Expecting Someone Taller (14 page)

‘Couldn't we just rush him?' Loge suggested. ‘I'll hold his arms while you get the Ring off him.'

They stood and looked up at the electrically-operated gates of the Hall. A gardener in a smart new boiler suit walked up to them, holding a rake.

‘You can't park there,' he said.

The long, sleek Mercedes limousine was blocking the
driveway. Wotan stared at the gardener, who took no notice.

‘Move it, or I'll call the police,' said the gardener. ‘I've told you once.'

‘Certainly, right away,' muttered Loge. There was no point in causing unnecessary trouble. ‘Sorry.'

‘That's bad,' said Wotan, as they walked up from the village green, where they had parked the car. ‘I tried closing up his lungs to make it hard for him to breathe, but it didn't work. We're too near the Ring-Bearer's seat of power to be able to achieve anything by force. I imagine that idiot was under his protection.'

Wotan stopped and studied the gates.

‘There's no way through there by violence,' he said. ‘We must be clever.'

For some reason or other, Loge had a horrible feeling that by We, Wotan meant him. ‘What do you have in mind?' he asked.

‘There are many things in the world that mortal men fear more than the Gods,' said Wotan, airily. ‘I think it's about time that the Ring-Bearer was brought down to earth. He's a human being, not a God, and he's a citizen of a twentieth-century democracy.' Wotan chuckled. ‘The poor bastard.'

 

Malcolm was feeling happier than he had for some considerable time. He had just had lunch with a remarkably pretty girl, he was going to have lunch with her tomorrow, and, best of all, his secretary had just told him that she was going to take her annual holiday in a week's time. She was, needless to say, going to the Cotswolds. Malcolm thought that they would probably make her an honorary member.

So, when the English Rose came knocking on his door at
four o'clock, he expected nothing worse than a recital of her holiday plans. He draped a smile over his face and asked her what he could do for her.

‘There's a man downstairs,' she said, ‘from the Government.'

Given what he had been doing since he acquired the Ring, it was understandable that Malcolm misunderstood this statement. He expected to find a humble messenger imploring him to take over the reins of State, or at least to accept a peerage. What he found was a sharp-faced individual in a dark grey suit with a briefcase.

‘Herr Finger,' said the intruder, ‘I'm from Customs and Excise. We're making inquiries about illicit gold dealing.'

For a moment, Malcolm forgot who he had become, and his blood froze. Like all respectable people, he knew that he was guilty of something, although what it was he could not say; and the arrival of a representative of the Main Cop only confirmed his suspicions.

‘I don't know what you mean,' he stammered.

‘About a month ago, a considerable sum of money in used currency notes was removed from the vaults of the Bank of England. Similar - withdrawals, shall we say? - were made from state banks all over the world. At the same time, large quantities of gold made an inexplicable appearance in the same vaults. Have you any comment, Herr Finger?'

Malcolm was too frightened to speak, and simply shook his head.

‘On close examination, the gold was found to be part of a consignment supplied by a certain . . .' the man paused, as if choosing the right word ‘. . . a certain underground movement,' he continued, ‘to a subversive organisation, based in this country but with international links. This
organisation has been secretly undermining the fabric of society for some time, Herr Finger.'

‘Has it?' Malcolm's throat was dry.

‘It most certainly has. And our investigations have led us to the conclusion . . .'

Malcolm, who for the last twenty-five years had done little in the evenings except watch the television, knew what was coming next. There was no point in running. Faceless men in lounge suits were probably aiming rifles at him at this very moment.

‘. . . that you have some connection with this - this subversive ring.'

The word Ring exploded in Malcolm's mind like a bomb. He focused on the intruder's mind, and did not have to read very far.

‘Now do you have any comment to make, Herr Finger? Or should I say Malcolm Fisher?'

Malcolm leaned back in his chair and smiled serenely.

‘If only my mother could see me,' he said, and the serene smile became a grin. ‘Chatting like this with a real God.'

‘I beg your pardon? Mr Fisher, this is not a laughing matter.'

‘You're Loge, aren't you? It's odd. I was frightened of you when I thought you were the taxman, but now you turn out to be a God, I'm not frightened at all.'

‘Oh, well,' said Loge, ‘I should have known better, I suppose. But Wotan thought it was worth a try.'

‘It was,' said Malcolm. ‘You had me worried, like I said. What were you going to do?'

‘He'll murder me if I go back without it,' said Loge. ‘He's got a horrid temper.'

‘What can he do to you? You're immortal.'

‘That's the trouble.' Loge was trembling. ‘If you're
mortal, all they can do to you is kill you. But if you're going to live forever, they can really get you.'

‘Surely not?'

‘Don't you believe it. He'll turn me into an aquarium, I know he will.'

‘I'll get the housekeeper to bring us some tea,' said Malcolm soothingly.

Loge calmed down slightly with some tea inside him, but the cup rattled in the saucer as he held it.

‘I was meant to put the frighteners on you,' he said. ‘First, I was to be a Customs man, then the VAT inspector, then the Fraud Squad, then MI5. If that didn't work, then I was to be the man from the IPU.'

‘What's the IPU?'

‘Inexplicable Phenomena Unit. Wotan was sure you'd believe in it. It would be something like all those science fiction films about flying saucers invading the earth, and there's always a secret Government agency that knows all about them but keeps them secret so as not to alarm people. They're the ones who come and zap the Martians in the last reel. And I was going to be them, threatening to zap you. Sometimes I think he lives in a world of his own.'

‘He must be a difficult person to work for,' said Malcolm.

‘Difficult!' Loge cast his eyes up to the ceiling. ‘He's impossible.'

‘But I thought you were the clever one,' said Malcolm.

‘I used to be, back in the old days when life was much simpler. But progress has left me behind, I'm afraid, and Wotan has got more devious. And he's never forgiven me for the mistake I made in drawing up the contract for Valhalla.'

‘Mistake?'

Loge nodded glumly. ‘Oh, yes, it was a mistake all right, and I've never been allowed to forget it. A slip of the pen and now look at me.'

‘What sort of a mistake?' asked Malcolm, purely from curiosity.

Loge sighed. ‘I might as well tell you. You'll find out sooner or later. The contract with the Giants was that they built us the castle in return for trading concessions in Middle Earth, and the German for “free port” is
freihafen
. But the trouble was,' Loge said, and even after a thousand years he blushed, ‘well, my handwriting has never been marvellous, and what I'd written looked more like
Freia zu haben
, which would mean that they would have the Goddess Freia as their reward for that bloody castle. I don't know what you're laughing at. It was a mistake anyone could have made.'

Malcolm, despite his ill-concealed mirth, could sympathise, for his own handwriting was none too good. ‘But couldn't you explain the mistake?' he said.

‘I did, God knows. But they wouldn't listen, and Wotan had just had a quarrel with Freia and was only too glad to get rid of her. He's always quarrelling with his relatives.'

Again, Malcolm could sympathise. ‘Well,' he said, ‘at least it explains how that bargain came to be made. I couldn't understand it, the way it is in the books.'

‘Now you know.' Loge was depressed again. ‘It was only because I suggested this Ring business that he didn't change me into something wet and nasty there and then. And that backfired too - well, you know all about that - and I've been one jump away from metamorphosis ever since.'

Malcolm felt a curious sense of authority, and his tone to Loge was pleasantly patronising. ‘Don't worry,' he said, ‘I won't let him turn you into anything.'

‘And how exactly will you stop him?'

‘I don't know,' Malcolm confessed. ‘But he can't go throwing his weight about like that any more. He'll just have to face facts, he's had his time.'

Loge raised an eyebrow. ‘Don't take this the wrong way,' he said, ‘but for someone who was terrified of the Customs inspector a few minutes ago, you're remarkably confident.'

‘I know. But that was real life. This is . . . well, it's real life too, but different somehow.' Malcolm was silent for a while, as he tried to work something out in his mind. ‘You know how some people are good at some things and bad at others,' he said. ‘For instance, some people are marvellous at business or the Stock Exchange or whatever, but they can't change a plug or iron a shirt. Maybe I'm like that. Maybe I'm hopeless at everything except being the master of the Ring, but I'm very good at that. I know how to do it, more or less, and only I can do it, and I'm happy doing it.'

‘Are you?'

‘Well, no. But I'm no more miserable doing it than doing anything else, plus I can do it well, and I can't do anything else. It's like some people are naturally good singers or snooker players or they can compose music, and they've never tried it so they don't know. And then they do try it, just by accident or for fun, never expecting they'll be any good at it, and there they are. I don't know,' he said despairingly, ‘maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe it's so easy any fool can do it. But I'm not afraid any more - not of your lot, anyway.'

Loge stared at him in amazement. ‘You've been drinking, ' he said at last.

Malcolm shook his head. ‘No, I mean it. I may be no good at all at real life, but this sort of thing - you can tell your boss to do his worst and see if I care. I've already seen
off Alberich and the Rhinedaughters, and I'll deal with him too, if he makes a nuisance of himself. I mean, what can he do to me? I can understand all languages and read people's thoughts, so I'll always know what's really going on. I can change my shape, so anything he tries to attack me with I can either beat or run away from. And I don't think that's all, either. I don't think he's got any power against the Ring. If he wants to do something and I won't let him, then he can't do it. Stands to reason.'

‘How's that?'

‘Simple. Unless I do something wrong or think nasty thoughts, nothing unpleasant can happen in the world. So nothing unpleasant can happen to
me
, can it? I'm just as much a citizen of the world as anyone else, so I'm under my own protection.' Malcolm was quite carried away by this train of thought. ‘What's that bit in the Bible about He saved others, He couldn't save Himself? You won't catch me falling for that one. And that's why I met that girl,' he went on, more to himself than to Loge. ‘Nice things are happening to everyone else, so they're happening to me too.' He laughed for pure joy, and Loge tapped the side of his head.

‘You're as bad as he is,' he said. ‘Don't say I didn't warn you.'

‘Don't worry about a thing,' said Malcolm, grandly. ‘Everything will be fine, you'll see.'

Loge rose to his feet. ‘I hope you're right,' he said. ‘If not, come and feed the ducks on me on Sunday afternoons.'

 

Wotan leaned back in the driver's seat of the Mercedes, turning over Loge's story in his cavernous mind.

‘He's right, up to a point,' said the King of the Gods. ‘Like I thought, force and violence are no good, and besides, I'm not sure how far I could take them. I still
don't think I could actually take the Ring from him against his will without getting into serious trouble.'

‘Who with?'

‘Me, in my role as the God of Justice. If I did take it and I found that I wasn't allowed to, I would have to cease to exist. Damn.'

The Sky-God thought hard for a moment, then smiled. He had thought of something. Loge waited impatiently to hear what it was.

‘It worked before,' said Wotan quietly. ‘So why shouldn't it work again?'

Loge was mystified. ‘What?' he asked.

‘The Brunnhilde option,' said Wotan. ‘Why not?'

‘But it didn't work the first time,' Loge said. ‘It failed miserably.'

‘Because of the Hagen factor and the Siegfried aspect. And, if we're going to be honest about it, the Brunnhilde aspect, too. But now we're dealing with a different kettle of fish.'

The metaphor made Loge squirm. ‘It's a terrible gamble,' he said. ‘Don't blame me if . . .'

‘As if I would. No, I think I've cracked it. He's just the sort of idiot who'd fall for it.'

‘That's true.' Loge began to feel cautiously optimistic. ‘Why shouldn't he be his own worst enemy, just like everyone else?'

 

Malcolm watched the black limousine driving away, and poured himself a small whisky. He was rather worried about what he had said; it was the first time he had ever talked to a God, and perhaps he should have shown more respect. He strolled into the garden, and a blackbird fluttered down and perched in a rose bush beside him.