Thief of Time - Sweeper

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.

'I wonder, I wonder, I wonder, then, if you would be so kind, er, then, er, to-'

'Happy to, sir.' Lu-Tze swung round. '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 honoured.'

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 into the chief acolyte's ear.

He 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.'

***

The Thief of Time - p352-355