“No tricks,” said Lobsang. “But—”

  “Are we fighting or are we talking?”

  “But, look, if only one can walk out, that means I’ll have to kill you—” Lobsang began.

  “Or vice versa, of course,” said Lu-Tze. “That is the rule, yes. Shall we get on?”

  “But I didn’t know that!”

  “In life, as in breakfast cereal, it is always best to read the instructions on the box,” said Lu-Tze. “This is the Iron Dojo, wonder boy!”

  He stepped back and bowed.

  Lobsang shrugged and bowed in return.

  Lu-Tze took a few steps back. He closed his eyes for a moment and then went through a series of simple moves, limbering up. Lobsang winced to hear the crackle of joints.

  Around Lobsang there was a series of snapping noises, and for a moment he thought of the old sweeper’s bones. But tiny hatches all over the curved wall were swinging open. He could hear whispers as people jostled for position. And by the sound of it, there were a great many people.

  He extended his hands and let himself rise gently in the air.

  “I thought we said no tricks?” said Lu-Tze.

  “Yes, Sweeper,” said Lobsang, poised in midair. “And then I thought: never forget Rule One.”

  “Aha! Well done. You’ve learned something!”

  Lobsang drifted closer.

  “You cannot believe the things that I have seen since last I saw you,” he said. “Words cannot describe them. I have seen worlds nesting within worlds, like those dolls they carve in Uberwald. I have heard the music of the years. I know more than I can ever understand. But I do not know the fifth surprise. It is a trick, a conundrum . . .a test.”

  “Everything is a test,” said Lu-Tze.

  “Then show me the fifth surprise, and I promise not to harm you.”

  “You promise not to harm me?”

  “I promise not to harm you,” Lobsang repeated solemnly.

  “Fine. You only had to ask,” said Lu-Tze, smiling broadly.

  “What? I asked before, and you refused!”

  “You only had to ask at the right time, wonder boy.”

  “And how is it the right time?”

  “It is written, ‘There’s no time like the present,’” said Lu-Tze. “Behold, the fifth surprise!”

  He reached into his robe.

  Lobsang floated closer.

  The sweeper produced a cheap carnival mask. It was one of those that consisted of a fake pair of glasses, glued above a big pink nose, and a heavy black mustache.

  He put it on and wiggled his ears once or twice.

  “Boo,” he said.

  “What?” said Lobsang, bewildered.

  “Boo,” Lu-Tze repeated. “I never said it was a particularly imaginative surprise, did I?”

  He wiggled his ears again and then wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Good, eh?” he said and grinned.

  Lobsang laughed. Lu-Tze grinned wider. Lobsang laughed louder and lowered himself to the mat.

  The blows came out of nowhere. They caught him in the stomach, on the back of his neck, in the small of his back, and swept his legs from under him. He landed on his stomach, with Lu-Tze pinning him down in the Straddle of the Fish. The only way to get out of that was to dislocate your own shoulders.

  There was a sort of collective sigh from the hidden watchers.

  “Deja-fu!”

  “What?” said Lobsang into the mat. “You said none of the monks knew deja-fu!”

  “I never taught it to ’em, that’s why!” said Lu-Tze. “Promise not to harm me, would you? Thank you so very much! Submit?”

  “You never told me you knew it!” Lu-Tze’s knees, rammed into the secret pressure points, were turning Lobsang’s arms into powerless lumps of flesh.

  “I may be old, but I’m not daft!” Lu-Tze shouted. “You don’t think I’d give away a trick like that, do you?”

  “That’s not fair—-”

  Lu-Tze leaned down until his mouth was an inch from Lobsang’s ear.

  “Didn’t say ‘fair’ on the box, lad. But you can win, you know. You could turn me into dust, just like that. How could I stop Time?”

  “I can’t do that!”

  “You mean you won’t, and we both know it. Submit?”

  Lobsang could feel parts of his body trying to shut themselves down. His shoulders were on fire. I can discarnate, he thought, yes, I can, I could turn him to dust with a thought. And lose. I’d walk out, and he’d be dead, and I’d have lost.

  “Nothing to worry about, lad,” said Lu-Tze, calmly now. “You just forgot Rule Nineteen. Submit?”

  “Rule Nineteen?” said Lobsang, almost pushing himself off the mat until terrible pain forced him down again. “What the hell is Rule Nineteen? Yes, yes, submit, submit!”

  “‘Remember Never To Forget Rule One,’” said Lu-Tze. He released his grip. “And always ask yourself: how come it was created in the first place, eh?”

  Lu-Tze got to his feet and went on: “But you have performed well, all things considered, and therefore as your master I have no hesitation in recommending you for the yellow robe. Besides,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “everyone peeking in here has seen me beat Time and that’s the sort of thing that’ll look really good on my résumé, if you catch my meaning. Def’nitely give the ol’ Rule One a fillip. Let me give you a hand up.”

  He reached down.

  Lobsang was about to take the hand when he hesitated. Lu-Tze grinned again and gently pulled him upright.

  “But only one of us can leave, Sweeper,” said Lobsang, rubbing his shoulders.

  “Really?” said Lu-Tze. “But playing the game changes the rules. I say the hell with it.”

  The remains of the door were pushed aside by the hands of many monks. There was the sound of someone being hit with a rubber yak. “Bikkit!”

  “ . . .And the abbot, I believe, is ready to present you with the robe,” said Lu-Tze. “Don’t make any comment if he dribbles on it, please.”

  They left the dojo and, followed now by every soul in Oi Dong, headed for the long terrace.

  It was, Lu-Tze reminisced later on, an unusual ceremony. The abbot did not appear overawed, because babies generally aren’t and will throw up over anyone. Besides, Lobsang might have been master of the gulfs of time, but the abbot was master of the valley, and therefore respect was a line that traveled in both directions.

  But the handing over of the robe had caused a difficult moment.

  Lobsang had refused it. It had been left to the chief acolyte to ask why, while the whispered currents of surprise washed through the crowd.

  “I am not worthy, sir.”

  “Lu-Tze has declared that you have completed your apprenticeship, my lo—Lobsang Ludd.”

  Lobsang bowed. “Then I will take the broom and the robe of a sweeper, sir.”

  This time the current was a tsunami. It crashed over the audience. Heads turned. There were gasps of shock, and one or two nervous laughs. And, from the lines of sweepers who had been allowed to pause in their tasks to watch the event, there was a watchful, intent silence.

  The chief acolyte licked his suddenly dehydrated lips.

  “But . . .but . . .you are the incarnation of Time . . .”

  “In this valley, sir,” said Lobsang firmly, “I am as worthy as a sweeper.”

  The chief acolyte looked around, but there was no help anywhere. The other senior members of the monastery had no wish to share in the huge pink cloud of embarrassment. The abbot merely blew bubbles and grinned the inward knowing grin of all babies everywhere.

  “Do we have any . . .uh . . .do we present sweepers with . . .do we by any chance . . .” the acolyte mumbled.

  Lu-Tze stepped up behind him.

  “Can I be of any help, your acolytility?” he said with a sort of mad keen subservience that was quite alien to his normal attitude.

  “Lu-Tze? Ah . . .er . . .yes . . .er . . .”

  “I could fetch a nearly new robe, sir, and the lad can have my old broom if you’ll sign a chitty for me to get a new one from stores, sir,” said Lu-Tze, sweating helpfulness from every pore.

  The chief acolyte, drowning well out of his depth, seized on this like a passing lifebelt.

  “Oh, would you be so good, Lu-Tze? It is so kind of you . . .”

  Lu-Tze vanished in a blur of helpful speed that, once again, quite surprised those who thought they knew him.

  He reappeared with his broom and a robe made white and thin with frequent bashings on the stones by the river. He solemnly handed them over to the chief acolyte.

  “Er . . .uh . . .thank you, er . . .is there a special ceremony for the, for the, er, for . . .er . . .” the man burbled.

  “Very simple one, sir,” said Lu-Tze, still radiating eagerness. “Wording is quite loose, sir, but generally we say, ‘This is your robe, look after it, it belongs to the monastery,’ sir, and then with the broom we say something like ‘Here’s your broom, treat it well, it is your friend, you will be fined if you lose it, remember they do not grow on trees,’ sir.”

  “Er . . .um . . .uh,” the chief acolyte murmured. “And does the abbot—”

  “Oh no, the abbot would not make a presentation to a sweeper,” said Lobsang quickly.

  “Lu-Tze, who does the, er, does, uh, does the . . .”

  “It’s generally done by a senior sweeper, your acolytility.”

  “Oh? And, er, by some happy chance, er, do you happen to be—”

  Lu-Tze bobbed a bow.

  “Oh, yes, sir.”

  To the chief acolyte, still floundering in the flood of the turning tide, this was as welcome as the imminent prospect of dry land. He beamed maniacally.

  “I wonder, I wonder, I wonder then if you would be so kind, er, then, er, to—”

  “Happy to, sir.” Lu-Tze swung around. “Right now, sir?”

  “Oh, please, yes!”

  “Right you are. Step forward, Lobsang Ludd!”

  “Yes, Sweeper!”

  Lu-Tze held out the worn robe and the elderly broom. “Broom! Robe! Do not lose them, we are not made of money!” he announced.

  “I thank you for them,” said Lobsang. “I am honored.”

  Lobsang bowed, Lu-Tze bowed. With their heads close together and at the same height, Lu-Tze hissed: “Very surprising.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Nicely mythic, the whole thing, definitely one for the scrolls, but bordering on smug. Do not try it again.”

  “Right.”

  They both stood up. “And . . .er . . .what happens now?” said the chief acolyte. He was a broken man, and he knew it. Nothing was going to be the same after this.

  “Nothing, really,” said Lu-Tze. “Sweepers get on with sweeping. You take that side, lad, and I’ll take this.”

  “But he is Time!” said the chief acolyte. “The son of Wen! There is so much we have to ask!”

  “There is so much I will not tell,” said Lobsang, smiling. The abbot leaned forward and dribbled in the chief acolyte’s ear.

  The chief acolyte gave up.

  “Of course, it is not up to us to question you,” he said, backing away.

  “No,” said Lobsang. “It is not. I suggest you all get on with your very important work, because this plaza is going to need all my attention.”

  There were frantic hand signals among the senior monks and, gradually, reluctantly, the monastery staff moved away.

  “They’ll be watching us from every place they can hide,” mumbled Lu-Tze when the sweepers were alone.

  “Oh, yes,” said Lobsang.

  “So . . .how are you, then?”

  “Very well. And my mother is happy, and she will retire with my father.”

  “What? A cottage in the country, that sort of thing?”

  “Not quite. Similar, though.”

  There was no sound for a while but the brushing of two brooms.

  Then Lobsang said: “I’m aware, Lu-Tze, that it is usual for an apprentice to give a small gift or token to his master when he finishes his apprenticeship . . .”

  “Possibly,” said Lu-Tze, straightening up, “but I don’t need anything. I’ve got my mat, my bowl, and my Way.”

  “Every man has something he desires,” said Lobsang.

  “Hah! Got you there then, wonder boy. I’m eight hundred years old. I’ve run through all my desires long ago.”

  “Oh dear. That is a shame. I hoped I could find something.” Now Lobsang straightened up and swung his broom onto his shoulder.

  “In any case, I must leave,” he said. “There is so much still to do.”

  “I’m sure there is,” said Lu-Tze. “I’m sure there is. There’s the whole stretch under the trees, for one thing. And while we’re on the subject, wonder boy, did you let that witch have her broomstick back?”

  Lobsang nodded. “Let us just say . . .I put things back. It’s a lot newer than it was, too.”

  “Hah!” said Lu-Tze, sweeping up a few more petals. “Just like that. Just like that. So easily does a thief of time repay his debts!”

  Lobsang must have caught the rebuke in the tone. He stared down at his feet.

  “Well . . .perhaps not all of them, I admit,” he said.

  “Oh?” said Lu-Tze, still apparently fascinated by the end of his own broom.

  “But when you have to save the world you cannot think of one person, you see, because one person is a part of that world,” Lobsang went on.

  “Really?” said the sweeper. “You think so? You’ve been talking to some very strange people, my lad.”

  “But now I have time,” said Lobsang earnestly. “And I hope she’ll understand.”

  “It’s amazing what a lady will understand, if you find the right way of putting it,” said Lu-Tze. “Best of luck, lad. You didn’t do so bad, on the whole. And is it not written, ‘It’s never too late’?”

  Lobsang smiled at him, and vanished.

  Lu-Tze went back to sweeping. After a while, he grinned at a memory. An apprentice gives a gift to the master, eh? As if Lu-Tze could want anything that Time could give him . . .

  And he stopped, and looked up, and laughed out loud.

  Overhead, swelling as he watched, the cherries were ripening.

  Tick

  In some place that had not existed before, and only existed now for this very purpose, there stood a large, gleaming vat.

  “Ten thousand gallons of delicate fondant sugar cream infused with essence of violets and stirred into dark chocolate,” said Chaos. “There are also strata of hazelnut praline in rich butter cream, and areas of soft caramel for that especial touch of delight.”

  SO . . .YOU’RE SAYING THAT THIS VAT COULD EXIST SOMEWHERE IN A TRULY INFINITE EVERYWHERE, AND THEREFORE IT CAN EXIST HERE? said Death.

  “Indeed,” said Chaos.

  BUT IT NO LONGER EXISTS IN THE PLACE WHERE IT SHOULD EXIST.

  “No. It should, now, exist here. The math is easy,” said Chaos.

  AH? WELL, MATHS . . .said Death, dismissively. GENERALLY I NEVER GET MUCH FURTHER THAN SUBTRACTION.

  “In any case, chocolate is hardly a rare commodity,” said Chaos. “There are planets covered in the stuff.”

  REALLY?

  “Indeed.”

  IT MIGHT BE BEST, said Death, IF NEWS LIKE THAT DID NOT GET ABOUT.

  He walked back to where Unity was waiting in the darkness.

  YOU DO NOT NEED TO DO THIS, he said.

  “What else is there?” said Unity. “I have betrayed my own kind. And I am hideously insane. I can never be at home anywhere. And staying here would be an agony.”

  She stared into the chocolate abyss. A dusting of sugar sparkled on its surface.

  Then she slipped out of her dress. To her amazement, she felt embarrassed about doing so, but still drew herself up haughtily.

  “Spoon,” she commanded and held out her right hand imperiously. Chaos gave a silver ladle a final, theatrical polish and passed it to her.

  “Goodbye,” said Unity. “Do pass on my best wishes to your granddaughter.”

  She walked a few steps back, turned, broke into a run, and took off into a perfect swallow dive.

  The chocolate closed over her with barely a sound. Then the two watchers waited until the fat, lazy ripples had died away.

  “Now there was a lady with style,” said Chaos. “What a waste.”

  YES. I THOUGHT SO.

  “Well, it’s been fun . . .up to that point, anyway. And now, I must be off,” said Chaos.

  YOU’RE CONTINUING WITH THE MILK ROUND?

  “People rely on me.”

  Death looked impressed.

  IT’S GOING TO BE . . .INTERESTING TO HAVE YOU BACK, he said.

  “Yeah. It is,” said Chaos. “You’re not coming?”

  I’M JUST GOING TO WAIT HERE FOR A WHILE.

  “Why?”

  JUST IN CASE.

  “Ah.”

  YES.

  It was some minutes later that Death reached into his robe and pulled out a lifetimer that was small and light enough to have been designed for a doll. He turned around.

  “But . . .I died,” said the shade of Unity.

  YES, said Death. THIS IS THE NEXT PART . . .

  Tick

  Emma Robertson sat in the classroom with wrinkled brow, chewing on her pencil. Then, rather slowly, but with the air of one imparting great secrets, she set to work.

  She wrote:

  “We went to Lanker where there are witches they are kind they grow erbs. We met this which she was very jole and sang us a snog abot a hedghog it had dificut words. Jason try to kick her cat it chase him up a tre. I know a lot about wiches now they do not have warts they do not eat you they are just like your grane except your grane does not know difult words.”

  At her high desk Susan relaxed. There was nothing like a classroom of bent heads. A good teacher used whatever materials there were to hand, and taking the class to visit Mrs. Ogg was an education in itself. Two educations.

  A classroom going well had its own smell: a hint of pencil shavings, poster paints, long-dead stick insects, glue, and, of course, the faint aroma of Billy.

  There had been an uneasy meeting with her grandfather. She’d raged that he hadn’t told her things. And he’d said, of course he hadn’t. If you told humans what the future held, it wouldn’t. That made sense. Of course, it made sense. It was good logic. The trouble was that Susan was only mostly logical. And so, now, things were back in that uneasy, rather cool state where they spent most of their time, in the tiny little family that ran on dysfunctionality.