    The galleries were several storeys high. On the first floor, visitors could look down on to the floor below. And, in the room below, the Auditors were very busy.

    'What the hell are they doing now?' whispered Lobsang.

    'I think,' said Susan grimly, 'that they are appreciating Art.'

    Miss Tangerine was annoyed. Her body kept making strange demands of her, and the work with which she had been entrusted was going so very badly.

    The frame of what once had been Sir Robert Cuspidor's Waggon Stuck In River was leaning against a wall in front of her. It was empty. The bare canvas was neatly rolled beside it. In front of the frame, carefully heaped in order of size, were piles of pigment.

    Several dozen Auditors were breaking these down into their component molecules.

    'Still nothing?' she said, striding along the line.

    'No, Miss Tangerine. Only known molecules and atoms so far,' said an Auditor, its voice shaking slightly.

    'Well, is it something to do with the proportions? The balance of molecules? The basic geometry?'

    'We are continuing to-'

    'Get on with it!'

    The other Auditors in the gallery, clustered industriously in front of what had once been a painting and in fact still was, insofar as every single molecule was still present in the room, glanced up and then bent again to their tasks.

    Miss Tangerine was getting even angrier because she couldn't work out why she was angry. One reason was probably that, when he gave her this task, Mr White had looked at her in a funny way. Being looked at was an unfamiliar experience for an Auditor in any case - no Auditor bothered to look at another Auditor very often because all Auditors looked the same - and neither were they used to the idea that you could say things with your face. Or even have a face. Or have a body that reacted in strange ways to the expression on another face belonging to, in this case, Mr White. When he looked at her like that she felt a terrible urge to claw his face off.

    Which made absolutely no sense at all. No Auditor should feel like that about another Auditor. No Auditor should feel like that about anything. No Auditor should feel.

    She felt livid. They'd all lost so many powers. It was ridiculous to have to communicate by flapping bits of your skin, and as for the tongue... Yuerkkk ...

    As far as she knew, in the whole life of the universe, no Auditor had ever experienced the sensation of yuerkkk. This wretched body was full of opportunities for yuerkkk. She could leave it at any time and yet, and yet... part of her didn't want to. There was this horrible desire, second by second, to hang on.

    And she felt hungry. And that also made no sense. The stomach was a bag for digesting food. It wasn't supposed to issue commands. The Auditors could survive quite well by exchanging molecules with their surroundings and making use of any local source of energy. That was a fact.

    Try telling that to the stomach. She could feel it. It was sitting there, grumbling. She was being harassed by her internal organs. Why the... why the.. why had they copied internal organs? Yuerkkk.

    It was all too much. She wanted to... she wanted to... express herself by shouting some, some, some terrible words...

    'Discord! Confusion!'

    The other Auditors looked around in terror.

    But the words didn't work for Miss Tangerine. They just didn't have the same force that they used to. There had to be something worse. Ah, yes...

    'Organs!' she shouted, pleased to have found it at last. 'And what are all you... organs looking at?' she added. 'Get on with it!'

    'They're taking everything apart,' whispered Lobsang.

    'That's the Auditors for you,' said Susan. 'They think that's how you find out about things. You know, I loathe them. I really do.'

    Lobsang glanced sideways at her. The monastery was not a single-sex institution. That is to say, it was, but corporately it had never thought of itself like that because the possibility of females working there had never crossed even minds capable of thinking of sixteen dimensions. But the Thieves' Guild had recognized that girls were at least as good as boys in all areas of thieving - he had, for example, fond memories of his classmate Steff, who could steal the small change out of your back pocket and climb better than an Assassin. He was at home around girls. But Susan scared the life out of him. It was as if some secret place inside her boiled with wrath, and with the Auditors she let it out.

    He remembered her hitting that one with the wrench. There had been just a faint frown of concentration, as if she was making certain the job was done properly.

    'Shall we go?' he ventured.

    'Look at them,' continued Susan. 'Only an Auditor would take a picture apart to see what made it a work of art.'

    'There's a big pile of white dust over there,' said Lobsang.

    'Man with Huge Figleaf' said Susan absently, her eyes still intent on the grey figures. 'They'd dismantle a clock to search for the tick.'

    'How do you know its Man with Huge Figleaf?'

    'I just happen to remember where it is, that's all.'

    'You, er, you appreciate art?' Lobsang ventured.

    'I know what I like,' said Susan, still staring at the busy grey figures. 'And right now I'd like quite a lot of weaponry.'

    'We'd better move-'

    'The bastards get into your head if you let them,' said Susan, not moving. 'When you find yourself thinking "There ought to be a law" or "I don't make the rules, after all" or-'

    'I really think we should leave,' said Lobsang carefully. 'And I think this because there are some of them coming up the stairs.'

    Her head jerked around. 'What are you standing about for, then?' she said.

    They ran through the next arch and into a gallery of pottery, turning to look only when they reached the far end. Three Auditors were following them. They weren't running, but there was something about their synchronized step that had a horrible we'll-keep-on-coming quality.

    'All right, let's go this way-'

    'No, let's go this way,' said Lobsang.

    'That's not the way we need to go!' Susan snapped.

    'No, but the sign up there says "Arms and Armour"!'

    'So? Are you any good with weapons?'

    'No!' said Lobsang proudly, and then realized she'd taken this the wrong way. 'You see, I've been taught to fight without-'

    'Maybe there's a sword I can use,' Susan growled, and strode forward.

    By the time the Auditors entered the gallery there were more than three of them. The grey crowd paused.

    Susan had found a sword, part of a display of Agatean armour. It had been blunted by disuse, but anger flared along the blade.

    'Should we keep running?' said Lobsang.

    'No. They always catch up. I don't know if we can kill them here, but we can make them wish we could. You still haven't got a weapon?'

    'No, because, you see, I've been trained to-'

    'Just keep out of my way, then, okay?'

    The Auditors advanced cautiously, which struck Lobsang as odd.

    'We can't kill them?' said Lobsang.

    'It depends on how alive they've let themselves become.'

    'But they look scared,' he said.

    'They're human-shaped,' said Susan over her shoulder. 'Human bodies. Perfect copies. Human bodies have had thousands and thousands of years of not wanting to be cut in half. That sort of leaks into the brain, don't you think?'

    And then the Auditors were circling and moving in. Of course they would all attack at once. No one would want to be first.

    Three made a grab at Lobsang.

    He'd enjoyed the fighting, back in the training dojos. Of course, everyone was padded, and no one was actually trying to kill you, and that helped. But Lobsang had done well because he was good at slicing. He could always find that extra edge. And if you had that edge, you didn't need quite so much skill.

    There was no edge here. There was no time to slice.

    He adopted a mixture of sna-fu and okidoki and anything that worked, because you were dead if you treated a real fight like the dojo. The grey men were no contest, in any case. They just attempted to grab and hug. A granny would have been able to fend them off.

    He sent two reeling and turned to the third, which was trying to grab him around the neck. He broke the hold, spun around ready to chop, and hesitated.

    'Oh, good grief!' said a voice.

    Susan's blade whirled past Lobsang's face.

    The head in front of him was parted from its former body in a shower not of blood but of coloured, floating dust. The body evaporated, became very briefly a grey-robed shape in the air, and vanished.

    Lobsang heard a couple of thumps behind him, and then Susan grabbed his shoulder.

    'You're not supposed to hesitate, you know!' she said.

    'But it was a woman!'

    'It was not! But it was the last one. Now let's go, before the rest get here.' She nodded at a second group of Auditors that were watching them very carefully from the end of the hall.

    'They weren't much of a contest anyway,' said Lobsang, getting his breath. 'What are those doing?'

    'Learning. Can you fight better than that?'

    'Of course!'

    'Good, because next time they'll be as good as you just were. Where to now?'

    'Er, this way!'

    The next gallery was full of stuffed animals. There'd been a vogue for it a few centuries before. These weren't the sad old hunting-trophy bears or geriatric tigers whose claws had faced a man armed with nothing more than five crossbows, twenty loaders and a hundred beaters. Some of these animals were arranged in groups. Quite small groups, of quite small animals.

    There were frogs, seated around a tiny dining table. There were dogs, dressed in hunting jackets, in pursuit of a fox wearing a cap with feathers in it. There was a monkey playing a banjo.

    'Oh, no, it's an entire band,' said Susan in tones of horrified astonishment. 'And just look at the little kittens dancing...'

    'Horrible!'

    'I wonder what happened when the man who did this met my grandfather.'

    'Would he have met your grandfather?'

    'Oh, yes,' said Susan. 'Oh, yes. And my grandfather is rather fond of cats.'

    Lobsang paused at the foot of a staircase, half hidden behind a luckless elephant. A red rope, now hard as a bar, suggested that this wasn't part of the public museum. There was an added hint in the shape of a notice saying: 'Absolutely No Admittance'.

    'I should be up there,' he said.

    'Let's not hang around, then, eh?' said Susan, leaping over the rope.

    The narrow stairs led up onto a large, bare landing. Boxes were stacked here and there.

    'The attics,' said Susan. 'Hold on... What's that sign for?'

    '"Keep left",' Lobsang read. 'Well, if they have to move heavy items around-'

    'Look at the sign, will you?' said Susan. 'Don't see what you expect to see, see what's in front of you!'

    Lobsang looked.

    > KEEP LEFT >>

    'What a stupid sign,' he said.

    'Hmm. Interesting, certainly,' said Susan. 'Which way do you think we should go? I don't think it'll take them too long to decide to follow us.'

    'We're so close! Any passage might do!' said Lobsang.

    'Any passage it is, then.' Susan headed for a narrow gap between packing cases.

    Lobsang followed. 'What do you mean, decide?' he said, as they entered the gloom.

    'The sign on the stairs said there was no admittance.'

    'You mean they'll disobey it?' He stopped.

    'Eventually. But they'll have a terrible feeling that they ought not to. They obey rules. They are the rules, in a way.'

    'But you can't obey the Keep Left/Right sign, no matter what you do... oh, I see...'

    'Isn't learning fun? Oh, and here's another one.'

    DO NOT FEED THE ELEPHANT.

    'Now that,' said Susan, 'is good. You can't obey it...'

    '... because there's no elephant,' said Lobsang. 'I think I'm getting the hang of this...'

    'It's an Auditor trap,' said Susan, peering at a packing case.

    'Here's another good one,' said Lobsang.

    IGNORE THIS SIGN. By order

    'Nice touch,' Susan agreed, 'but I'm wondering... who put up the signs?'

    There were voices somewhere behind them. They were low, but then one was suddenly raised.

    '-says Left but points Right! It has no sense!'

    'The fault is yours! We disobeyed the first sign! Woe to them that stray onto the pathway of irregularity!'

    'Don't you give me that, you organic thing! I raise my voice at you, you-'

    There was a soft sound, a choking noise, and a scream that dopplered into nothing.

    'Are they fighting one another?' said Lobsang.

    'We can only hope so. Let's move,' said Susan. They crept on, weaving through the maze of spaces between the crates, and past a sign saying:

    DUCK

    'Ah... now we're getting metaphysical,' said Susan.

    'Why duck?' said Lobsang.

    'Why indeed?'

    Somewhere amongst the cases a voice reached the end of its tether.

    'What organic damn elephant? Where is the elephant?'

    'There is no elephant!'

    'How can there be a sign, then?'

    It is a-'

    ... and once again the little choke, and the vanishing scream. And then... running footsteps.

    Susan and Lobsang backed into the shadows, and then Susan said, 'What have I put my foot in?'

    She reached down and picked up the soft, sticky mess. And as she rose, she saw the Auditor come round the corner.

    It was wild-eyed and frantic. It focused on the pair of them with difficulty, as if trying to remember who and what they were. But it was holding a sword, and holding it correctly.

    A figure rose up behind it. One hand grabbed it by the hair and jerked its head back. The other was thrust over its open mouth.

    The Auditor struggled for a moment, and then went rigid. And then disintegrated, tiny particles spinning away and disappearing into nothing.

    For a moment the last few handfuls tried to form, in the air, the shape of a small cowled figure. Then it too was dragged apart, with a faint scream that was heard via the hairs on the back of the neck.

    Susan glared at the figure in front of her. 'You're a... you can't be a... what are you?' she demanded.

    The figure was silent. This might have been because thick cloth covered its nose and mouth. Heavy gloves encased its hands. And this was odd, because most of the rest of it was wearing a sequinned evening gown. And a mink stole. And a knapsack. And a huge picture hat with enough feathers to make three rare species totally extinct.

    The figure rummaged in the knapsack, and then thrust out a piece of dark brown paper, as if proffering holy writ. Lobsang took it with care.

    'It says here "Higgs & Meakins Luxury Assortment",' he said. 'Caramel Crunch, Hazelnut Surprise... They're chocolates?'

    Susan opened her hand and looked at the crushed Strawberry Whirl she had picked up. She gave the figure a careful look.

    'How did you know that would work?' she said.

    'Please! You have nothing to fear from me,' said the muffled voice through the bandages. 'I'm down to the ones with the nuts in now, and they don't melt very quickly.'

    'Sorry?' said Lobsang. 'You just killed an Auditor with a chocolate?'

    'My last Orange Creme, yes. We are exposed here. Come with me.'

    'An Auditor...' Susan breathed. 'You're an Auditor too. Aren't you? Why should I trust you?'

    'There isn't anyone else.'

    'But you are one of them,' said Susan. 'I can tell, even under all that... that stuff!'

    'I was one of them,' said Lady LeJean. 'Now I rather think I'm one of me.'

    People were living in the attic. There was a whole family up there. Susan wondered if their presence was official or unofficial or one of those in-between states that were so common in Ankh-Morpork, where there was always a chronic housing shortage. So much of the city's life took place on the street because there was no room for it inside. Whole families were raised in shifts, so that the bed could be used for twenty-four hours a day. By the look of it, the caretakers and men who knew the way to Caravati's Three Large Pink Women and One Piece of Gauze had moved their families in to the rambling attics.

    The rescuer had simply moved in on top of them. A family, or at least one shift of it, was seated on benches around a table. frozen in timelessness. Lady LeJean removed her hat, hung it on the mother and shook out her hair. Then she unwrapped the heavy bandages from her nose and mouth.

    'We are relatively safe here,' she said. 'They are mostly in the main streets. Good... day. My name is Myria LeJean. I know who you are, Susan Sto Helit. I do not know the young man, which surprises me. I take it you are here to destroy the clock?'

    'To stop it,' said Lobsang.

    'Hold on, hold on,' said Susan. 'This makes no sense. Auditors hate everything about life. And you are an Auditor, aren't you?'

    'I have no idea what I am,' sighed Lady LeJean. 'But right now I know that I am everything an Auditor should not be. We... they... we have to be stopped!'

    'With chocolate?' said Susan.

    'The sense of taste is new to us. Alien. We have no defences.'

    'But... chocolate?'

    'A dry biscuit almost killed me,' said her ladyship. 'Susan, can you imagine what it is like to experience taste for the first time? We built our bodies well. Oh, yes. Lots of tastebuds. Water is like wine. But chocolate... Even the mind stops. There is nothing but the taste.' She sighed. 'I imagine it is a wonderful way to die.'

    'It doesn't seem to affect you,' said Susan suspiciously.

    'The bandages and the gloves,' said Lady LeJean. 'Even then it is all I can do not to give in. Oh, where are my manners? Do sit down. Pull up a small child.'

    Lobsang and Susan exchanged a glance. Lady LeJean noticed it.

    'I said something wrong?' she said.

    'We don't use people as furniture,' said Susan.

    'But surely they will not be aware of it?' said her ladyship.

    'We will,' said Lobsang. 'That's the point, really.'

    'Ah. I have so much to learn. There is... there is so much context to being human, I am afraid. You, sir, can you stop the clock?'

    'I don't know how to,' said Lobsang. 'But I... I think I should know. I'll try.'

    'Would the clockmaker know? He is here.'

    'Where?' said Susan.

    'Just down the passage,' said Lady LeJean.

    'You carried him here?'

    'He was barely able to walk. He was hurt badly in the fight.'

    'What?' said Lobsang. 'How could he walk at all? We're outside time!'

    Susan took a deep breath. 'He carries his own time, just like you,' she said. 'He's your brother.'

    And it was a lie. But he wasn't ready for the truth. By the look on his face, he wasn't even ready for the lie.

    'Twins,' said Mrs Ogg. She picked up the brandy glass, looked at it, and put it down. 'There wasn't one. There was twins. Two boys. But...'

    She turned on Susan a glare like a thermic lance. 'You'll be thinking, this is an old biddy of a midwife,' she said. 'You'll be thinking, what does she know?'

    Susan paid her the courtesy of not lying. 'Part of me was,' she admitted.

    'Good answer! Part of us thinks all kinds of things,' said Mrs Ogg. 'Part of me is thinking, who's this haughty little miss who talks to me as if I was a kiddie of five? But most of me is thinking, she's got a heap of troubles of her own and has seen plenty of things a human shouldn't have to see. Mind you, part of me says, so have I. Seeing things a human shouldn't have to see makes us human. Well, miss... if you've any sense, part of you is thinking, there's a witch in front of me who's seen my granddad many times, when she's sat by a sickbed that's suddenly become a deathbed, and if she's ready to spit in his eye when the time comes then she could probably bother me considerably right now if she puts her mind to it. Understand? Let's all keep our parts to ourselves,' and suddenly she gave Susan a wink, 'as the High Priest said to the actress.'

    'I absolutely agree,' said Susan. 'Completely.'

    'Right,' said Mrs Ogg. 'So... twins ... well, it was her first time, and human wasn't exactly a familiar shape with her, I mean, you can't do what comes naturally when you ain't exactly natural and ... twins ain't quite the right word...'

    'A brother,' said Lobsang. 'The clockmaker?'

    'Yes,' said Susan.

    'But I was a foundling!'

    'So was he.'

    'I want to see him now!'

    'That might not be a good idea,' said Susan.

    'I am not interested in your opinion, thank you.' Lobsang turned to Lady LeJean. 'Down that passage?'

    'Yes. But he's asleep. I think the clock upset his mind, and also he was hit in the fight. He says things in his sleep.'

    'Says what?'

    'The last thing I heard him say before I came to find you was, "We're so close. Any passage might do,"' said her ladyship. She looked from one to the other. 'Have I said the wrong thing?'

    Susan put her hand over her eyes. Oh dear...

    'I said that,' said Lobsang. ' Just after we came up the stairs.' He glared at Susan. 'Twins, right? I've heard about this sort of thing! What one thinks the other thinks too?'

    Susan sighed. Sometimes, she thought, I really am a coward. 'Something like that, yes,' she said.

    'I'm going to see him, then, even if he can't see me!'

    Damn, thought Susan, and hurried after Lobsang as he headed along the passage. The Auditor trailed behind them, looking concerned.

    Jeremy was lying on a bed, although it was no softer than anything else in the timeless world. Lobsang stopped, and stared.

    'He looks... quite like me,' he said.

    'Oh, yes,' said Susan.

    'Thinner, perhaps.'

    'Could be, yes.'

    'Different... lines on his face.'

    'You've led different lives,' said Susan.

    'How did you know about him and me?'

    'My grandfather takes, er, an interest in this sort of thing. I found out some more by myself, too,' she said.

    'Why should we interest anyone? We're not special.'

    'This is going to be quite hard to explain.' Susan looked round at Lady LeJean. 'How safe are we here?'

    'The signs upset them,' said her ladyship. 'They tend to keep away. I... shall we say?... took care of the ones who followed you.'

    'Then you'd better sit down, Mr Lobsang,' said Susan. 'It might help if I told you about me.'

    'Well?'

    'My grandfather is Death.'

    'That's a strange thing to say. Death is just the end of life. It's not a... a person-'

    'PAY ATTENTION TO ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU...'