Hearing, perhaps, a strange accent, a man emerged from the shadowy doorway of the tavern and, tankard in hand, stood looking down at the Scar-faced Brooder, an amiable expression on his face.
'Where are you from, traveller?' he asked.
The Brooder told him and the Barbartian seemed surprised.
He seated himself on another bench.
'You are the second visitor from strange parts we have had here in a week. The other was an emissary from Moon. They have changed much, those Moonites, you know. Tall, they are, and thin as a frond with aesthetic faces. They dress in cloth of metal. He told us he had sailed space for many weeks to reach us… '
At this second reference to the unfamiliar word ' week', the Brooder turned his head to look at the Barbartian. ' Forgive me,' he said,' but as a stranger I am curious at certain words I have heard here. What would you mean by " week " exactly?'
'Why - a week - seven days - what else?'
The Brooder laughed apologetically. 'There you are, you see. Another word - days. What is a days?'
The Barbartian scratched his head, a wry expression on his face. He was a middle-aged man with a slight stoop, dressed in a robe of yellow cloth. He put down his tankard and raised his hand. ' Come with me and I will do my best to show you.'
'That would please me greatly,' said the Brooder gratefully.
He finished his wine and called for the girl. When she appeared he asked her to take care of his steed and to make him up a bed since he would be staying through the next darkness.
The Barbartian introduced himself as Mokof, took the Brooder's arm and led him through the series of squares, triangles and circles formed by the buildings, to come at length to the great central plaza and stare up at the pulsing, monstrous machine of burnished bronze.
'This machine supplies the-city with its life,' Mokof informed him.' And also regulates our lives.' He pointed at the disc which the Brooder had noted earlier. ' Do you know what that is, my friend?'
'No. I am afraid I do not. Could you explain?'
'It's a clock. It measures the hours of the day,' he broke off, noting the Brooder's puzzlement. ' That is to say it measures time.'
'Ah! I am with you at last. But a strange device, surely, for it cannot measure a great deal of time with that little circular dial. How does it note the flow…?'
'We call a period of sunlight" day " and a period of darkness " night." We divide each into twelve hours - '
'Then the period of sunlight and the period of darkness are equal? I had thought… '
'No, we call them equal for convenience, since they vary.
The twelve divisions are called hours. When the hands reach twelve, they begin to count around again… '
'Fantastic!' the Brooder was astounded. 'You mean you recycle the same period of time round and round again. A marvellous idea. Wonderful! I had not thought it possible.'
'Not exactly,' Mokof said patiently. 'However, the hours are divided into sixty units. These are called minutes. The minutes are also divided into sixty units, each unit is called a second. The seconds are… '
'Stop! Stop! I am confounded, bewildered, dazzled! How do you control the flow of time that you can thus manipulate it at will? You must tell me. The Chronarch in Lanjis Liho would be overawed to learn of your discoveries!'
'You fail to understand, my friend. We do not control time.
If anything, it controls us. We simply measure it.'
'You don't control… but if that's so why-?' The Brooder broke off, unable to see the logic of the Barbartian's words.
'You tell me you recycle a given period of time which you divided into twelve. And yet you then tell me you recycle a shorter period and then an even shorter period. It would soon become apparent if this were true, for you would be performing the same action over and over again and I see you are not. Or, if you were using the same time without being in its power, the sun would cease to move across the sky and I see it still moves. Given that you can release yourself from the influence of time, why am I not conscious of it since that instrument,' he pointed at the dock, ' exerts its influence over the entire city.
Or, again, if it is a natural talent, why are we in Lanjis Liho so busily concerned with categorizing and investigating our researches into the flow if you have mastered it so completely?'
A broad smile crossed the face of Mokof. He shook his head.
'I told you-we have no mastery over it. The instrument merely tells us what time it is.'
'That is ridiculous,' the Brooder said, dazed. His brain fought to retain its sanity. ' There is only the present. Your words are illogical!'
Mokof stared at his face in concern. ' Are you unwell?'
'I'm well enough. Thank you for the trouble you have taken, I will return to the tavern now, before I lose all hold of sanity!'
The clutter in his head was too much. Mokof made a statement and then denied it in the same breath. He decided he would cogitate it over a meal.
When he reached the tavern he found the door closed and no amount of banging could get those inside to open it. He noticed that his saddle and saddle-bags were resting outside and he knew he had some food in one of the bags, so he sat on the bench and began to munch on a large hunk of bread.
Suddenly, from above him, he heard a cry and looking up he saw an old woman's head regarding him from a top-storey window.
'Ah!' she cried.' Aah! What are you doing?'
'Why, eating this piece of bread, madame,' he said in surprise.
'Filthy!' she shrieked.' Filthy, immoral pig!'
'Really, I fail to - '
'Watch! Watch!' the old woman cried from the window, Very swiftly, three armed men came running into the plaza.
They screwed up their faces in disgust when they saw the Scarfaced Brooder.
'A disgusting exhibitionist as well as a pervert!' said the leader.
They seized the startled Brooder.
'What's happening?' he gasped. ' What have I done?'
'Ask the judge,' snarled one of his captors and they hauled him towards the central plaza and took him to a tall house which appeared to be their headquarters.
There he was flung into a cell and they went away.
An overdressed youth in the next cell said with a grin: ' Greetings, stranger. What's your offence?" 'I have no idea,' said the Brooder. ' I merely sat down to have my lunch when, all at once… '
'Your lunch? But it is not lunch-time for another ten minutes!'
'Lunch-time. You mean you set aside a special period to eat oh, this is too much for me.'
The overdressed youth drew away from the bars and went to the other side of his cell, his nose wrinkling in disgust.' Ugh -you deserve the maximum penalty for a crime like that!"
Sadly puzzled, the Brooder sat down on his bench, completely mystified and hopeless. Evidently the strange customs of these people were connected with their clock which seemed to be a virtual deity to them. If the hands did not point to a certain figure when you did something, then that act became an offence. He wondered what the maximum penalty would be.
Very much later, the guards came to him and made him walk through a series of corridors and into a room where a man in a long purple gown wearing a metallic mask was seated at a carved table. The guards made the Brooder sit before the man and then they went and stood by the door.
The masked man said in a sonorous voice: ' You have been accused of eating outside the proper hour and of doing it in a public place for all to see. A serious charge. What is your defence?'
'Only that I am a stranger and do not understand your customs,' said the Brooder.
'A poor excuse. Where are you from?'
'From Lanjis Liho by the sea.'
'I have heard rumours of the immoralities practised there.
You will learn that you cannot bring your filthy habits to another city and hope to continue with them. I will be lenient with you, however and sentence you to one year in the antique mines.'