Soto picked up the bowl and set off through the network of alleys back to his base. He didn't bother much about concealment now; Lu-Tze's time in the city had been a process of accelerated education for many citizens of the lurking variety. The people of Ankh-Morpork knew all about Rule One.
At least, they had known until now. Three figures lurched out of the dark, and one of them swung a heavy cleaver which would have connected with Soto's head if he hadn't ducked.
He was used to this sort of thing, of course. There was always the occasional slow learner, but they presented no peril that a neat slice couldn't handle.
He straightened up, ready to ease his way out of there, and a thick lock of black hair fell onto his shoulder, slithered down his robe and flopped onto the ground. It made barely a sound, but the expression on his face as Soto looked down and then up at his attackers made them draw back.
He could see, through the blood-red rage, that they all wore stained grey clothes and looked even crazier than the usual alley people; they looked like accountants gone mad.
One of them reached out towards the begging bowl.
Everyone has a conditional clause in their life, some little unspoken addition to the rules like “except when I really need to” or “unless no one is looking” or, indeed, “unless the first one was nougat”. Soto had for centuries embraced a belief in the sanctity of all life and the ultimate uselessness of violence, but his personal conditional clause was “but not the hair. No one touches the hair, okay?”
Even so, everyone ought to have a chance.
The attackers recoiled as he threw the bowl against the wall, where the hidden blades buried themselves in the woodwork.
Then it began to tick.
Solo ran back down the alley, skidded round the corner and then shouted, “Duck!”
Unfortunately for the Auditors, alas, he was just a tiny, tiny fraction of a second too late—
Tick
Lu-Tze was in his Garden of Five Surprises when the air sparkled and fragmented and swirled into a shape in front of him.
He looked up from his ministrations to the yodelling stick insect, who'd been off its food.
Lobsang stood on the path. The boy was wearing a black robe dotted with stars, which blew and rattled its rags around him on this windless morning as if he was standing in the centre of a gale. Which, Lu-Tze supposed, he more or less was.
“Back again, wonder boy?” said the sweeper.
“In a way, I never leave,” said Lobsang. “Things have gone well with you?”
“Don't you know?”
“I could. But part of me has to do this the traditional way.”
“Well, the abbot is mighty suspicious and there's some amazing rumours flying around the place. I didn't say much. What do I know about anything? I'm just a sweeper.”
With that, Lu-Tze turned his attention to the sick insect. He'd counted to four under his breath before Lobsang said: “Please? I have to know. I believe that the fifth surprise is you. Am I right?”
Lu-Tze cocked his head. A low noise, which he'd heard for so long he no longer consciously heard it, had changed its tone.
“The spinners are all winding out,” he said. “They know you're here, lad.”
“I shall not be here long, Sweeper. Please?”
“You just want to know my little surprise?”
“Yes. I know nearly everything else,” said Lobsang.
“But you are Time. What I tell you in the future you'll know now, right?”
“But I'm partly human. I want to stay partly human. That means doings things the right way round. Please?”
Lu-Tze sighed and looked for a while down the avenue of cherry blossom.
“When the pupil can beat the master, there is nothing the master cannot tell him,” he said. “Remember?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. The Iron Dojo should be free.”
Lobsang looked surprised. “Uh, the Iron Dojo… Isn't that the one with all the sharp spikes in the walls?”
“And the ceiling, yes. The one that's like being inside a giant porcupine turned inside out.”
Lobsang looked horrified. “But that's not for practice! The rules say—”
“That's the one,” said Lu-Tze. “And I say we use it.”
“Oh.”
“Good. No argument,” said Lu-Tze. “This way, lad.”
Blossom cascaded from the trees as they passed. They entered the monastery, and took the same route they'd taken once before. This brought them into the Hall of the Mandala, and the sand rose like a dog welcoming its master and spiralled in the air far below Lobsang's sandals. Lu-Tze heard the shouts of the attendants behind him.
News like this spread throughout the valley like ink in water. Hundreds of monks, apprentices and sweepers were trailing the pair as they crossed the inner courtyards, like the tail of a comet.
Above them, all the time, petals of cherry blossom fell like snow. At last Lu-Tze reached the high, round metal door of the Iron Dojo. The clasp of the door was fifteen feet up. No one who did not belong there was supposed to open the door of the dojo.
The sweeper nodded at his former apprentice.
“You do it,” he said. “I can't.”
Lobsang glanced at him, and then looked up at the high clasp. Then he pressed a hand against the iron.
Rust spread under his fingers. Red stains spread out across the ancient metal. The door began to creak, and then to crumble. Lu-Tze prodded it with an experimental finger, and a slab of biscuit-strong metal fell out and collapsed on the flagstones.
“Very impress—” he began. A squeaky rubber elephant bounced off his head.
“Bikkit!”
The crowd parted. The chief acolyte ran forward, carrying the abbot.
“What is the wanna bikkit BIKKIT meaning of this? Who is wozza funny man this person, Sweeper? The spinners are dancing in their hall!”
Lu-Tze bowed.
“He is Time, Reverend One, as you have suspected,” he said. Still bent in the bow, he looked up and sideways at Lobsang.
“Bow!” he hissed.
Lobsang looked puzzled. “I should bow even now?” he said.
“Bow, you little stonga, or I shall teach you such discipline! Show deserved respect! You are still my apprentice until I give you leave!”
Shocked, Lobsang bowed.
“And why do you visit us in our timeless valley?” said the abbot.
“Tell the abbot!” Lu-Tze snapped.
“I… I wish to learn the Fifth Surprise,” said Lobsang.
“—Reverend One—” said Lu-Tze.
“—Reverend One,” Lobsang finished.
“You visit us just to learn of our clever sweeper's fancies?” said the abbot.
“Yes, er, Reverend One.”
“Of all the things Time could be doing, you wish to see an old man's trick? Bikkit!”
“Yes, Reverend One.” The monks stared at Lobsang. His robe still fluttered this way and that in the teeth of the intangible gale, the stars glinting when they caught the light.
The abbot smiled a cherubic smile. “So should we all,” he said. “None of us has ever seen it, I believe. None of us has ever been able to wheedle it out of him. But… this is the Iron Dojo. It has rules! Two may walk in, but only one can walk out! This is no practice dojo! Wanna 'lephant! Do you understand?”
“But I don't want—” Lobsang began, and the sweeper jerked an elbow into his ribs.
“You say ‘Yes, Reverend One,’” he growled.
“But I never intended—”
This time the back of his head was slapped.
“This is no time to step back!” Lu-Tze said. “You're too late, wonder boy!” He nodded to the abbot. “My apprentice understands, Reverend One.”
“Your apprentice, Sweeper?”
“Oh, yes, Reverend One,” said Lu-Tze. “My apprentice. Until I say otherwise.”
“Really? Bikkit! Then he may enter. You too, Lu-Tze.”
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“But I only meant to—” Lobsang protested.
“Inside!” Lu-Tze roared. “Will you shame me? Shall people think I have taught you nothing?”
The inside of the Iron Dojo was, indeed, a darkened dome full of spikes. They were needle thin and there were tens of thousands of them covering the nightmare walls.
“Who would build something like this?” said Lobsang, looking up at the glistening points that covered even the ceiling.
“It teaches the virtues of stealth and discipline,” said Lu-Tze, cracking his knuckles. “Impetuosity and speed can be as dangerous to the attacker as to the attacked, as perhaps you will learn. One condition: we are all human here? Agreed?”
“Of course, Sweeper. We are all human here.”
“And shall we agree: no tricks?”
“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 mid-air. “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 is it the right time now?”
“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 spectacles, glued above a big pink nose, and finished with a heavy black moustache.
He put it on and waggled 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 waggled his ears again, and then waggled 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 curriculum vitae, if you catch my meaning. Def'nitely give the o'l 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, 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 travelled 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 current 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 at 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 manically.
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