Thief of Time by Terry Pratchett Page A

THAT. WHY LOOK SURPRISED ? I S IT NOT WELL KNOWN THAT GODS DO THIS SORT OF THING ALL THE TIME?
    “Gods, yes, but people like you—”
    P EOPLE LIKE US ARE STILL LIKE PEOPLE…
    Susan did an unusual thing and listened. That’s not an easy task for a teacher.
    S USAN, YOU WILL KNOW THAT WE WHO ARE…OUTSIDE OF HUMANITY—
    “I’m not outside humanity,” said Susan sharply. “I just have a few…extra talents.”
    I DID NOT MEAN YOU, OF COURSE. I MEANT THE OTHERS WHO ARE NOT HUMAN AND YET PART OF ITS UNIVERSE—WAR, AND DESTINY, AND PESTILENCE, AND THE REST OF US—WE ARE ENVISAGED AS HUMAN BY HUMANS AND THUS, IN VARIOUS FASHIONS, WE TAKE ON SOME ASPECTS OF HUMANITY. I T CAN BE NO OTHER WAY, EVEN OUR VERY BODY SHAPE FORCES UPON OUR MINDS A CERTAIN WAY OF OBSERVING THE UNIVERSE. W E PICK UP HUMAN TRAITS…CURIOSITY, ANGER, RESTLESSNESS…
    “This is basic stuff, Grandfather.”
    Y ES . A ND YOU KNOW, THEREFORE, THAT SOME OF US…TAKE AN INTEREST IN HUMANITY.
    “I know. I am one of the results .”
    Y ES. E R…AND SOME OF US TAKE AN INTEREST WHICH IS, ER, MORE…
    “Interesting?” …PERSONAL . A ND YOU HAVE HEARD ME SPEAK OF THE…PERSONIFICATION OF TIME…
    “You didn’t tell me much. She lives in a palace of glass, you once said.” Susan felt a small, shameful, and yet curiously satisfying sensation in seeing Death discomforted. He looked like someone who was being forced to reveal a skeleton in the closet.
    Y ES. E R…SHE FELL IN LOVE WITH A HUMAN…
    “How very roman tick ,” said Susan, inserting the k. Now she was being childishly perverse, she knew, but life as Death’s granddaughter was not easy and just occasionally she had the irresistible urge to annoy.
    A H . A PUN, OR PLAY ON WORDS, said Death wearily, ALTHOUGH I SUSPECT YOU WERE MERELY TRYING TO BE TIRESOME.
    “Well, that sort of thing used to happen a lot in antiquity, didn’t it?” said Susan. “Poets were always falling in love with moonlight, or hyacinths, or something, and goddesses were forever—”
    B UT THIS WAS REAL, said Death.
    “How real do you mean?”
    T IME HAD A SON.
    “How could—”
    T IME HAD A SON. S OMEONE MOSTLY MORTAL. S OMEONE LIKE YOU.
    Tick
    A member of the Clockmakers’ Guild called on Jeremy once a week. It was nothing formal. In any case there wasoften some work for him to do, or some results to be collected, because whatever else you might say about him, the boy had a genius for clocks.
    Informally, the visit was also a delicate way to make sure that the lad was taking his medicine and wasn’t noticeably crazy.
    The clockmakers were well aware that the intricate mechanisms of the human brain could occasionally throw a screw. The guild’s members tended to be meticulous people, always in pursuit of an inhuman accuracy, and this took its toll. It could cause problems. Springs were not the only things that got wound up. The guild committee were, by and large, kind and understanding men. They were not, on the whole, men accustomed to guile.
    Dr. Hopkins, the guild’s secretary, was surprised when the door of the shop was opened by a man who appeared to have survived a very serious accident.
    “Er…I’m here to see Mr. Jeremy,” he managed.
    “Yeth, sir. The marthter ith in, thur.”
    “And you, mm, are…?”
    “Igor, thur. Mr. Jeremy wath kind enough to take me on, thur.”
    “You work for him?” said Dr. Hopkins, looking Igor up and down.
    “Yeth, thur.”
    “Mm…have you been standing too close to any dangerous machinery?”
    “ No , thur. He is in the workshop, thur.”
    “Mr. Igor?” said Dr. Hopkins, as he was ushered into the shop, “you do know that Mr. Jeremy has to take medicine, don’t you?”
    “Yeth, thur. He mentionth it often.”
    “And he, mm, his general health is…?”
    “Good, thur. He ith enthuthiathtic for hith work, thur. Bright-eyed and buthy-tailed.”
    “Buthy-tailed, eh?” said Dr. Hopkins weakly. “Mm…Mr. Jeremy doesn’t usually keep servants. I’m afraid