Thief of 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.”
    S O…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.
    B UT IT NO LONGER EXISTS IN THE PLACE WHERE IT SHOULD EXIST.
    “No. It should, now, exist here. The math is easy,” said Chaos.
    A H? W ELL, MATHS …said Death, dismissively. G ENERALLY 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.”
    R EALLY?
    “Indeed.”
    I T MIGHT BE BEST, said Death, I F NEWS LIKE THAT DID NOT GET ABOUT.
    He walked back to where Unity was waiting in the darkness.
    Y OU 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.”
    Y ES. I THOUGHT SO.
    “Well, it’s been fun…up to that point, anyway. And now, I must be off,” said Chaos.
    Y OU’RE CONTINUING WITH THE MILK ROUND ?
    “People rely on me.”
    Death looked impressed.
    I T’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?”
    J UST IN CASE.
    “Ah.”
    Y ES.
    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.
    Y ES, said Death. T HIS 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 difficut 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.
    Maybe, she thought, that was a normal family state in any case. When push came to shove—thank you, Mrs. Ogg, she’d always remember that phrase now—they’d rely on each other automatically, without a thought. Apart from that, they kept out of one another’s