In the high mountains of the Ramtops, there is a hidden valley known as Oi Dong, wherein lies the monastery of the History Monks. They are responsible for ensuring that time is used properly - saved, spent, stretched, wasted, killed, etc. Human beings are very good at playing with their time. But time is a resource, and History is in the eye of the beholder. To some people, time isn't a constraint; they may spend a while in it occasionally, but they don't need to live there. Besides, it makes one's skin wrinkle...

   'Do you know okidoki?
   'Just a lot of bunny-hops.'
   'Shiitake?'
   'If I wanted to thrust my hand into hot sand I would go to the seaside.'
   'Upsidazi?'
   'A waste of good bricks.'
   'No kando?'
   'You made that one up.'
   'Tung-pi?'
   'Bad-tempered flower-arranging.'
   'Deja-fu?' That got a reaction. Lu-Tze's eyebrows raised.
   'Deja-fu? You heard that rumour? Ha! None of the monks here knows deja-fu," he said.

At some time in the past, history was destroyed. Well, in some of the pasts, certainly. The entire thing dissolved like a cheap pearl in vinegar, and the History Monks (Men in Saffron, No Such Monastery) had to paste it back together any way they could . . . It all started with a glass clock, made in Bad Shuschein (yes, yes, say it phonetically) and an attempt to stop time (those mad scientists will try anything). There are just too many small castles in Uberwald, however, and Lu-Tze didn't get there in time. History shattered. And the Monks of Time had to repair the whole thing, rather like a crazy patchwork quilt.

Lobsang wielded the curved sword uncertainly.
   "Well?" said Lu-Tze.
   "I can't just---"
   "Is this the dojo of the Tenth Djim?" said Lu-Tze. "Why mercy me, I do believe it is. That means there are no rules, doesn't it? Any weapon, any strategy... anything is allowed. Do you understand? Are you stupid?"
   "But I can't just kill someone because they asked me to!"
   "Why not? What happened to Mr Manners?"
   "But--"
   "You are holding a deadly weapon! You are facing an unarmed man in a pose of submission! Are you frightened?"
   "Yes! Yes I am!"

It was . . . rather messy. Time moved all over the place. And now it's going to happen again, but this time the Auditors, the enemies of all life, are involved (nasty little buggers). Death can only sit around, waiting for it to happen. The world will be ending at precisely 9am next Wednesday, so all Death can really do is Ride Out. However, when the world is in chaos, Death has an ace up his capacious midnight-hued sleeve: Susan, his "granddaughter". And she, being mostly mortal, has carte blanche to kill end the unalive (well they've never actually been alive, so they don't count as undead).