Time

‘Sweet dreams, my lady.’

“What has gotten into you, Rheum?” Her Ladyship chuckles. “Thank you, anyway. See you tomorrow!”

She lies on her bed, with her head turned to face the pendant-ring with an hourglass on the table. To face me. She beams as she drifts into her dreams.

There is no ‘tomorrow’ for her.

I see her in the same bed the next day. She stares at me with dim eyes. Her beaming smile contorts, as if she were mid-sentence—not gasping, yet no words come out. Her lips turn purple first, then blue.

I sigh. This attempt has failed spectacularly. What has gone wrong this time? Was it the food? Something she said? A person she should not have met?

One minute left before Her Ladyship’s soul leaves the world, making her an empty husk. When she officially dies, I will die, too. Such is the fate of a familiar.

The hourglass trembles on the table. Judging from the glass surface, I’d say I have twenty-four more attempts.

Here we go again.

I flip myself inside the hourglass.

***

“Good morning, myself!” I hear Her Ladyship say to the mirror. “Time to bring out my best today, too!”

I watch my own flimsy reflection in the hourglass’s surface: grainy, full of colours, dry. I knock on the glass. The glass transfers the vibration, and Her Ladyship picks up the signal. It took us at least a century to reach an understanding, but that is the most efficient way for a lump of sand to communicate with his mistress.

“Rheum? What’s wrong?” The Time Witch stops combing her ginger hair and reaches for the hourglass. “Are you hungry? There are no volcanoes in Zurich, though. Wasn’t the last dinner only half a decade ago? It’s still too soon.”

‘Not that, Mistress,’ I say to her. When I say I say, of course I mean it as raking my granules across the glass. ‘Do you have something special today?’

Even after a century, Her Ladyship still needs some time to interpret what the screech means. Her current success rate is ninety-five percent. By comparison, the highest rate for a Time Witch with a phoenix familiar stands at seventy.

“They have a special discount at the book stall today!” Her Ladyship says gleefully. “I was afraid that I had missed the discount, but only last night did I realize I’d got the day wrong!”

As I said, ninety-five percent.

“Fancy a new book, Rheum? My, erm, associate in Swiss Federal Polytechnic can put me in touch with the Department of Geology. They certainly have an ample collection of dunes—yes?”

She most certainly retains her old assumption that we sandmen have an obsession with dunes. I spin my body to convey urgency. ‘What is your plan today?’ is the softest interpretation. The harsher rendition would be, ‘How different is today, Witch, that you shelve your usual self-deprecation and tell yourself to bring out your best. Whose murder will you prevent?’

“Let’s see…” Her Ladyship’s eyes wander. “Breakfast, then the discount book stall, then the Polytechnic. If time allows, I'll probably visit the String Witch. It has been half a century or so. Then, in the night, a grave visit.”

Grave visit. String Witch. Book discount. So many ominous ways to die.

‘Can I come with you?’ I rap the glass.

Her Ladyship tilts her head. “But of course.”

‘What’s with the smile?’

“Hmm?” Her Ladyship fakes a frown. “I am not smiling. Alright, I was smiling. It’s just that you usually don’t care how a Time Witch works.”

‘Even today, you have work?’

“Teaching history to the younger generation is important these days,” she replies. “That, and I need the salary—”

‘TIME WITCH work,’ I clarified myself by making a loud sand-popping sound.

“Oh, absolutely.” She grins. “That’s why you should come along more often when I do my other work, Rheum. Don’t you sense it?”

‘First, my abode is too conspicuous and you’ll be hunted as the witch. Second, sense what?’

But then, I understand what she means. Time-sensitive beings like me can access the fourth dimension, which is time. It is, in human terms, akin to feeling the air warm before spring arrives. I haven’t noticed it before, but this is when a Time Witch is put to work: when time stands on a crossroad.

“Humankind is about to learn the nature of time,” the Time Witch finishes.

***

The rest of the day goes… oddly smoothly. Partly because Her Ladyship keeps me inside her velvet bag all the time. Her plans this morning weren’t lies, but she rearranged most of them. She visits the book stall first, then the Polytechnic. The grave visit comes earlier, in the afternoon. Judging by the oily taste of the air and the gloom that hangs over her, I think she meets the String Witch there.

When she finally eats her breakfast on a street bench, the sun is already so low in the west.

‘Don’t eat it!’

“What? Oh.” The Time Witch looks up from her bag to her day-old Lachsbrotli—smoked fish sandwich. She finally realizes what I have seen: triple dots of mould. “You want the fish because it has a high amount of salt, Rheum?”

‘Mould. Poison. Die.’

I’m leaving out the fact that I probably threw in a few swear words as well.

“Language, Rheum!” Her face flushes. “Alright, perhaps I’ll try the leftover fish at the market…”

‘Biscuit,’ I say to her menacingly.

“Economical, much?” Her Ladyship sighs, and out of fond exasperation and hunger, she doesn’t argue. “Fine, biscuit it is. But I still want something salty tomorrow.”

‘Tomorrow…’

Without thinking, I spin myself inside the hourglass. Strangely, Her Ladyship picks that up.

“Yes, tomorrow.” She gives me a smile. One I have seen so often, in her life and in her deaths. “I will become human soon, Rheum. When tomorrow ends, I will release you.”

Release me. It sounds more tempting than a meal of Krakatoa soot.

‘Tomorrow,’ I repeat.

We go straight home, and the rest of the night is uneventful, apart from two tins of biscuit she eats to make up for her missed breakfast. The smile remains as she sleeps.

‘Sweet dreams, my lady.’

Too tired from today, she gives no reply.

Then the next day, she fails to release me. The same blue lips. The ring finger, now bearing a ring, twitches. The lifeless eyes. She dies again.

I sigh. If I had hands, I would bury myself in my palms. I flip the hourglass once more.

Twenty-three attempts left.

“Good morning, Rheum!” Her Ladyship greets me, rubbing her eyes. “No usual complaints? Why are you staring at me like that?”

She may be air-headed, but Her Ladyship notices exasperation.

“I snored, huh?” she continues, moving her hand to her mouth. She makes a face as if she were remembering something embarrassing. “I didn’t sleep-talk, did I?”

‘No, you didn’t.’ I whir inside the hourglass. ‘Sunday today. Don’t you want to sleep in?’

She grimaces. “No,” she says, and the flustered reaction returns. “No, I can’t miss today.”

I scratch my own granules. ‘I suppose there is no way to convince you?’

She purses her lips. “No way. Though I take it that you are concerned.”

‘No,’ I say truthfully, ‘but with human history beginning to turn, I feel restless.’

“Just say you feel lonely.” Her Ladyship pokes the glass. Her giggle is cut short. “Have I ever told you about time changing? Odd. I usually remember every conversation about timekeeping.”

‘Please stop poking the glass.’ I push her finger from the other side, pretending to be flustered about something else. ‘And please, have some breakfast first.’

She squints, but then decides not to press the point. “What else can a witch do when her familiar acts sweet like that?”

‘Not dying, probably,’ I say.

“What was that?” She turns back.

‘I said, not drying. Be careful with your dirty clothes. The humidity might seep—’

“And kill you,” Her Ladyship finishes. She moved her laundry further from the table. “Aaaand done. Sorry to leave you. I will introduce him to you later. See you tomorrow, Rheum!”

There she goes. Then she returns. Time-sensitive beings like me move through time as we please. The change of day and night is something like a breeze.

Her Ladyship’s eyes are glassy. She peers into the hourglass and brushes her ring. She forces a smile.

“Rheum,” she rasps, “I will release you tomorrow. Hold on until sunset.”

Then another smile, more tender, replaces the fake one. I rap the glass, trying to get her attention, but Her Ladyship barricades herself with the dirty laundry. I can only see her back shaking as she sleeps.

The next morning, her back stops moving. Her soul moves out of her body.

I turn the hourglass. Twenty-two attempts left.

“Good morning, myself!” Her Ladyship greets the mirror. “Joyful day today! Did you say something, Rheum?”

‘Visit the grave earlier, my lady. You mentioned your plan yesterday.’ The last bit is added hastily.

She raises an eyebrow, but eventually she says, “Okay! See you tomorrow!”

Then, the next day, she dies. I turn once more. Twenty-one attempts left.

‘My lady. Perhaps I’d like that book about dunes anyway.’

“Your wish is my command! Haha… not funny? But okay! See you tomorrow!”

She dies. Twenty attempts left.

“Rheum! Having a bad dream?”

‘I blow away bad dreams, mind you. The screw in the pendant has come loose. Perhaps, add a smith in your itinerary?’

She blinks. “After the Polytechnic, I will fetch you. It’s a promise. See you!”

Her Ladyship is late. She apologizes as she cries herself to sleep. Then she dies. I turn. Nineteen left.

‘Maybe skip the String Witch?’

“Sure thing!”

She dies anyway. I sigh. I turn. Eighteen left.

‘Yes, yes, good morning, my lady. Consider buying extra sandwiches for the Polytechnic students?’

She dies. Seventeen times left.

“I spilled the water on the table! Don’t dissolve! Rheum!”

Not wanting to die, I turn. Sixteen times left.

‘Why would you want to visit the Memory Witch’s grave again?’

She visits anyway. Then she dies in the morning. Fifteen remained.

“Rheum!”

Fourteen left.

‘Why so eager for the Polytechnic when you wield time magic?’

She says it’s a surprise for tomorrow. Then she dies. Thirteen.

“The bookstore’s awning fell on my head. I think I need to lie down for a while… See you tomorrow, Rheum.”

Of course she dies. Twelve.

‘Answer me. Who is this ‘he’ that you want to introduce to me?’

Colour rises to her cheeks. Then the next day her cheeks lose colour. Eleven.

“Good morning—”

‘My lady, why the sudden mention of your true name?’

“Talk to you later!”

She does not talk the next day. I sigh.

“Good morning…”

Ten attempts left. The Time Witch sits on the bed, staring at a drop of red upon her white nightgown. She looks up at me, her nose bleeding. She ignores the blood and picks up the hourglass.

“Rheum,” she says, with a smile that indicates she is furious. “How many ‘todays’ has it been?”