"You were there, and I did it," he agreed.
"Good. And when you turned the sand green, you aligned yourself with universal time. You normally live backward, compared to the rest of us, but green turns you about so that your forward matches ours. It is a temporary state for you, requiring magical energy, so you don't do it unless you need to interact with a normal person. In this case, the need existed. But it isn't wise to do it too long, because of a possible three-person-limit complication."
"A what?"
"We'll go into that technical matter at another time; I don't want to confuse you at the outset."
"I'm already confused! Why did you have me turn the sand blue for an instant? Couldn't I have green-phased at the outset?"
"You could have, Chronos. But that would have carried you on beyond your term of office, since you were so close to its edge. I preferred to give you a couple of days' leeway to avoid that risk. You see, you can't travel physically beyond your term; you become insubstantial, unable to interact with us."
"So I have discovered," he agreed ruefully.
"Had you turned the sand green then, I would have been leading you here—and you would have vanished from my ken before arriving. You see, to you this is the beginning, but to the rest of us it is the end. To us, your term will expire and that of your successor will commence. Suddenly we will have a vastly experienced Chronos replacing the old novice. He'll have us all stepping smartly! He will know all our futures in a way none of us can." She fixed him with her disconcerting gaze again. "Time is power, Norton. You will learn to do things Satan Himself can not handle. No one can touch Chronos in his area of expertise. You will be able to change reality itself. See that you do not abuse that power."
Norton did not feel powerful at all. He noticed that now she called him by his given name; obviously she did know him from her past, his new future. "I will try to handle the office properly," he said. "Uh, about Purgatory—"
"Purgatory is not part of the physical world," she explained. "When you want an extended interaction with a person, bring that person here, and there will be no problem."
"I don't quite understand."
"Of course you don't! You have just stepped into one of the most complex offices of the firmament; it will take you years to get the full hang of it. Fortunately, you have time—literally. You are Time."
"I think you'd better explain the whole thing," he said. "I'm pretty much baffled."
"That's what I'm here for—this time." She glanced at him slyly, as if making an off-color allusion. "And I will; I owe it to you, as I said. Only first I'd better introduce myself completely."
Norton nodded agreement, somewhat in awe of this unprepossessing figure with the knowing attitude and hypnotic eyes. Lachesis walked to the center of the room. She shimmered—and in her place was an old woman. Her hair was gray and curly, her dress conservative—a long dark skirt, antique feminine boots, a frilly but unsuggestive blouse, and a small archaic hat. "Atropos," she announced, accenting it on the first syllable. "I cut the Thread of Life."
"I thought Death did that," Norton said, startled by more than one thing.
"Thanatos collects the souls. I determine when those souls will become available."
Norton nodded. He was not yet certain of the distinction, but did not feel ready to question it more closely. He had encountered Thanatos in the performance of his office and developed an abiding respect for that entity. In fact, it was really the example of Thanatos that had moved him to accept this perhaps-similar office of Chronos; Thanatos had shown that human concern and caring did not disappear, even in so awful a chore as taking the life of a baby. Death had stopped being a specter to Norton with that encounter.
Atropos whirled—and became Lachesis again, in her dowdy, middle-aged outfit, her suit helping mask her somewhat portly figure. Her hair was now free of the bun, longer than Atropos', with less curl and more color. "I am Lachesis," she announced, pronouncing it with a hard C, accented on the first syllable—LAK-e-sis. "I measure the length of the Threads of Life."
"I thought Chronos was supposed to—"
"Chronos controls time, not life," she corrected him.
Again this distinction was not fully clear to Norton; again he kept his mouth shut.
Lachesis made a little leap—and landed as a voluptuous, bouncy young woman whose hair was long, loose, and midnight black with stars sparkling in it. Her gown was low-cut in front and high-cut below, showing breast and thigh to advantage. She wore an intoxicating perfume. "And Clotho," she concluded, again accenting the first syllable. "Who spins the Thread of Human Life." She stretched a fine thread between her delicate hands.
Norton hoped his eyes hadn't popped too obviously when this creature appeared. "I thought maybe Nature—"
"Gaea determines the way things are," she said. "Not the courses of individual lives. But all the Incarnations interact to some extent." She gave him a sultry smile, aware of her impact on him. Had Gawain's second wife looked like this at the time he saw her, what might have happened?
"Are you really three people?" he asked. "You look quite different in each—"
"You may have heard it said," she said gravely, "that a woman is a young man's mistress—" She twirled so that her skirt flared, showing her thighs to a naughty height. "—a middle-aged man's companion—" She ceased her motion, and she was Lachesis again, sedate. "—and an old man's nurse." She shimmered into Atropos, who now wore a nurse's uniform and looked formidable. "It seems I am all three. Which are you?"
Norton was startled again. "Uh—middle, I suppose. At the moment."
Lachesis reappeared. "So I suspected. Now I am your companion, though I have been other to you in the past."
"I—you mean Clotho—in my future?" he asked awkwardly.
"Yes indeedy! You have not yet experienced what I remember." She grinned. "Naughty boy!"
Norton blushed to think of what he might be fated to do with Clotho that Lachesis already remembered so intimately. "I haven't yet gotten the hang of living backward," he confessed. "It seems quite awkward, especially when people, normal people, apparently don't see me at all."
"You can change that at will," she assured him. "The Hourglass is your emblem and your tool, and an excellent one it is."
"By willing the sand green?"
"That's it. That phases you in to the normal course. Didn't I tell you about that—or am I about to? You do that when you want to talk to a normal person or an Incarnation."
"So I can move to the beginning of my original life, almost forty years ago, turn the sand green, and live a normal term as an Incarnation?"
She smiled tolerantly. "Hardly, Chronos, for several reasons. First, that would fatigue the magic, and you'd lose cohesion in a few days; green mode is a short-term thing for you, as I understand it. Second, you have a job to do, and you can do it effectively only by living your normal course. Third, you aren't going to do that, even if you could; I ought to know." For an instant, sultry Clotho glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes.
Norton found that unnerving. If Clotho was also the old Atropos, which one of Fate's three minds was analyzing him as he performed what he supposed was private? All three of them had those disturbing eyes. A man who played games of any kind with one of these women was apt to become the object rather than the subject.
"No, you can't remember, can you!" she teased him. "Oh, I am enjoying this! After what you did to me in the halcyon bloom of my innocence—oh, yes!"
"My job," he said doggedly. "You said you'd tell me what I am supposed to do and how to do it."
She sighed with mock resignation. "Yes, you always were somewhat single-minded about that, and on the whole I believe you have done a decent job. Very well, I will start you off. You work most closely with me anyway." She paused as if organizing her thoughts. "It is the business of Chronos to establish the chronology of every event in the human section of the universe. Effect must always follow cause, age must follow youth, action
must usually follow thought. Evidently your backward existence facilitates such timings. Without Time, all would be without form and void."
"But I thought that was automatic!" Norton protested. "A function of the universe, the way things are!"
"Now you know better, Chronos. Nothing in the universe is happenstance; everything is determined by the sum of the fundamental forces. Your art is to fit it all together so neatly that it seems automatic. Timing is critical, and Chronos is responsible."
"But I'm only one person! I can't possibly keep track of every event in—in the human section of the universe!"
"You have a competent staff, of course. Your office personnel here in Purgatory handles the routine. Naturally, you don't do it all personally. This is the twenty-first century, after all! You make the major decisions, and your staff implements them immediately. A significant number of people remain in the annex here at the mansion, matching your time flow, so as to provide continuity. I'm sure your predecessor left you highly skilled and dedicated personnel, knowing the office would pretty much have to run itself while you got broken in. But you do have the authority now; if you choose to do something foolish like reversing the course of time for the whole world, your staff will dutifully arrange to put effect before cause and keep the rest consistent."
"I can do that? Reverse time for everyone?"
She nodded. "This is no minor office you hold, Chronos, as I have hinted. Your power is unique. But don't let that go to your head."
"I hope not!" He shook his head, trying to clear it, as if some of that power had already messed it up. "What, specifically, should I be doing now?"
"First, perhaps you should put away your Hourglass when you're not actively using it. That will free your hands."
"Yes. But I don't want the thing trailing me in space, either."
"I suppose it would do that, if you let it. The Hourglass is the symbol and essence of your office; it can never leave your presence. Not until you pass it along to the next or prior Chronos. But meanwhile, all you have to do is squeeze it down to size and put it in your pocket."
"I can do that?"
"Try it."
He tried it. He put his hands on the top and bottom of the Hourglass and squeezed; it compressed smoothly, becoming a smaller replica of itself, then collapsed into a mere disk. "It's not broken?"
"It is eternal. Impossible to break."
"But how can the sand—"
"As I understand it, the Hourglass has not actually changed its form, merely its presentation. Just as folding a paper does not change its real dimensions or the nature of the writing on it, the Hourglass retains all its properties. To it, your world has squeezed down to two dimensions. All is relative."
Norton shrugged, not trying to grasp that, and put the disk in his pocket. "Will it still work in that shape? I mean, if I will the sand to change color—?"
"It should. Your contact with it can never be severed, as I said, so it should respond to your directive."
"Anything else I should do?"
"I do have a few glitches to correct. I spin my threads carefully, but nothing in this cosmos is perfect, and sometimes they unravel. If you are ready to assume the harness, we can tackle them now."
"Just tell me what to do."
She conjured a tiny notebook from the air and riffled through the pages. "This one will do. Two threads got crossed, so that each person will experience the fate of the other. Since one is scheduled to suffer a grievous accident soon, that is an error of consequence." She closed the notebook and it vanished. Then she put her two hands together, fingers extended and splayed, and drew them apart. Several scintillating threads stretched between them. "Take me back to where they cross," she said.
"Wait! You said one person must suffer a grievous accident! Why allow that to happen? Why not make both threads smooth, both lives pleasant?"
She shook her head. "That is not the way the cosmos operates, Norton. We do not live in a simple or peaceful universe. The eddy currents of violence swirl constantly, and consequence follows consequence. If I attempted to simplify this particular life—which I could indeed accomplish—it would only lead to a greater mischief for other lives. God and Satan are at war—have been since time began—and the fallout from their strife is with us always. It is not for me to dictate on whom that fallout shall fall; it is only for me to mesh it properly. I am the servant, not the master—and so are you. We both must do what we must do, implementing the rules that exist."
Norton did not agree with that at all, but realized that he lacked a basis from which to argue. So he dropped it for the time being.
He peered at the threads she held between her spread fingers. Most went from finger to finger, but two were crossed. "How—?"
"This is analogy, of course," she said. "Or a convenient facsimile thereof. If I had the real crossing in my hands, I could unsnarl it here. You must take me to the actual space-time site."
"Yes, but—"
"Oh, I keep forgetting! You've never done this before. Very well—I will talk you through it, step by step. First orient your Glass."
"This?" Norton brought out the Hourglass and drew it back into shape. It remained functioning perfectly; the sand was still falling, and more of it had accumulated in the nether chamber.
"Yes, that. Expand its ambience to include me. You can tell by the brightness."
Confused, Norton willed the Hourglass: Expand ambience.
The glow intensified. Lachesis brightened, literally; she glowed like the Glass. "That's enough, Chronos. Ease off a little; you don't want to take your entire mansion with you."
He diminished his thought and the glow faded slightly.
"That's good. Hold it there. Now turn the sand blue—but only slightly, only briefly. We're going back just a little way."
He concentrated, and the sand shifted color, turning faintly blue.
"Now travel along the threads till we come to the crossing."
"How—?"
"Oops! Too far. Back up a bit."
He turned the sand ever so faintly pink. Suddenly he saw the threads between her fingers expand, perhaps in his mind's eye, until they were veritable cables. The Hourglass seemed to have become a cable car, cruising along the cables, carrying Norton and Lachesis with it. In the distance Norton could see other cables, extending from horizon to horizon. Then another cable closed with the first, and the two touched.
He concentrated, fading the pink almost to white, and the Hourglass coasted to a halt just at the crossing.
"Excellent," Lachesis said. "You're developing the touch already! Soon you'll be the expert I remember." She stepped forward, put her two hands on the cables, and lifted them apart. Norton was amazed by two things: first, her ability to separate such monstrous and solid cables so readily; and second, the fact that he knew these cables were mere threads stretched between her fingers. How could she do any of this?
"That's it," she said, returning. "You may revert us to normal now."
Norton relaxed—and abruptly the cables were gone and the two of them were back in the mansion in Purgatory. "That was it?" he asked dazedly.
"Yes. You did very well." She glanced at him appraisingly. "But I think this is enough for you now. Relax, explore your mansion, get acquainted with your household staff. I will return tomorrow, your time, so that we can wrap up the other snarls; none of them are as critical as this one was."
His tomorrow—her yesterday! "But I don't—"
"You'll find out." She changed form again, becoming a large spider. The spider shrank to normal spider size, ascended a thread, and disappeared. He realized that this was the type of thread he had taken to be a string when she brought him here from the empty lot. She traveled by threads.
Norton was alone again. He still had only the faintest notion of what he was supposed to do.
Chapter 6 - SATAN
As it turned out, he had no trouble. The household staff was well trained and polite and ready for the changeover.
Indeed, they acted as if they had been working for Norton himself for a long time. Lachesis had said time flowed backward here, which meant these people should be from the world's future, but now he wasn't so sure.
As soon as Norton stirred, the head butler made an appearance, ready to handle any emergency discreetly. Norton was treated to an excellent meal served by a pretty maid and shown the complete premises. Much more quickly than he expected, he felt at home. It was somewhat like staying at a good hotel, and somewhat like living at Gawain's estate.
Gawain's estate—where Orlene had been with him. Suddenly this was less enjoyable.
He learned that all these personnel were souls in Purgatory, here because they had been in perfect balance when they died. It was not a bad afterlife for them and not a good one. By definition, it was in between. Eventually, if they served well, they would graduate to Heaven—but it took much longer to accomplish this in Purgatory than it would have in life. Life was intense and leveraged, he remembered; the Afterlife was diffuse and relatively calm. At least this was the case in Purgatory; Norton could glean no information on what went on in Heaven or Hell. All he knew was that every soul wanted to go to the former, and no soul to the latter.
He was relaxing in the afternoon—day and night seemed to follow the normal course here, though he suspected this was artificially arranged—watching the holo unit—which was filled with news about the changeover in the office of Chronos—when he had a visitor.
"Who?" he asked the butler, not believing the announcement.
"Satan, sir," the man repeated calmly.
"I have no business with the Devil!"
"Shall I inform him you are indisposed, sir?"
But already curiosity was mixing with awe and horror. "I—can he do anything to me here?"
"No, sir. One Incarnation can not interfere with another without the other's consent, here or anywhere. Incarnations are inviolate, especially when in uniform."
"Uniform?"
"Your cloak, sir. It is a barrier of time, acting automatically against any physical threat."
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