Free On A Pale Horse by Piers Anthony Page A

after a race had been timed.
    He punched the highest button. It clicked—and the red sweep hand stopped.
    He studied the dial. There was no motion in either of the two miniature dials that showed hours and minutes. The sweep hand was frozen at twenty-three seconds after the minute. Before the minute, since it ran backward. But the third little dial continued to function; its hand moved briskly clockwise, telling off the seconds of ordinary time. So the stopwatch was stopped, but not time itself.
    What did this mean? Since the stopwatch function governed the timing of the deaths of his clients, did this imply that a hold had been put on such deaths? That was hard to credit—but indeed his whole situation was hard to credit. Fate had mentioned a stoppage of deaths in the world until he, the new holder of the office, had commenced activity. And this did answer his question about appointments that occurred too close together. He might freeze one case while he handled the other.
    And, of course, this gave him his chance to rest. He could simply turn off his job while he slept or ate or thought things out.
    This was some watch! It did not merely time existing events, it coerced events to its timing.
    Zane saw that he had only two minutes, in addition to the twenty-three seconds, until his next appointment, and the green gridstone showed this was halfway across the world. That was crowding it. He punched the zeroing button—and sure enough, the timing hands clicked back several minutes, providing him a full ten minutes. In that time, he knew, the Death mobile could take him anywhere on Earth.
    What, then, was the hours dial for? It could register up to twelve, but if ten minutes was all he could reschedule, he would never need to read hours.
    Zane decided to ponder that later. Right now he had to organize himself. He needed to figure out what to do with the baby soul, for one thing. He was not going to send it to Hell, and might not be authorized to send it to Heaven. Probably he should take it to Purgatory for expert designation. He assumed that if Heaven and Hell were literal, so was Purgatory—but where was it?
    “There is so much I don't know!” he exclaimed.
    “This, too, shall pass,” someone answered him.

Chapter 3 - EWES AND DOES
     
    Zane jumped. A man sat in the adjacent seat. He was perhaps fifty, with a mustache and goatee and piercing blue eyes. He held a small double cone in his hand.
    “You must be immortal,” Zane said, after a moment of fevered thought.
    “In a sense,” the man agreed. “I am another Incarnation, like Fate and Death.”
    Zane studied him, suspecting that he should recognize the man, but he did not. “Who—?”
    “I am Chronos, colloquially known as Time.” He tilted the cones, and fine sand sifted from one to the other. It was an hourglass.
    “Time!” Zane exclaimed. “But you're young!” Only that was inaccurate. “At least, not old—”
    “I am ageless,” Chronos corrected him. “I realize I have been depicted by ignorant artisans as ancient, but I prefer to operate in my prime.”
    “Did I—the watch—?”
    “Yes, Death, you summoned me. I am, of course, attuned to all manner of chronometry, especially that practiced by key figures. You signaled me by locking the countdown on ten minutes. Ordinarily Death either freezes the timer where it is or resets it to gain necessary travel time; to do both is a code. Naturally I came to see what you wished, as we Incarnations do try to accommodate one another. It is, after all, one firmament.”
    “I didn't realize I was signaling you,” Zane said sheepishly. “I'm new at this. In fact, I hardly realized you existed as a person.”
    “As a personification,” Chronos corrected him. “An Incarnation of an essential function of existence. Persons differ, but the role continues.”
    “That's another thing it's hard to get used to—the notion that things like Death and Time are offices, not physical laws or