Time was something that largely happened to other people he viewed it in the same way that people on the shore viewed the sea. His broom leaned against the hedge.Ībove him, looming over the temple gardens, the big stone statue of Wen the Eternally Surprised sat with its face locked in its permanent wide-eyed expression of, yes, pleasant surprise.Īs a hobby, mountains appeal to those people who in normal circumstances are said to have a great deal of time on their hands. Lu-Tze the sweeper was in his Garden of Five Surprises, carefully cultivating his mountains. He was beginning to feel quite at home already.
Obviously, he reasoned, if sticking screws up your nose was madness, then numbering them and keeping them in careful compartments was sanity, which was the opposite. He’d worked for a number of … well, the world called them madmen, and he’d worked for several normal people, in that they only indulged in minor and socially acceptable insanities, but he couldn’t recall ever working for a completely sane person. Igor had never worked for a sane person before. Admittedly it was from the Acid Bath and Restraint Co., in Ugli, and the colour it splashed was mostly red, but at least it showed some recognition of a world outside the four walls. This was surprising - even Dribbling Doctor Vibes had had a calendar on the wall, which added a splash of colour. They were bare, except for the shelves of clocks. There was not a speck of dust on them the files, hammers and pliers were ranged according to size, and the items on the work bench were positioned with geometrical exactitude. ‘I’ll be down shortly,’ he said, and hurried up the stairs. Jeremy clutched at his damp dressing gown. ‘I’ll jutht go and make thome breakfatht, thall I? While you get drethed … marthter.’
‘I’ve actually got a piece of paper that says I’m not, you know.’ ‘I’ve got a new commission, but I’m not sure how … anyway, I’m not insane!’ ‘I’m not sure I’ve got any work for you, though,’ he said. Until now, Jeremy’s definition of ‘people’ had not included anyone with more stitches than a handbag. Perhaps it was because it was hard to think of Igor as coming under the heading of people. He’d never been very good at talking to people, and this, apart from Lady LeJean and a wrangle with Mr Soak over an unwanted cheese, was the longest conversation he’d had for a year. Jeremy was completely baffled as to his next move. ‘It would be a funny old world if we were all alike, thur.’ That ith the Code of the Igorth, thur,’ he added patiently. Well, he did have hith little wayth, I mutht admit, but an Igor never patheth judgement on hith marthter or mithtreth, thur. ‘Er, would you believe he ran a kebab thop, thur?’
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