The 13 Clocks

Ride close together. Remember laughter. You'll need it even in the blessed isles of Ever After.

Time is for dragonflies and angels. The former live too little and the latter live too long.

I can feel a thing I cannot touch and touch a thing I cannot feel. The first is sad and sorry, the second is your heart.

I make mistakes, but I am on the side of Good," the Golux said, "by accident and happenchance. I had high hopes of being Evil when I was two, but in my youth I came upon a firefly burning in a spider's web. I saved the victim's life.""The firefly's ?" said the minstrel."The spider's. The blinking arsonist had set the web on fire.

The brambles and the thorns grew thick and thicker in a ticking thicket of bickering crickets. Farther along and stronger, bonged the gongs of a throng of frogs, green and vivid on their lily pads. From the sky came the crying of flies, and the pilgrims leaped over a bleating sheep creeping knee-deep in a sleepy stream, in which swift and slippery snakes slid and slithered silkily, whispering sinful secrets.

Time lies frozen there. It's always Then. It's never Now.

What would you do without me? Say 'nothing.'""Nothing," said the Prince."Good. Then you're helpless and I'll help you.

You mere device," he gnarled. "You platitude! Your Gollux ex machina!

Half the places I have been to, never were. I make things up. Half the things I say are there cannot be found. When I was young I told a tale of buried gold, and men from leagues around dug in the woods. I dug myself.""But why?""I thought the tale of treasure might be true.""You said you made it up.""I know I did, but then I didn't know I had. I forget things, too.

I am the Golux, the only Golux in the world and not a mere device

I can do a score of things that can’t be done.I can find a thing I can’t see, and I see a thing I can’t find.The first is time, and the second is a spot before my eyes.I can feel a thing I cannot touch, and I touch a thing I cannot feel.The first is sad and sorry, and the second is your heart.What would you do without me? Say “nothing”.

There was an old coddle so molly,He talked in a glot that was poly,His gaws were so gewThat his laps became dew,And he ate only pops that were lolly.

The cold Duke was afraid of Now, for Now has warmth and urgency, and Then is dead and buried.

Once upon a time, in a gloomy castle on a lonely hill, where there were thirteen clocks that wouldn't go, there lived a cold, aggressive Duke, and his niece, the Princess Saralinda. She was warm in every wind and weather, but he was always cold. His hands were as cold as his smile and almost as cold as his heart. He wore gloves when he was asleep, and he wore gloves when he was awake, which made if difficult for him to pick up pins or coins or the kernels of nuts, or to tear the wings from nightingales. He was six feet four, and forty-six, and even colder than he thought he was.

They've got him!" squealed the Duke. "Eleven men to one!""You may have heard of Galahad," said Hark, "whose strength was as the strength of ten.""That leaves one man to get him," cried the Duke.

Something very much like nothing anyone had ever seen before came trotting down the stairs and crossed the room."What is that?" the Duke asked, palely."I don't know what it is," said Hark, "but it's the only one there ever was.

A dehoy who was terribly hobble,Cast only stones that were cobbleAnd bats that were ding,From a shot that was sling,But never hit inks that were bobble.

The Princess Saralinda was tall, with freesias in her dark hair, and she wore serenity brightly like the rainbow. It was not easy to tell her mouth from the rose, or her brow from the white lilac. Her voice was faraway music, and her eyes were candles burning on a tranquil night. She moved across the room like wind in violets, and her laughter sparkled on the air, which, from her presence, gained a faint and undreamed fragrance. The Prince was frozen by her beauty, but not cold, and the Duke, who was cold but not frozen, held up the palms of his gloves, as if she were a fire at which to warm his hands.

We all have flaws," he said, "and mine is being wicked.

The oyster is a blob of glup, but a woman is a woman.

You'll never live to wed his niece. You'll only die to feed his geese.

When I was a young writer, I liked to imagine that I was paying someone for every word I wrote, rather than being paid for it; it was a fine way to discipline myself to use only those words I needed.

There was a smell, the Golux thought, a little like Forever in the air, but mixed with something faint and less enduring, possibly the fragrance of a flower.

The Duke is lamer than I am old, and I am shorter than he is cold, but it comes to you with some surprise that I am wiser than he is wise.

A soft finger touched his shoulder and he turned to see a little man smiling in the moonlight. He wore an indescribable hat, his eyes were wide and astonished, as if everything were happening for the first time, and he had a dark describable beard.

It’s an agent of the devil, sent to punish evildoers for having done less evil than they should.

He would say to a suitor, “What is the difference in the length of my legs?” and if the youth replied, “Why, one is shorter than the other,” the Duke would run him through with the sword he carried in his swordcane and feed him to the geese. The suitor was supposed to say, “Why, one is longer than the other.

Never trust a spy you cannot see. The Duke is lamer than I am old, and I am shorter than he is cold, but it comes to you with some surprise that I am wiser than he is wise.

NCE upon a time, in a gloomy castle on a lonely hill, where there were thirteen clocks that wouldn’t go, there lived a cold, aggressive Duke, and his niece, the Princess Saralinda. She was warm in every wind and weather, but he was always cold. His hands were as cold as his smile and almost as cold as his heart. He wore gloves when he was asleep, and he wore gloves when he was awake, which made it difficult for him to pick up pins or coins or the kernels of nuts, or to tear the wings from nightingales. He was six feet four, and forty-six, and even colder than he thought he was. One eye wore a velvet patch; the other glittered through a monocle, which made half his body seem closer to you than the other half. He had lost one eye when he was twelve, for he was fond of peering into nests and lairs in search of birds and animals to maul. One afternoon, a mother shrike had mauled him first. His nights were spent in evil dreams, and his days were given to wicked schemes. Wickedly scheming, he would limp and cackle through the cold corridors of the castle, planning new impossible feats for the suitors of Saralinda to perform. He did not wish to give her hand in marriage, since her hand was the only warm hand in the castle. Even the hands of his watch and the hands of all the thirteen clocks were frozen. They had all frozen at the same time, on a snowy night, seven years before, and after that it was always ten minutes to five in the castle. Travelers and mariners would look up at the gloomy castle on the lonely hill and say, “Time lies frozen there. It’s always Then. It’s never Now.

Keep warm,” he said. “Ride close together. Remember laughter. You’ll need it even in the blessed isles of Ever After.